"Wilson, F Paul - Implant (aka Colin Andrews)" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson F. Paul)

modular work spaces, cluttered desks, sagging bookshelves, glaring
computer monitors, empty coffee cups, papers and folders Lying on every
available horizontal surface. And phones. Phones everywhere, each
bearing a little U. S. Senate seal.

The staff occupied two floors that communicated via a central
stairway.

The two-tiered space offered more room than most senators had, but
Marsden represented one of the larger states, and she knew
"appropriation by population" was religious dogma on the Hill.

The second floor was pretty much like the first except for a small
lounge and the computer room that housed the central processor for the
office's LAN. The striking feature of the second floor was the mail
room with its bins■many bins■ of letters. Blair told her anywhere from
ten to fifteen thousand pieces of mail were sorted, filed, and answered
on a weekly basis by the staffs legislative correspondents.

Blair decided to interview her in the senator's office. Gin was
surprised at the Spartan decor. She'd expected heavy oak paneling,
plush carpeting, indirect lighting, a big leather chair, a huge
impressive desk sporting a U. S. Senate seal and flanked by state and
national flags■the works. Apparently Marsden wasn't impressed by the
trappings of his office. The desk and its straight-back chair were of
some nondescript wood, looking plain and slightly battered in the late
morning sunlight that poured through the high windows. Files were
stacked on the desk and floor. A few plaques and diplomas adorned the
walls along with pictures of his family. A single bookcase was
overflowing. A miniature basketball hoop was set up over the
wastepaper basket.

Gin had a pretty good idea right then that she was going to like
Senator Marsden.

But first she had to get past his chief of staff.

She and Blair settled themselves on opposite sides of the coffee table
in the sitting area of the office. Blair spent another ten minutes or
so talking about his prowess in helping guide the senator's bills
through the many pitfalls of the legislative process, his gaze all the
while drifting between her legs and her breasts. Gin drew the skirt
hem closer to her knees.

She had decent legs and wore a 54-C bra. What else did he want to
know?
Maybe she should have worn a pantsuit.

 Finally he began shuffling through her resume.