“That was your stomach growling, wasn’t it?” He put a hand against his abdomen. “I have Merititis. Gnawing hunger,” he clarified, which made me roll my eyes. “We’ve a bit of time before I speak to the House. Perhaps a bite to eat?” “Are you asking me out on a date?” He glanced around the shambles of his office—normally pristine, now covered in boxes, binders, and stacks of paper. “In these humble surroundings, yes.” “For you, I can manage ‘humble.’” “You actually meant ‘for food,’ of course, but I’ll take what I can get.”
