At mention of the car ride, she sank her face into her open hand, sighing heavily. "Don't remind me of that," she dryly remarked. "It still physically pains me. If your aides didn't hate me enough before, certainly this...promotion will get me double the rancor."<br/><br/>She folded both hands in front of her now, eyeing the navy blue polish perfectly applied to each. "While we're on the subject of being frank, can I just say that your wife is a horrific bitch? I worked with her once -- you were giving a speech in god-forsaken Owensboro, Kentucky, and she would not stop whining about the heat and the lack of Perrier. I had just started, and she kept referring to me as<em>Maria</em>, but I was so terrified that I didn't know what to do or say. I wound up just cleaning out her used water bottles and filling them with tap water to get her off my ass."<br/><br/>Corinne laughed to herself, a mischievous grin overtaking. "I have a confession. I spit in every water bottle I gave her after that. I was so scared she'd find out that I tried to rehearse how it would play out so I wouldn't cry in front of her."