Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  Power Switch

  Power Play Series Book 3

  Kennedy L. Mitchell

  © 2020 Kennedy L. Mitchell

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Created with Vellum

  To you, the reader.

  Thank you.

  Contents

  Inspiration

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Also by Kennedy L. Mitchell

  Acknowledgments

  “You may have to fight a battle more than once to win it.”

  Margret Thatcher

  Prologue

  Jessica

  It's a strange concept, this notion of a morally sound conscience. Never once in my thirty years have I considered myself to have one at all—moral or not—until tonight. Yet here I stand in the middle of this political win/engagement announcement party with my stomach in knots because of said conscience telling me I’m doing something wrong. I should be happy, overjoyed that a life goal I’ve had since grade school is now being realized.

  Trey Benson is mine.

  Well, most of him.

  I’m careful to hide the cringe of pain from the cramping of my lower gut behind my nearly empty crystal champagne flute. Trey's deep rumbling laugh pulls my attention from the inner turmoil I have going on. With a lovesick sigh, I watch as he charms Senator Torres and take another sip of the remaining crisp liquid. The delicious tiny bubbles explode along my tongue, helping calm the earlier unease. Maybe if I keep drinking I won't care too much about the lack of joy behind his light eyes.

  Pressing the cool glass against my overheated cheek, I smile.

  He really is perfect. The handsome prince charming starring in all my childhood daydreams, and most of my adult steamy night ones too. Now here he is, with me. Half of my heart doesn't mind that he's not wholly mine—yet.

  Tonight he wears a custom-tailored black suit that draws attention to his fit physique, emphasizing his backside that every woman in this room can’t keep their eyes off of. His dark hair, a bit longer than normal, is styled back away from his eyes. The dusting of dark facial hair along his sculpted jaw draws attention to a full lower lip, or maybe it’s because I'm standing here fantasizing about it pressed against my own. With the perfectly proportioned straight nose and naturally tan skin, he could give any model a run for their money.

  Those honey brown eyes cut to me, brows furrowing. Something I can’t make out flashes behind his usual political mask before he turns back to the still-rambling senator.

  A smidge of my building hope drains, leaving sadness in the new fissures in my heart. Filling my lungs with a full, determined breath, I remind myself that just because he sees this as an alliance and not true love doesn't mean I have to. Do I hate that he thinks he’s in love with someone else? Sure, but I've never let a little hurdle like that stop me from getting what I want before, so why start now? Of course, it's even worse than that—he's in love with a woman I respect, one I hate doing this to, but what's done is done. This wasn’t all my doing. Trey made a deal of his own; I just capitalized on the opportunity. There’s nothing wrong with that.

  Trey Benson has always been mine. I sat back and watched him waste years with Rachel, waiting for my chance to be with him. Then Randi moved to DC, stealing my moment. I’ve waited, pined, sulked for long enough. This is my time, my chance to win him. Who does Randi think she is anyway? But then again, she is amazing in many ways—in all the ways needed to make a change in this city. To transform mindsets, correct their moral compass.

  Maybe even mine.

  Again, Randi's face flashes in the forefront of my mind, instigating the earlier internal conflict once again.

  No. I shake my head, blonde tresses sliding along my bare back. Trey is mine. Randi needs to come to terms with that. I will support her, support her cause, but Trey will be at my side instead of hers. Maybe once she realizes this is true love on my part, she'll step aside, allowing him to fall out of love with her and in love with me. He loved Rachel those few years and now loves Randi; surely his heart can change its course once more.

  “There's the happy couple.”

  Smile widening, I turn toward Celia Benson’s voice. Trey's shoulder stiffens beneath my hand.

  “Wonderful party,” I say, tipping the empty flute in her direction, acknowledging that all this was her doing. “As always.”

  With a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, she loops an arm through my own and rests five red-tipped fingers along my forearm. “Come,” she encourages with a small tug. “We have numerous things to discuss.” Tilting forward to see past me to Trey, her smile grows. “Don't worry, honey. I won't borrow your beautiful fiancée for too long. Don't go anywhere.”

  The senator continues chatting, completely oblivious to the direct command from Celia to Trey. But the flush blooming across Trey's high cheekbones signals he didn't miss the superior tone in his mother’s words.

  I swallow hard at the tension between the two. Searching for a distraction, I lift the flute to take another sip of champagne only to remember it’s empty.

  With a quick commanding snap of Celia’s thin fingers, three servers appear out of nowhere, carrying silver trays weighted with fresh flutes filled to the brim with bubbling liquid. The slight tremor in my fingers gives away my growing nerves. Careful to not knock off the ten other delicate flutes, I rest the empty glass atop a tray and take a full one in return. With both our glasses refreshed, we nod to Trey and the senator before shifting away from the men. Weaving through the partygoers, Celia smiles at several, quickly dismissing their attempts to engage her in conversation as we continue our short journey across the bursting room.

  “Is he behaving?” she asks, head dipped to keep the words between us. We pause at a secluded spot along the far wall where we can talk freely and watch the room.

  “Of course. Trey knows how to work the crowd in situations like this. Were you concerned he wouldn’t?” I ask cautiously.

  Not a single hair in her fancy updo shifts as Celia shakes her head. With the movement, her diamond chandelier earrings catch the light, the bursting sparkles snagging my envious attention. The Hawthornes are rich, but the Bensons are richer. No doubt those earrings are worth over a million and aren’t her only pair.

  “I’m afraid he might act foolish. He truly believes he’s in love with that wretched woman,” she says on a disappointed sigh. With her free hand, she presses two fingers to her left temple and massages the sensitive area. “I'm concerned about him, about our family.”

  Closing the gap between us, I clasp her elbow. “Why? What’s going on that has you concerned?”

  “She's not the right woman for him, for us. That woman is selfish and deceiving. I’m almost certain she’s manipulated h
is feelings for her own safety. Were you aware he almost died for her recently?”

  A gasp escapes. To cover my shock, I hold two fingers in front of my lips. “He did what?”

  “My son is blinded by what he believes is love. I can't—” Celia stops to clear her throat of the building emotions. “I can't lose him. He’s my only son. Which is why I did what I did, why we made our agreement. I know he considers what I did to be deceiving, but I'm only trying to save him. Save his life. That woman is not only a threat to his budding political career but also his safety.”

  “I—” I stop, unsure of what I want to say in response. My thoughts jumble between knowing Randi isn’t the type of person to manipulate someone for her own gain and wanting to believe Celia. I shake my head to clear the conflicting thoughts, but the several glasses of champagne are making my judgments and emotions unclear on where I stand. One thing is clear: Trey’s safety is as important as my own. “What can I do?”

  An almost smile lifts her sullen face. “I knew I could count on you, Jessica. Your love for him is clear.” Celia gives a reassuring squeeze to the fingers still wrapped around her elbow. “I need you to show him that it's simple attraction, not love, with that Randi woman. Make him see that you're the right choice for him, to come back to his family, his destiny. Bring my son back to me and his father. Please.” The glowing overhead lights shimmer off Celia’s damp dark lashes.

  “How can I accomplish that?” Even with the champagne coursing through my system, I’m aware what she’s asking is a near impossible feat. Trey has run from this life for years. He lives for his role with the secret service. Only recently did he begrudgingly accept to come back into the spotlight—all for Randi. How can I convince him that he not only doesn’t love her but needs to come back into the political fold for himself, not her?

  “My son is a good man, one who is driven to protect no matter the odds. This is where you need to draw his focus. Pull it away from protecting that woman to protecting you.”

  “I don't understand.” My head swirls. How many glasses have I had?

  Her honey brown eyes narrow in frustration. “If he's busy worrying about you, protecting you from some unknown threat, he'll forget all about this Randi woman. Use his weakness for our benefit.”

  I sway slightly as the implication of her words slams home. “You want me to create a threat against myself so he'll feel the need to protect me? How will that convince him to love me and not her?”

  Celia’s tone turns menacing. “If you're unconvinced you'll be able to pull off what needs to be done, I can always arrange for the threat to be real.”

  “And if I don’t? If I can’t convince him?”

  “Then I’ll make sure all your secrets are shared, and all the work you’ve put in to be someone in this town will be wasted. Your personal life, career, family, everything turned against you.”

  I swallow against the champagne that's fighting to surge back up my throat.

  “Now,” she says, giving my hand a condescending pat, “earlier I overheard my son make plans to meet up with that woman later this evening. Your first role as his fiancée is to make sure he’s unable to keep that commitment.”

  I nod, still unable speak.

  “I know you love him, as do I. This is for his benefit. We're just having to get creative on how to save him from himself. This is the life for him. This is his destiny.”

  “And me?” Does she consider me as a part of that destiny?

  “You'll have what you've always wanted. Him. If we play this right, this time next year, you'll be happily married, and Randi Sawyer will just be a distant ugly memory.”

  Taking a slow sip from my glass, I process Celia's words.

  Married.

  Happy.

  Mine.

  All those words are exactly what I want out of my future. Now’s my chance to make it happen.

  “I’ll do it.” Celia smiles, and we click the edges of our flutes together. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ll grab Trey a bourbon from the bar. He’s been drinking beer all night, and if I can convince him to mix, there’s no way he’ll be able to see Randi tonight. That man’s never been able to mix a day in his life.”

  Her smile widens, and if I’m not mistaken, a pulse of pride shines through her bright gaze.

  “You’ll make an excellent daughter-in-law, Jessica.”

  But for some reason, the praise falls flat. With a forced smile, I shift my way back through the crowd and head for the open bar, one thought swirling through my mind with each step.

  What the hell have I sealed my future to?

  1

  Randi

  I waited.

  Waited until the sun's first morning rays warmed the fading dark sky. Waited in the wicker rocker on the back porch, watching the pool’s sparkling water, anxious to see the man I love and finally say those words out loud.

  But he never came over like he promised.

  With each minute that ticked by, disappointment constricted my heart, making it ache like never before.

  As I slip off the pair of black yoga pants and crawl into bed, I attempt to convince myself everything is okay. It's one night, one promise.

  At the ridiculous fake engagement party/celebration for defeating Kyle’s bill to strip low-income Americans of their voting rights, I didn’t expect the influx of emotions that bombarded me when confronted with Jessica on his arm. It was then—actually, maybe even before today, but I wasn’t willing to admit it—that I realized I love him. Granted, this is me we’re talking about, so it might not be normal love, but I'm not normal, so I guess its par for the course. With my childhood, I don't know if I'm even capable of wholehearted love, but I do love Trey in my own unique way.

  But here I am going to bed alone with those three words still on the tip of my tongue, unable to speak them out loud to the man I feel them for.

  Because he didn’t come.

  Leaning over, I stretch to flip off the bedside lamp, dousing the room in darkness, the morning sun’s bright rays kept hidden by the thick blackout curtains. The sheets rustle as I wiggle to get comfortable while tugging the comforter up to my chin.

  I’ve just closed my eyes, ready to get an hour or so of sleep before I start my day, when a bright light flashes, causing my lids to slide open once again. Not moving from my warm spot in the sheets, I scrutinize the glowing phone screen, debating if I should check it or not.

  Part of me knows I can’t handle any more disappointment tonight if it’s not Trey with an explanation. Yet the other half of me thinks if it is him, I'm not ready for an excuse. Maybe it would be better to shut my eyes once more and let this fucking terrible day finally end. Let myself get the couple hours of sleep I need to be somewhat functional for today’s meeting with the Associate Attorney General, Sam Pierce. I have no idea what he wants to talk to me about but if someone from the DOJ wants to meet with me it can’t be good.

  Not having the energy left to continue fighting the internal battle I glide a hand out from under the mountain of covers and pick the now dark phone off the nightstand.

  Deep breath in, I tap the screen to bring it back to life.

  A single text stares back at me.

  Trouble: I'm sorry.

  I frown at the screen, unsure how to feel with those two words. Am I sad? Jealous? Mad? What is he even sorry for? Not coming over or something worse, something involving him and Jessica?

  Exhaustion from the day and my racing thoughts heighten every swirling emotion, making everything too much. With more force than necessary, I shove the annoying phone with its stupid message under the pillow and close my eyes, forcing myself not to acknowledge the dampness along my lashes. All I needed was a phone call, a text earlier in the night just explaining he wasn’t coming over. Anything that would calm my crazy thoughts and visions of him and Jessica together. But apparently I wasn’t on his mind until five in the morning, my worry and time never crossing his damn mind.

  Does that mean he
was with her until now?

  What could they have been doing?

  Curling on my side, I try to picture dancing unicorns to get the visuals of Trey and Jessica together out of my mind.

  It's fine. I'm fine. We're fine.

  As I relax into the mattress, a small seed of doubt plants itself in the conflicting thoughts, keeping sleep at bay.

  What if… what if this is the beginning of the end of us?

  2

  Trey

  Fuck it to hell.

  A pain-laced groan rumbles in my chest before pushing past my dry lips. Back flat to the bed, I glower at the ceiling like it’s the reason for my pain. A headache throbs a slow beat in the back of my skull like a resounding warrior’s march. I should've just fucking stuck with beer and said no to the bourbon. Amateur move. I know better.

  Groaning again, this time with a bit of a whine to it, I press the heels of both palms against my closed eyelids and press hard, hoping the pressure will make the painful world I’ve woken up to somehow disappear around me.

  If it was only my throbbing head and sour stomach, I might not be hating life as much as I am in this moment. But it’s not just the physical aches from the hangover that are haunting me. One is of the heart, something that isn’t as easily fixed with Tylenol and caffeine. Last night, I didn’t show up when I promised I would, and I'm not sure if there's anything to make that better. Recalling the melancholy look she shot over her shoulder as she left the party has the twisting of my stomach worsening.