Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “We'll get through this, right? Jessica, your mom, Kyle, your job, my job, everything and everyone that’s standing between us.” Dread builds in my gut as I wait for his answer.

  Two fingers beneath my chin, he tilts my face up. “I won't allow any other outcome. You're mine, now and forever, Randi. I'm not saying it’ll be easy, but we'll figure it out one day at a time.”

  “And the whole Kyle wanting me dead stuff? Because there’s that, and Shawn, who’s an evil psychopath who’s probably plotting my slow death as we speak.”

  His features harden, lips pressed into a thin white line. “Don't worry about Kyle, or Shawn. We're all here to protect you.”

  Nodding, I lean forward and rest my forehead against his hard chest.

  We can do this. Fake it until you make it, right?

  Three years really isn't that long.

  If you're an immortal magical fucking unicorn.

  * * *

  The sharp rap of knuckles against the library door kicks my anxiety into overdrive. Swallowing down the ball of nerves in my throat, I slide my hands down my T-shirt and jeans, making sure everything is on straight. Shit, I hope my shirt isn’t on backward. Surely Trey would’ve said something if it were.

  My hammering heart tightens in my chest as Sam strides in, gaze immediately locking with mine. Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around my throat to keep the erratic pulse from beating out of my neck.

  To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I loathe being unprepared like right now. It makes me edgy, frantic almost, not knowing what to expect or preparing my responses.

  “Madam Vice President,” he says in that sexy-as-hell gravelly voice. His gaze settles on my jeans and ballet flats.

  Shit, maybe I should’ve dressed up, worn a suit like I normally do. But with everything else going on in the past twenty-four hours, I just couldn’t muster the energy to put something fancier on.

  Not that he’s dressed to the nines, but he’s still more business casual than going to the grocery store like my look. Instead of a suit, he’s in a pair of dark gray slacks with a stark white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing thick, corded forearms. My gaze latches on to the bit of ink peeping under both tight cuffs.

  Well hell.

  Deep breaths, Randi. Deep, calming breaths. Who knew I was a forearm type of girl? Or maybe it’s just Sam’s forearms I find sexy, along with the teasing ink I want to see more of.

  “Sam,” I say, my voice trembling. His lips twitch upward before sealing back into an almost frown. “Please, it's Randi.”

  Sam dips his chin in acknowledgment and casts a quick glance around the room. With an inquisitive expression, he angles his head toward the grouping of leather chairs in front of my massive desk. That’s one thing I didn’t expect when arriving in DC. The men here must equate their dick size to how large their desks are, because every single one of them could double as an unbreakable barricade. I gesture toward the chairs. Sam steps to the grouping and folds into the plush leather, resting one foot over the other knee.

  “What I need to discuss requires them to leave,” he says, picking at an invisible piece of lint from the bottom part of his slacks. I hold back my surprise that he noticed Trey and T’s presence. “I know they can’t leave you alone technically, but they need to station themselves just outside the door for now.”

  “They can hear whatever you have to say,” I respond, my tone flippant. The last thing I need Sam to know is how I tell Trey and T everything, how they’re my only friends in this town.

  “Actually, they can't, Randi. It’s a matter of their level of security clearance compared to ours.” For the first time since he entered the room, he levels a look to T. “And cut the audio part of the security feed. I don’t mind you keeping a visual on the room, but this conversation is between the VP and myself, no one else.”

  Oh hell. What is this about?

  With a quick questioning look between the two men, I sigh and nod. It would've been nice to have them with me, but he's right. If this is something to do with national security, neither Trey nor T has security clearance as high as I do, or the AAG apparently. If it’s nothing that will jeopardize the safety of the American people, then I’ll fill them in later. Easy peasy.

  Irritation radiates off both men as they shuffle through the door. Only once it shuts behind them do I let out the breath I was holding. With less pulsing testosterone in the air, the office seems lighter.

  Angling toward Sam, I press my shoulder against the paneled wall and level my best no-nonsense look his way.

  “Okay, they're gone. Now tell me what the hell is going on so I can get back to the thousands of other things I need to get done today.”

  “Straight to the point, no bullshit. Nice,” he says, leaning back in the chair and sliding around the stiff seat cushion to get comfortable. “Have you noticed how meetings in this town drag on for hours with idiots talking about things that don't matter before finally getting to the issues the meeting was called for?”

  I snort and then dip my chin in embarrassment at the slip. Kyle tried to train my snorting, nail biting, cursing, man walking—okay, most of my mannerisms out of me during the campaign in hopes I’d turn into a more presentable VP.

  Obviously it didn’t work.

  “How could I not notice that most of the meetings around here run over their scheduled time and still don’t get anything done?” His earlier wording replays in my mind, piquing my curiosity. “You said ‘in this town.’ Are you not from here?”

  Sam's lips spread in an almost sneer. “No, thank goodness. Not that I care. Honestly, with what I've seen out of the men in this town, I'll take it as a compliment.”

  “As you should.” The overhead soft lighting does amazing things to his already deviously handsome face. Something familiar tickles in the back of my mind as I really look at Sam. “Do I know you?” Now that he’s not cloaked in darkness like last night, there’s something familiar about him. Then there’s the fact that he seems fairly comfortable for a first meeting—almost too comfortable, like there's an air of familiarity between us. Daring a step toward the circle of chairs, I squint to scan his features, this time not focused on his beautiful face but searching for any hint to tell me who this man is. “You seem—”

  “Familiar?” He tugs the cuff of his pants toward his ankle. “I wondered if you'd recognize me.”

  “Should I?” Hell, I've met so many people over the past couple years, there’s no telling how I know him.

  “It's been a while, so no. If the roles were switched, I’m not sure I would’ve recognized you, especially looking like this.”

  So he knew me before Kyle’s required transformation. Before the extensive overhaul from Randi 1.0 to Randi 2.0, I was… well, as my ex put it long ago, haggard. Growing up near the poverty line and clawing your way through life will do that to you.

  “Had to look the part,” I finally say. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “I was a TA your first year at Harvard. Constitutional law. You weren’t in the class at the time since you were a freshman, but everyone knew who you were.”

  The charity case. Trailer trash who didn’t deserve a spot at the prestigious Harvard. Yep, that’s me. White trash Randi. And with Kyle’s help, those bastard students never let me forget it.

  I push down the rising despair thinking about those lonely days and nights during law school evokes. Clearing my throat of the lump lodged in it, I offer a tight-lipped smile. “I'm sorry, I don't remember you specifically, but you do seem familiar.” Unease curls in my belly. What does he think of me based on the rumors, the taunts, and hate dished out because of my background? Searching his green eyes for the answer, I find nothing but steely resolution.

  He waves my comment away. “On to the topic I wanted to discuss with you. What details do you know regarding the rising price of oil?”

  My shoulders tense, hiking up close to my ears before I roll them back. Straightening my spine,
I turn to stare out the window as I debate my reply.

  “The truth, as hard as it is to believe, is I don't know a damn thing,” I finally say, hating the words. I'm the fucking VP, yet I have no clue what's going on in my own country because the president wants it that way. He’s been keeping me running around the globe, attending summit after summit with Todd, so when was I supposed to catch wind of it all? “I watched Kyle's press conference this morning, but that's all I know about the overseas angle. But honestly?” Leaning harder against the wall, I press the side of my head against the cool dark wood paneling. “I don't believe it’s an overseas issue. Something else is going on.” After a moment lost in thought, I shift my weight to turn toward Sam. “Why?”

  “We're investigating the cause.”

  “Why you?” I ask. My nose scrunches as I rack my brain trying to remember exactly what his role is responsible for over at the DOJ. With so many job titles and so many jurisdictions, it’s hard to keep them all straight.

  “Our office oversees the Environmental and Natural Resources Division, among others. That’s how this falls under my jurisdiction.”

  I nod. “Right. But this seems like a stretch for you to investigate, right? Why would you focus resources on an issue that's so… commercial? Why is this attracting federal attention?” Sure, it’s attracted mine too, but only after my college-age daughter, Taeler, pointed it out months ago while in Austin. The fact that I didn’t notice before her insight still rubs me the wrong way. I’m turning into one of “them” the longer I’m in this city. Too caught up in what’s going on in front of my face to see what the day-to-day life issues are in this country. I need a reality check to pull my focus back to my main goals.

  “We have our reasons,” Sam states, giving nothing away.

  With a huff, I push off the wall and walk to the grouping of chairs. Choosing the one directly across the hand-carved wooden coffee table from him, I sit and lean back, rubbing my temples. “That’s an evasive answer.”

  “Don't you remember from law school? Don't ever give details, incriminating or not. Anything can be used against you at a later date. This is me protecting myself.”

  “From me?” I snort. “And why would you need to do that? I’m just me.”

  “Maybe that was a plausible response for the Randi from law school, but this Randi Sawyer looks just like one of them.”

  “The fuck?” I snap. I’ve never been so insulted in my life.

  “Classy.” His tone comes off as chiding, but the smile he’s fighting back speaks volumes. “I need to evaluate if you're in on the circumstances we believe are the cause for the oil spike.”

  Again with his wordy answer that doesn’t actually say anything. “Circumstances?” I question with annoyance. “Care to elaborate, Sam?”

  “Let’s see here.” Leaning forward, he braces his elbows on his knees. “It’s a surprisingly long list. Abuse of power, fraud, bribery, extortion, corruption.” He ticks off each with a finger, his hard stare never shifting from my shocked one.

  “What the hell?” I demand, my spine going ramrod straight. “That’s a… I mean… what are you even talking about?”

  “I’ll break it down for you. Abuse of power and fraud by using your role to misuse federal land, allowing drilling in protected oil rich areas. Corruption, bribery, and extortion due to only approving companies with offshore accounts so there’s zero way for us to track where the money is going. Driving the price of gas so high because the other companies can’t compete, causing production in Texas and Alaska to drop so far that the tables of supply and demand flip.” With each word, he's inched closer until he’s practically leaning over the coffee table.

  Holy fuck, that’s a lot of accusations. Detailed ones. Where in the hell does he think all that’s coming from?

  “I don't know… I didn't… who the hell would do that?” My words are rushed and panicked.

  “The president.”

  Ah, well, that makes sense. I’ll give him that much.

  4

  Randi

  All I can do is gape at the fuming man sitting across from me. No words come to mind. Once, twice, I open my mouth, but when the right words don’t form, I close it tight once again. Fingers digging into the worn leather armrests, I push to a standing position and maneuver around Sam, careful not to get too close. I pause in front of the massive desk and tilt forward, grasping the edge for support. For several moments, I stare unseeing at the polished wood, processing his accusation and planning my next move.

  “I don't know. Didn't know.” Long dark locks of hair fall over my shoulders, creating a curtain around my face. “Why are you here, Sam? To pin this on me?”

  “We're investigating the president’s involvement and several of his major campaign supporters. I needed to know, needed to ask you the hard questions personally and gauge your reactions to know if you're involved too.”

  I shake my head. “I wouldn't do that.”

  “You have to admit it's farfetched that you haven't noticed, or aren't involved. You're his VP, up at the White House almost daily to meet with him and other members of your party. Hell, you're even the one who went to the OPEC summit, not Birmingham.”

  Indignation slams through me. Whirling around, I take a step toward Sam, my index finger raised at his chest. Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he doesn't retreat. Hell, he doesn’t even look bothered by my sudden burst of anger.

  “Do you have any clue what I've been focused on the last seven months? Do you?” Sam shakes his head. “Trying to make sure that prick of a president doesn't whisk away voter rights with a fucking bill that he knew would pass.” I jam my finger into his hard chest. “And if you must know, that fucker doesn't let me in on anything. He used me to get the president spot and has shut me out ever since. I don't know what he's doing behind closed doors or who he's meeting with. And yeah, I did go to the OPEC summit, but it was to try and understand what’s happening.”

  The only sound in the room is my heavy breathing.

  Reluctantly, I pull my finger from his chest and retreat a couple steps to sit on the edge of the desk. Embarrassment fills my thoughts as the anger ebbs away.

  “That Birmingham always was a prick.”

  I huff and hang my head in defeat.

  “Hey,” he says, the earlier accusatory tone gone replaced with hesitation. With an impatient groan, he cuts himself off before he can say any more. The tips of his black dress shoes, which are nice but not nearly as expensive as Trey’s or most of the other men I’ve met in DC, stop just in front of my ballet slippers. “I believe you.”

  “That I'm a fool, or that I didn't know about the president’s illegal activities he was conducting behind my back?”

  “Both.”

  I roll my eyes. “Ass.” But his response does what it intended, breaking the growing self-accusing black hole I was slipping into.

  Giving my head a slight shake, I grasp my thick hair in a makeshift ponytail. With a few twists and a random ballpoint pen I find along the desk top, I secure the mess on top of my head.

  “Okay.” I slap my hands on my thighs and stand. Walking around the desk, I fold into my oversized leather chair. “Now what? Was that all you came for? To make sure I'm not a part of it so you can keep zeroing in on the people who are?”

  Hip against the desk, he crosses both arms over his chest, causing the sleeves to ride a little higher up his forearms. More colorful tattoos peek through, drawing my gaze.

  “Nice ink,” I comment.

  His gaze flicks from mine to his arms. When he looks back up, a small smirk pulls at his lips. “Thanks. You're not the only one in this town who doesn't truly belong.”

  “Is that so?”

  He dips his chin in acknowledgment. “The investigation is at a standstill. We have assumptions of illegal activity but can't prove it. Either Birmingham is innocent and someone else is doing all this behind the scenes, or he's very good at covering his tracks.”

  Thu
mbnail between my teeth, I tuck a knee to my chest and rest my chin on top. “Could be both.” A million different angles slip through my head. A hint of something I should remember flares in the back of my mind but disappears before I can grasp hold.

  I sigh. “I can't help you. Not only do I have zero connections in this town, but I don't know anything that's going on in the White House unless it’s directly connected to me or my team.” I take a deep inhale and release it slowly to quell my racing mind. “I wouldn't put it past him though. Any of it. I say keep digging. You'll find something, but I guarantee it won't be with me. I know less than you do.”

  He arches a single dark brow and leans forward across the desk.

  What is up with the guy in wanting to get all up in my personal space? Not that I mind. His bad-boy hotness isn’t at all offensive.

  A faint waft of crisp, cool cologne hits my nose. The scent tightens the awareness of how alone we are. I scan his harsh features that somehow work for him, the main focus being his piercing green eyes that seem to suck you in with the intensity behind them.

  “What if I asked for your help?” Sam asks, placing a palm in the middle of the desk to support his upper body as he leans closer.

  Ah shit. Averting my gaze, I switch to chewing on the middle fingernail. That’s a hard no, even though I’d love to—for more reasons than one. What Sam isn’t privy to is that stupid agreement I signed to support Kyle during the campaign and after. No doubt aiding in gaining information needed for impeachment goes against said agreement, which states if I breach the contract, then I have to pay every cent he spent on me back to the Birmingham estate. There’s no way I can do that considering they paid off my massive credit card debt, student loans from undergrad and law school, the makeovers, clothes, travel, campaign, and Tae's school. Sure, I make decent money now, but that’s a shit ton of money I 100 percent don’t have waiting in the wings.

  Knowing Kyle and his awful family, if I fail to pay every cent back, there’s no doubt some kind of indentured servant clause in the fine print that I missed, and I'll be his unwilling slave for the rest of my life.