Power Switch: Power Play Series Book 3

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “Not cleaning toilets,” I mutter, ignoring Sam’s confused head tilt.

  Okay, surely after UT Austin and Harvard, I would've caught something that drastic. But all those months were a blur. All I heard was “out of debt” and didn't consider the long-term effects of signing on with the Birmingham family.

  Now I do. I'd like to say I regret it, but I'm the vice president of the United States, so… I don't. Sure, earlier this year when Kyle was trying to take away the voting rights for the lower class, I regretted my decision to be his running mate, which in turn aided in him winning the White House. But now that we stopped that bill, I'm glad to be in this role. On a daily basis, my team and I help thousands across the states.

  Currently we're fighting for a different way to support low-income families who fall just above the food stamp cutoff. What these fuckers in DC haven't wrapped their brains around is that they’re punishing people who are trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. The second they get a job and push out of the poverty status, thousands of dollars in benefits are ripped away from them, making it impossible to take care of their family and work. Where's the incentive? Why try to find a job, to work hard, if nothing will be better?

  And don't even get me started on low-income housing and what happens if someone gets a bonus or higher-paying job.

  This is why I'm here. This is why I was voted in. To be their voice. To show these asshats the right way to take care of all the citizens.

  “Randi?”

  “Asshats,” I grumble.

  “Excuse me?” he says with a chuckle.

  I wave a hand, dismissing him. “Sorry, wrong conversation.” Damn, I forgot what it's like to be around someone who doesn't understand my level of crazy. Ugh, if he's going to stick around, I'll have to train him in all the “Randi-isms.” Which could be fun. Teacher, student… plaid skirts—on me, not him. Lots of possibilities.

  I bolt out of the chair, slamming the tops of my thighs under the desk.

  Fuck, what is wrong with me? I love Trey. Trey loves me. Stop thinking dirty thoughts about the attractive-as-sin lawyer who keeps getting too close, Randi.

  Just because he's sexy. And smells good. And is smart as hell. And has this arrogant authority thing going on. Oh, and don't forget the tattoos I want to investigate further….

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  I'm in deep shit.

  “You okay? You're all flushed.” I swear there's a hint of humor in his tone. The bastard knows I'm flustered.

  Crap, what if he knows I was thinking about him naked?

  Wait, was I thinking about him naked?

  Well, hell, now I am.

  Ugh, I'm a lost cause.

  “Fine, just hot flashes.”

  Fucking hell, Randi. Now this guy thinks you have the uterus of a fifty-year-old.

  “Right.” Glancing over, he straightens from the desk and slides both hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “We need help, inside help, to gain proof that this is all going on. We need to know who his partners are inside, who he's funneling money to.”

  I shake my head.

  “You heard what that idiot said this morning. If we don't prove that the cost of rising gas prices is due to his dealings, not others’, we’ll go to war. A war where men and women will lose their lives on a lie. Is that what you want, Madam VP?”

  I swallow the bile rising up my throat. Choosing me is selfish. But still, I can't risk it. I can't risk everything I've built, who I've become, for his wild-goose chase.

  Old Randi, sure. She would've jumped in the ring without a second thought.

  But new Randi, well, she's a little more cautious. More is riding on each decision. I have to look at the big picture nowadays. New Randi has more to lose.

  “I'm sorry, but I can't help you,” I whisper, not daring to look him in the eyes. Walking to the bookshelf, I pretended to scan the spines. “I have another meeting I need to prepare for. I think it's time for you to leave.”

  The soft click of his dress shoes echoes around the library. Out of my periphery, I see him pause at the door.

  “I know I didn't know you back then, but I sure as fuck expected more out of you than this. You're no better than the rest of them.”

  With that, he throws open the door and storms out.

  I slump forward, pressing my forehead against the hard spine of a massive book. My stomach cramps at the frustration and disappointment in his voice. The sexy gravelly tone he has going on didn't do anything to soften the blow of his words.

  Movement by the door snags my attention. The soft leather rolls along my forehead as I shift to see who's entered the library.

  T and Trey stand at attention, hands lightly clasped. Blowing out a heavy breath, I stare at the book spines.

  “That seemed to go well,” Trey says, zero humor in his voice.

  I huff. The skin of my forehead peels from the spine as I stand straight. “I need a drink.”

  “No,” T says.

  “Fine, a cigarette.”

  “Negative.”

  “Killjoy,” I retort.

  “Been called worse.” T shoots a mock salute my way.

  A corner of my lips turns upward. “Same.” Hanging my head back, I let out a loud unladylike groan. “Fuck,” I say, drawing it out into multiple syllables.

  “Tell us,” Trey demands. “We can help.”

  I shake my head and turn to my two best friends. “I wish I could. You have no idea. But what he told me is real shit. Beyond Kyle creating that stupid bill to take away voting rights. If I disclose what Sam and I discussed, I could be prosecuted, and I won’t do that to you or to me.”

  A ball of nausea rolls in my gut. Sweat dots along my forehead and dampens beneath my arms. I make quick work of shoving my sleeves up to my elbows before toeing off one shoe, then the other. The cold hardwood quickly soaks into the bottoms of my bare feet, instantly cooling the sudden hot flash.

  I swallow and glance around the library, hoping the answer lies somewhere in this room.

  “But I want to tell you,” I admit.

  T and Trey share a quick look, an unspoken conversation happening in that split second.

  “I think you need to get out of this house,” T says.

  “Okay,” I agree, uncertain of his change in topics but whatever. “But remember, the president wants me dead, which is why I’ve been held captive in this house.” They’ve kept me locked in the house since that night we were ambushed. Going out for the party last night was a rare taste of freedom. No matter how many times I told them, “All work and no play make Randi a dull girl,” they were relentless about keeping me safe in this house.

  Both men nod.

  “My apartment is secure.” My mouth gapes at Trey. “We can keep her away from the windows.”

  “We'll sweep it for bugs—”

  “The hell?” Trey groans. “You're an overprotective busy bee.”

  “Busy bee?” I say on a giggle, rewarding me with an almost smirk from Trey.

  “This is national security we're talking about. Mix that with the two fucktwats, Birmingham and Whit, I'm not taking any chances. We go to your place, scan it for bugs, then… eat lunch.” The exaggerated wink T shoots my way causes a snort to escape. I slap a palm across my nose just as another slips out. “Have Jessica order the food. That way no one knows it's for Randi.”

  My gaze snaps to Trey's. “I'm sorry, what? Is she fucking living with you now?” I take a deadly step toward the two men, my eyes no doubt blazing with jealousy and giving them a peek into the violent side of my crazy.

  “Calm down there, Carrie.” Trey gives T a worried glimpse. “Jessica isn’t living with me. That will never happen. She lives in her own condo, several floors below mine.” Keeping his attention on me like I’m about to strike, he says to T out of the corner of his mouth, “Negative on Jessica. I repeat, negative on Jessica.”

  All the anger and tension se
ep from my tight muscles, leaving them heavy. “Oh. Okay. Whew, you almost died.”

  Wait, can I get jealous when I was just imagining hottie Sam and me playing “spank the student”?

  “Wow,” T says on a whistle.

  “Yeah, I was a little scared, and I've seen her hit.”

  I let out a sarcastic laugh at the two with narrowed eyes. “Hey, I'm getting better. Look at these guns.” Lifting my twig-like arms, I flex, allowing the small hill to bulge along my bicep.

  “You are improving,” T agrees. “Sarah says you've come a long way.”

  Pride radiates in my chest. Sarah, his wife, is one tough cookie, so impressing her is like winning the lottery—it never happens. “Really? She said I was getting better?”

  With a smile, he nods. “Still a long way to go, mind you.” I roll my eyes to the ceiling. “But better than the worthless duck-and-roll strategy you started the training sessions with.”

  “That's what they taught me in elementary school,” I say, hiding my laughter. Trey is right, T is so fun to rile up.

  “That’s tuck and roll,” T says, throwing his large hands in the air in clear exasperation. “That's when you're on fire, not when you're getting your ass—”

  I lose control over my giggles, cutting him off.

  Eyes narrowed, he squints from me to the chuckling Trey. “Funny.”

  “You're not laughing,” Trey points out.

  “I don't laugh.”

  I nod, causing the earlier makeshift messy bun to come unraveled. “Sure you do. I've seen you do it a lot around me.” The pen falls to the floor, and my hair tumbles the rest of the way down my back.

  “That's me laughing at you, not with you.”

  I grasp my chest and lean back against the bookshelf, faking pain. “You cut me deep. Real deep, T.”

  With a roll of his dark eyes, he marches to the library doors and gives an impatient wave out into the hall. “Let's go, you two. I'm fucking starving.”

  5

  Trey

  Why the hell am I nervous?

  Keys in hand, I slide around Randi and the rest of the alpha team to open the condo door. The moment the deadbolt clicks, four of the guys, plus Tank, push past me, shoving the door open. Tank adds a little more shoulder into his push than necessary, making me stumble to keep from falling backward.

  Randi moves around me to follow the five. Snaking an arm around her waist as she passes by, I haul her backward, sealing her back to my chest.

  “Not until they clear the room,” I chastise. “It’s like you've never done this before.”

  She shrugs. “It's your place. No one knew we were coming. What's the big deal?”

  “You. You're the big deal, Randi. Not sure if you've realized it yet, but you're the vice president, and with that comes constant threats. Not everyone agrees with what you’re trying to change in this city, plus the less local threats.”

  “I know,” she grumbles. Relaxing a bit against my chest, she takes a deep breath. “Which floor does Jessica live on?”

  “She’s five floors down.” I tug her closer, relishing the feel of her ass molding around my growing cock. “But she doesn't have the view I do. I pay top dollar to be on this floor and this side.”

  “Oh,” she says mockingly. “So I should be impressed.”

  “Yes.” I press my lips against her ear.

  The feel of her in my arms, each breath calms the unease in my chest that’s taken residence since I woke up this morning. I got a good up close and personal view of the Sam guy, and I hate to admit it, but I agree with Tank—the fucker is sexy. Hell, I kind of want to be him when I grow up. That’s a fucking paper cut to the dick too. I don't want him hanging around her; anyone would be susceptible to someone like him. Hell, I'm straight and I got a little turned on. Nope, not turned on. A man crush. Yeah, that's the cool term. I have a man crush on the guy, and I don't even know him.

  “Clear,” one of the guys calls out from inside the apartment.

  Slowly, I ease my arm from around her, allowing her a bit of room to wiggle out of my grasp. Inside the apartment, she stops suddenly, causing me to crash into her back.

  “Wow,” she says. “Okay, this is amazing. I'll give you that.” She turns fast, her long dark hair fanning around her with the motion. Eyes searching my own, she wraps an arm around my waist. “You'd give this up for me?”

  I nod, unable to express that I'd live in a cardboard box if that made her happy and gave me her. Nothing matters anymore but her. She's my future, my everything. My parents’ money, them threatening to take it all away, doesn’t register as a concern anymore.

  Three years. I just have to get through these three years. Then we can be together, openly, with everyone knowing I’m the luckiest guy in the world because she’s by my side. I get Randi’s earlier concern, wondering if we can do it, if we can make it through the shit show we’ve created with Mother and Jessica. But there isn’t another option. There is no room for failure when it comes to us.

  The repetitive beeps of the sensing wands sound through the living room and toward the bedroom, indicating the team is still conducting the bug sweep. Holding her close, I rest my chin on the crown of her head. Several more minutes pass before they’re finished. Once the rest of the guys move to their stations outside the door and around the perimeter of the building, I reluctantly leave Randi to lower the blackout blinds over the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  The motors whirl until the last bits of sun disappear behind the blinds. A low grumble has me turning to where she stands, arms wrapped around her waist.

  “What’s for lunch?” she asks.

  “I thought I'd cook.”

  “This should be interesting,” Tank grumbles. Elbow to her bicep, he nudges her, which almost sends her toppling over. “He's the worst cook.”

  “Hey, I can cook,” I say defensively. He scoffs. “Okay, fine. I can cook one thing. How about my famous grilled cheese sandwich?” Shrugging out of my jacket, I place it, my holster, and my guns on a side table. Unbuttoning the cuff of one sleeve, I fold it up three times before doing the same with the other.

  Randi's hazel eyes sparkle, locked on my exposed forearms. “Sounds great.”

  “Sounds great,” Tank mocks. “Fuck, you're so cock whipped.”

  Randi and I exchange a glance before busting out laughing. A single happy tear streaks down her cheek. Together we walk into the kitchen. I head for the refrigerator while Tank and Randi slide onto two stools at the bar.

  “You've seen it. Wouldn't you be?” she says, her smile broad and happy.

  Tank snarls and covers his ears.

  “I put bacon, gouda, cheddar, spinach, and tomato on it, cool?” I pull all the ingredients out of the fridge and line them up along the counter. The knife hisses as I slide it from the block. Setting the cheese on a cutting board, I begin slicing.

  Palms against the marble, she stands and ambles around the counter. At my back, I hear the fridge open.

  “Do you have any avocado?”

  I turn to look over my shoulder, pointing to the lowest drawer with the tip of the knife. “If I do, they'd be in there. I think Martha keeps a few on hand.”

  “Martha?” she questions as she rifles through the drawer before pulling out an avocado.

  “Yeah, Martha. My housekeeper and cook.”

  “Wow,” she says, but not in a positive way. My hackles rise at her tone.

  “You act surprised. You saw where I grew up, saw the wealth. Don't be shocked by me having all this,” I say with a little too much annoyance.

  “Um, what?”

  I turn from the eight slices of bread I was buttering and lean back against the counter. “Last night, my parents’ house. My childhood home.”

  “Your childhood home,” Randi says unbelievingly. “Yeah, you said the party was to be held at an estate. Not your estate.”

  “Well, it's not mine.”

  “Technically it is.”

  “No it's not. I
hate that fucking place.”

  Silence falls around the kitchen.

  “So, what did the AAG have to say?” Tank asks, clearly doing his best to ease the awkwardness that’s settled between Randi and me. “You're free to talk here. No bugs, no cameras. Just us.”

  Nibbling on the corner of her thumbnail—how the woman has any nails left, I’ll never know—she steps to the knife block and grabs her own. Her shoulder pressing against my bicep helps ease a bit of the indignation she’d somehow riled up with her words.

  Slicing the avocado in half, she remains silent for several moments.

  “They're investigating Kyle,” Randi finally says. The slow thump of the knife meeting the cutting board echoes through the kitchen. “And I'm a fool. That’s a good way to summarize it.”

  Setting a slice of bread in the hot pan, butter side down, I begin layering the cheeses and toppings. With a spatula, I shift it around, though it’s more to have something to keep me busy than the fact that it needs any attention.

  “It would seem all the anger from the OPEC summit was warranted,” she adds. Moving to the sink, she rinses the knife and rests it in the strainer. Turning so she can face Tank and me, she hops up on the counter, her grasp on the edge white-knuckled. She hangs her head, her dark hair cascading down and creating a barrier. “I was so focused on the bill, stopping that and going to the summits, I didn't see the signs.”

  “Probably his doing,” I say, flipping the sandwich. The butter sizzles, crackling and popping in the pan.

  “What do you mean?” Tank asks.

  “I mean I bet that was his plan from the start. I would even bet my left nut that the bill was just a distraction, something to keep her focus—hell, maybe everyone’s—away from what he's doing behind the scenes.”

  “Please don't bet your nuts,” Randi says with a huff. “They're lovely nuts.”

  “Thanks,” I reply with a wide smile. “I've always thought so.”

  “Can we stop talking about Trey's balls, please?” Tank groans. “What do you mean about the OPEC summit, Randi?”