Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  A girl really could get used to this.

  From trailer to vice president in less than two years was a big culture shock to say the least. Yes, the clothes are different, the food is better, and the 24-7 security is a nice perk, but it's the absence of financial worry that's the biggest change. Before, every minute of every day was spent worrying about money and how I needed more. A lot more.

  My heels click on the concrete stairs as I descend toward the awaiting limo. A shiver of apprehension causes me to stumble forward, and I barely catch myself before toppling the final few steps. Tonight, the party plus the limo home is all too similar to the night someone attacked me last year. Even though the person was caught, we still don't know who was behind it all.

  Our guess? Shawn Whit. There wasn't any evidence to support our claim, but me, my secret service team, we all know it was him.

  I slide easily across the smooth black leather seat as I scoot toward the center. I tug the dress’s train so it doesn't catch in the door when a head dips inside. Honey brown eyes meet mine in the shadows of the limo, a familiar sexy smirk pulling on lips I’m dying to taste again.

  “See ya at home, Mess.”

  The door slams shut, locking me inside alone.

  Home. At least for the next four years. Four years to make a difference in the world for the working class and those many Americans who fall below the poverty line. I promised them I’d be their voice if they voted for me. Now it's time to come through on those promises.

  Leaning back, I close my eyes and sigh, letting the night’s stressors fade.

  Now the real work begins.

  * * *

  I wrap the thick blanket tighter around my shoulders, warding off the damp late night air. Large puffs of frosty breath cloud with each exhale before floating down the wraparound porch and vanishing into the night. This porch is one of the many beautiful perks of my new home. One Observatory Circle isn't new by any means, but it is updated, and the character of the old Victorian is priceless in my eyes.

  The white wicker chair creaks as I shift to tuck my knees against my chest. Wrapping the blanket around my shins, I stare out into the backyard, focusing on the brilliant crystal clear waters of the swimming pool. Yep, I have a swimming pool. A heated one at that. I shake my head and rest my cheek on top of my blanket-covered knee.

  “Long night?”

  My cheek slides against the blanket as I smile at the familiar voice but don't turn to look.

  “My partner in crime was nowhere to be seen, so yeah, long night.” I close my eyes and sigh. “Where were you anyway? I looked for you.”

  A suited waist steps into my line of vision, forcing me to tilt my head back to meet Trey's eyes.

  “You know I can't be with the inside detail during those things.” I nod in understanding when I really don't. “It's best if I stay hidden. It makes it easier on everyone.”

  “You mean you,” I say with a shrug. “I missed you. I mean, I love T and all, but you’re more fun.”

  Trey squats, putting us eye to eye. Two fingers slide along my forehead before tucking a rogue lock of dark hair behind my ear. A shiver zaps down my spine, heating my core at his touch.

  “You looked beautiful,” he mutters while his eyes scan every inch of my face. “It's why they hate you.” I raise my brows in silent question. “All those women, they spend thousands trying to replicate what you have naturally.”

  Actually, it’s not naturally. I shake my head and break his gaze to press my chin to my knee. The way I look now—the perfect skin, gorgeous healthy hair, weight in all the right places, zero wrinkles, and straight teeth—is due to the man I hate. Kyle Birmingham. Looking the VP role was part of the initial agreement. Now here I am, the perfect political Barbie.

  At least I don't have to lie about my background anymore. Everyone knows my cringe-worthy upbringing and still voted for me. I say voted for me and not Kyle, since I'm the reason he won the White House. He said from the start most voters didn’t want another pompous politician which is why he came to me in the first place. After my background was unexpectedly released to the media the polls swung in our favor proving without a doubt I’m the reason we’re in these new roles not Kyle.

  “You know all this is fake,” I say, waving an edge of the blanket toward my face. “Kyle paid a lot of money to help me look this way.”

  “No.” I side-eye him, watching his face scrunch in determination. “Maybe all that stuff helped enhance what was already there, but you, Randi Sawyer, are beautiful with or without that shit.”

  I give him a shy smile. “Thanks. I'll stick with believing the truth though. But you can keep believing that lie all you want.” I laugh.

  For a few seconds, neither of us says a word, building taut tension with each passing second. Like a magnet drawn to metal, an unseen force urges me closer to Trey until I'm almost toppling out of the chair right into him.

  The past few months of staying apart, fighting this natural draw, have been hell. All I want is his calloused hands cupping my face and pulling me close. His lips sliding against my own while his fingers twist and pinch, creating the delicious torture I miss.

  “Randi,” Trey says reluctantly. His hot breath warms my cheek. I blink, pulling back an inch, surprised I’d gotten so close. “Please stop.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter, righting myself back into the chair. I tuck my chin in the hope that Trey doesn’t catch my embarrassed blush.

  What the hell was I thinking? Burying my face deeper into the blanket, I shake my head. He said stop. My heart clenches as the word repeats in my mind. Maybe it isn’t driving him crazy like it is me that we can’t be together.

  Per T, the lead of my Alpha secret service team, an agent ‘mingling’ with the VP is a big no-no. Though, I haven't found that particular rule documented in my research—yes, I’ve researched. Anyone would when it comes to the sexy-as-hell agent. Since T found us in bed together that morning, he’s been adamant that the relationship Trey and I had started to form through the course of the campaign is over.

  And it has been ever since that day.

  Ugh, wallowing in this pitiful state does me no good. I need a distraction, to change topics, to choke on my own spit—anything to break the awkwardness surrounding us.

  “Did you hear Kyle wants me at the White House tomorrow morning at eight?” I ask, my words muffled by the blanket. “He mentioned he has some topics I’ll be interested in. Sounded fishy. When has Kyle ever helped me when he didn’t have something to gain too?”

  The chair tilts to the side and a groan of pain pierces the quiet as Trey shoves off the wicker to stand. Nose still tucked into the plaid blanket, I peer up to where Trey now leans with his back against a white decorative pole of the railing.

  “What's he playing at?” he muses, his eyes fixed above my head, completely avoiding mine. “At least you don't have to wait long to know. Best to figure out his game plan and tackle it from there.” He glances down at his watch. Lips pursed, he resituates his coat sleeve over his wrist. “I'm out of here in a few, and tomorrow's my day off. I won’t be there—”

  “It's okay,” I say, attempting to put some strength into my voice. “I'll be fine. I can fill you and T in the next time I see you.” I give him a dismissive wave beneath the thick blanket. “Go, have a good night.” The tight, fake smile hurts my cheeks, my eyes burning with unshed tears.

  Fuck, why does this hurt so much? Acting like his indifference, his rejection doesn’t fucking slice me to the core. Because it does. Every step he moves away, the distance, every impersonal conversation wound my still-tender heart. The heart he softened with his sweet words and gentle touch all those scarce moments alone during the campaign.

  “Randi—,” he starts, empathy dripping in his soft tone, but cuts himself off with a muttered curse.

  “Forget it,” I bite out. Palms digging into the thin wooden rods, I shove out of the chair, the blanket pooling around my light gray Uggs. “See you when I see you,�
�� I toss over my shoulder as I hurry inside the house before the pooling tears can spill over.

  You’d think after two months of this cold side of Trey, I’d be immune to it by now. But nope, it still hurts.

  T shoots me a confused glance as I rush past him toward the stairs. His mouth opens, readying to say something, but I stop him with a hard look. I shouldn't be annoyed at him, but he’s the cause of my current pain. He's the one who halted the one relationship I can’t get enough of, keeping me away from the one man I crave.

  I make it halfway up the stairs when a lone tear escapes to drip down my cheek. I hastily wipe it away with the back of my hand before it’s visible on the security cameras for all the agents to see. The bedroom door bangs shut behind me as I storm toward the bathroom.

  Hands gripping the marble vanity top, I hang my head. Every night, every day has been the same heartrending agony. Seeing him, wanting him, and not having him. Of his casual smiles, easy laughs, and cold touches. At least I only have to endure this cruel form of soul-crushing torture for 1,460 more days.

  Fuck. Me.

  Chapter Two

  Randi

  “Get me a coffee while you're up, sweetheart.”

  I grind my teeth to keep the building scream from letting loose. “I told you once, Dick”—his name isn’t Richard—“I'm not your secretary or your wife. Get it yourself.”

  The Oval Office vibrates with the other men's resounding chuckles. The coffee carafe trembles in my white-knuckled grasp. Four damn hours of their shit. A drop of coffee sloshes over my mug, landing on the crazily ornate coffee cart. With a muttered curse, I swipe a napkin off the stack to wipe up the mess.

  “Watch your mouth with the House minority leader.” Kyle’s hot breath brushes against my ear. I fight the urge to shrug him off, slamming my elbow back into his soft stomach and forcing him back an inch instead. “Careful, Randi,” he practically growls. Gripping the offensive elbow, he gives it a too-tight squeeze. “Remember who holds your leash.”

  Anger churns in my gut. I want to defend myself, say I’m not his damn puppet, but I can’t. I willingly signed the initial agreement to support him, to continue playing this game during the campaign and after, if we won, or I’ll legally be liable to pay every dime back. The massive debt he paid off, the year he's paid for Taeler's school, the expensive wardrobe, the makeover—all of it. In summary, a shit ton of money which I do not have.

  “Your part is next, Walmart.”

  The moment he walks away, I release the breath I was holding to keep from gagging on his overpowering cologne.

  “Finally,” I mutter into my coffee mug as I turn toward the center of the room.

  Five men, plus Kyle, convene around the Oval Office, chatting and laughing like they've been best friends since the beginning of time. It's all fake, I know it is—deep down, they hate each other and would do anything for the upper hand—but it doesn't make the feeling of being left out any less hurtful. I stepped into a proverbial boys’ club, and I'm the odd one out with my morals and a vagina.

  At least Shawn isn't here.

  I tilt my head as I list off the men’s titles in the room. There’s the secretary of state, House minority leader, Senate majority leader, plus two advisors, but no Shawn. This morning Kyle proposed to the group to select Shawn as Secretary of Interior, which caught me off guard. It’s an odd move unless Kyle has a hidden agenda behind the choice.

  Mental note: dig into that oddity at a later date.

  “Let's transition to the voting bill,” Kyle says, shooting a sly smile in my direction as he rests on the edge of the enormous dark wood desk.

  Max Holster, House minority leader, leans forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. His brown eyes meet mine before flicking to Kyle, who's still wearing a shit-eating grin.

  “Your proposal is drastic, but it makes sense,” Max says. He clears his throat and fiddles with the gold wedding band around his left ring finger.

  Fucking hell, the suspense is killing me. I roll my eyes and mutter as much into my coffee mug. This meeting could've been over hours ago, but no, they like to make everything so fucking dramatic and gossip like high school girls. At least I know Brad's wife likes it in the ass, because that's information I really needed to be aware.

  “We should have the votes in the House, but it will be close in the Senate.”

  I hold out a hand, stopping him from continuing. “Hold up there, Maximillian.” Again, not his name. “Let's take a quick step back and go over the details of the voting bill one more time.” Or the first time, since Kyle seems to think it's a fun game to keep me out of the loop. He always did enjoy seeing me floundering in uncertainty.

  Max arches a perfectly plucked brow. Seriously, does he get those threaded or something, because I might need to get his girl’s number.

  “Revoking voting rights to anyone below a certain yearly income level.”

  I forget how to breathe. My gaze slides from Max to Kyle, whose shit-eating grin has turned into a full-on smile.

  “Come again?” I say, hoping I heard him wrong. “Surely I didn't hear you correctly.”

  “Ah, but you did, Madam VP,” Kyle grinds out, sounding like my title burns his fucking throat. “We've done a study that Americans below a certain income level don't have the intelligence—or mental capacity, rather—required for selecting candidates with the proper backgrounds and experiences to lead them. Present company included.”

  The building anger and frustrations from the past year and a half boil over. Red darkens my vision as I narrow my eyes on the man I truly loathe. My fingers tighten around the warm mug. I don’t think just react to the sheer rage racing through my veins. I slam the full mug to the floor with as much power as I can muster. Shards of ceramic splinter around the room, coffee splattering over my pants and the pants of the others. Everyone shouts jumping to avoid the mess.

  “What the fuck, Kyle?” I seethe as I shove off the couch. I lunge for the still-cowering president when strong arms band around my own, sealing them to my side and hauling me backward. I fight against the person’s strong grasp. “Get off me,” I yell, anger obliterating any hold I have on decorum.

  “Everyone out.” Kyle’s sharp tone cuts through the chaos. I shiver when his ice blue eyes meet mine, rage flickering around the edges. “Now,” he booms, slamming his fist on the desk. Eyes wide in fear and awe, the men shuffle out of the room. “You too.” Kyle's eyes glare above my head.

  “Sir—”

  “I. Said. Out,” he growls. His knuckles drain of color as he tightens his hold along the desk’s edge.

  I gasp in a deep breath when the overbearing hold loosens. Free to move, I turn just as a suited man steps out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  My fingers tremble with rage and fear. Fucking shit, what did I just do? Showed my level of crazy, that's what.

  I swallow against a dry throat as I turn back to face Kyle only to stumble back a step. Anger radiates from where he still sits perched on the edge of the desk, his chest heaving.

  “You will pay for that little display,” he says. Releasing his death grip on the desk, he shakes out his hands and stands. For each of his steps forward, I take a cautious one back. A solid surface presses against my lower back, my head colliding with the wall.

  “You can't do that.” My voice cracks from the fear shaking my insides. “It's their constitutional right.” Dread sinks in my gut. What have I done, helping this fucker get elected? “There's no way—”

  My next words catch in my throat when thick fingers wrap around it. His grip tightens, sealing off my airway; only a sliver of air slides through with each desperate breath. My nails dig into the exposed skin of his wrist, clawing for freedom.

  “There is always a way.” He leans close. Cold lips sweep along my cheekbone. My knees give out, his hand on my neck the only thing keeping me upright.

  “I'll stop you,” I rasp out. Black dots sprinkle my vision.

&nb
sp; He scans my face, pausing on my lips. “You think you can stop this from happening? Think you can gain enough supporters to side with your bleeding heart?”

  I attempt a nod but whimper as the pain spikes down the back of my neck. The slick soles of my heels slide along the pristine carpet, desperate for traction.

  “Challenge accepted, Walmart. We'll see who wins.”

  Slowly his fingers loosen their grip. I slump to the floor, gasping for air. Hands gently grasping my tender neck, I tuck into a tight ball. Traitorous tears slide down my cheeks. Eyes sealed shut, I attempt to block out the joy in his arrogant chuckle.

  “Pathetic,” he mutters somewhere in the distance. “Get up and get out. Countdown is on, Randi. I'm taking this to vote before the end of the year. Better use your time for gaining opposers to my bill instead of crying on the fucking floor.”

  I snap my eyes open at the sound of the door opening. Palms against the floor, I push up to lean back against the wall. The coolness seeps through my white dress shirt, calming my overheated skin. Anger, worry, and fear mix in my gut, scattering my thoughts and emotions.

  “Shouldn't she be on her knees?” Shawn says with a condescending smirk. He tucks his hands into his suit pants and pauses beside Kyle. “Skirt next time, Trailer. If you’re going to sit on the floor, at least make sure we get a good view of the cunt Benson’s ensnared by.”

  Thank fuck that I opted for the fitted black pantsuit today. A ‘power suit,’ I thought when I picked out this outfit. Now look at me.

  I give my head a small shake and angle my knees together, breaking Shawn's desire-filled stare.

  “I’m assuming this means you enlightened Trailer about your brilliant bill proposal,” Shawn says, half turning to Kyle. He moves around the room, taking in the various pictures of past presidents before pausing on a serene farming landscape. “And I’ll take a shot in guessing she’s not a fan.” He cuts his near-black eyes to where I still sit on the floor.