His silence speaks volumes.
“See?” I toss my hands up and immediately regret it when a burst of cool morning air slides along my toasty body. “You've known and kept it from me. I know your heart was in the right place but still I feel,” I massage a fist against the ache growing in my chest. “I hurt because of it all. I need to separate it, understand why I feel the way I do before I can move on from this.”
His expression falls, his head dropping forward as he nods in agreement.
“Okay,” he croaks. “Space, time. I hear you. I don't like it, but I hear you.”
The distance between us feels like miles as I stare at his broken posture from across the porch. Every muscle screams to run to him, to wrap my arms around his neck and ease the pain he's clearly going through. But I can't. I won't. I deserve the time to process it all. He's had months to work through it, to come to terms with his actions. I've had fifteen minutes.
“Just don't tell me we're over,” he whispers, the words barely audible over the birds’ cheery morning songs.
“Of course not,” I say with force so he knows that's not even a consideration. “I just need a second to think this over. I know you meant well, Trey, and I know you did it for both of us, but I still need time to process it all, you know?”
His shoulders slump, rounding further. I swallow back the building tears and take a step toward the back door. Once inside, I shut the door behind me and lean against it, tugging the blanket tighter around my shoulders and resting my chin on my fists. For the first time in my life, my mind is silent, no internal conversations to decipher through.
Around me, the beta team scuffles about, their loud voices and heavy footsteps barely registering as more than distant background noise.
I almost died.
Trey almost died.
Trey’s engaged.
Raising my shoulders, I take shelter in the thick blanket as I move toward the stairs to get ready for my meeting with Kyle.
First I’ll handle Kyle, and then I’ll process this morning’s conversation.
One thing at a time.
Chapter Twenty-One
Randi
I take a deep inhale of the stale warm air. I’d actually prefer it to be colder than this stuffy, germ-breeding hotness. Careful to keep my movements inconspicuous, I slide two fingers beneath my stiff collar and give a slight tug away from my sweaty skin. Maybe it’s not that warm in here to everyone else, but to me, with my body on high alert, I’m not sure an ice bath would be enough to cool me down. My pulse races beneath my skin, making my core temperature soar even higher.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my dry mouth as my palms dampen with a slick sheen of sweat.
The thick mahogany door stands before me. With a quick glance right and then left, I rap my knuckles against the solid surface. I smooth my palms down my jacket and ensure the bright blue dress shirt remains tucked in on the sides of my black tailored pantsuit. I have a love for good suits, but this one is my favorite by far. The tailor cut it to accentuate the curves I have while hiding the areas that still need 'filling out.' Even with the muscle-building workouts Trey planned out and the self-defense lessons with Sarah, I've only gained ten pounds and have several more to go. Even at five foot seven, my frame is still too thin. Where most see a woman dedicated to her appearance, I see a woman still clinging to her past life. Strange how those two contradict each other in this world. They see someone thick and beautiful where the reality is the person is only eating just enough to stay alive.
Two years ago, when Kyle pulled me from the desolate spot I was in, I hated the idea of the woman I am now. But now that I'm here, I want more, think I deserve more than I was given. A good thing or a bad thing? Who knows.
I knock again, this time putting a little annoyance into my three sharp taps. Before my hand can fall back to my side, the door whooshes open. I take a hesitant step back at the wild look in Kyle's bloodshot eyes. His suit is wrinkled, tie askew, and hair disheveled like he's run his fingers through it too many times.
It’s not even 8:00 a.m.
Not the typical perfectly styled Kyle I'm used to.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
Squaring my shoulders, I step into the Oval Office, barely squeezing between Kyle and the doorframe without touching either. My steps falter when I find Shawn lounging completely relaxed along one of the love seats. I give him a quick once-over but find nothing amiss, unlike Kyle.
Shawn’s gaze cuts to Kyle, his smirk growing to a full grin.
“Yeah, man, what's wrong?” he asks innocently, but the hint of a taunt laces his words.
“Get out, Shawn. Go do your fucking job,” Kyle barks.
The two men engage in a stare-off as Shawn meanders to the door. Before he steps out, he glances back to where I still stand, unmoving, in the middle of the room.
“Good to see you in one piece, Trailer.” That sinister smile of his pulls his lips up. I suppress a terrified shudder. “Maybe next time you won't be so lucky.”
I suck in a quick breath and hold it.
His chuckle continues as he marches down the hall until Kyle slams the heavy wooden door shut, cutting off any noise.
“I heard about last night,” Kyle grumbles as he brushes past me to sit behind the most important desk in history. “How'd you make it out alive?”
Interesting way to phrase that question.
“My secret service team. They got me out and home safely.”
“No fatalities?”
I shake my head. Forcing my feet to move, I walk toward the grouping of couches and lower to sit on the edge of the one Shawn just vacated. “A few injuries but nothing serious.”
Head down, he doesn't look up from the stack of papers he's thumbing through. “That's surprising.”
“How come I don't hear any empathy or shock in your voice?”
His ice blue eyes peer up through dark lashes. “If you're looking for emotional support with me, you're the idiot I always knew you were.”
I flip him the bird. “Then why'd you call me here if not to make sure I'm okay?”
“Couple things. First, are you already packing your bags to head to that shithole you call home?”
I tilt my head, not understanding his question.
“Don't play dumb with me, Walmart. My bill won the House, and we have the Senate locked in. Next month you'll be turning in your resignation to me and getting your ass out of my city. This is the push you need to realize you don't belong here. You're no one, and no one will miss you when you're gone. Hell, someone might even throw me a fucking party.”
Pursing my lips, I hold back the need to tell this fucker it’s not won yet. But something tells me it’s best to keep Trey's parents help to myself. If Kyle knew they were swaying to my side because of their selfless son's love for me, he might put pressure on the few key senators to keep them voting no.
Glancing to my suit pants, I pick at an imaginary piece of lint to avoid showing my hand.
“The OPEC summit—the one I specifically told you not to go to.” His brows raise a fraction, but his Botoxed forehead stays smooth, keeping them from rising higher. Speaking of that…. I graze the pads of two fingers along my own brow, feeling for any wrinkles. “What happened?”
“Why do you care? If you didn't—”
The lamp and bottle of water on top of the desk rattle at his tight fist slamming against the shiny surface. “Just answer me, damnit!” he bellows. A red flush spreads along his cheeks, his nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. “Tell me what happened, every detail.”
Something about the look in his eyes, the 'on the edge of reason' appearance, shifts me into self-preservation mode. So I tell him everything, from the moment I arrived until Air Force Two touched down back in DC. Well, everything minus the random meeting with my new Russian friend. If I've learned anything these past few months, it's good to have secrets up your sleeve, and having the Russian president offering me inside details on thi
ngs he shouldn't know is definitely a secret I want to keep to myself.
“That's it?” he asks, visibly relaxing into his chair.
A soft knock sounds at the door leading to his admin and secretary's area, drawing our attention.
I nearly snort at the beautiful brunette cautiously stepping into the office. From her perfect pencil skirt suit to her flawless makeup, this is exactly who I expect Kyle to have as a secretary.
“Mr. President, Sam with the Department of Justice is holding for you. Again.”
The earlier relief disappears in an instant. Face contorted in anger, Kyle's face flushes scarlet.
“Tell them I'll get to them when I can. Again,” he grits out. The pen in his hand nearly breaks at the pressure of bending at both ends between his hands. “I'm in the middle of a fucking meeting.”
The young woman clears her throat and shuffles from one high heel to the other. “He says he'll hold.”
The small twitch of his head causes my brows to furrow. The way he's avoiding eye contact and the nervous way he fiddles with the pen are a dead giveaway for the reluctance he has with talking to this Sam guy.
“Then let him wait,” he says on a heavy sigh. He runs his fingers through his hair and swivels around to face the large bay windows.
At his obvious rude dismissal, the secretary gives me a sympathetic smile and leaves us alone once again.
Minutes pass after her departure, but still Kyle doesn't say a word, doesn’t turn to face me.
My foot bobs against the oriental rug as I gnaw on my thumbnail. After another minute of silence, I toss my hands in the air. “Guess we're done, then?” Palms against the couch cushion, I make to stand and leave.
“One more thing.” His overstuffed leather office chair is silent as he swivels back around to face me. “Next time I say no, it means fucking no. Don't pull that shit again, or next time you won't be so lucky.”
A tremble starts in my fingers before racking my entire body. It's one thing for the guys to tell me what they suspect or know, but it's a totally different feel when it’s confirmed from the horse’s mouth. Or ass’s mouth, in this case.
“That's attempted murder, you psycho,” I spit out before I can think better of it.
Anger and a bit of fear boil in my gut at his nonchalant chuckle.
“Only if you can prove it, Walmart. Don't you remember that from law school? A conviction only holds if you have evidentiary support. Which I can guarantee you don't have.”
I open my mouth, ready to blast the fool with the fact that I do, but snap it shut at the last second. I need to keep that tidbit to myself for now.
Balling my fingers into a tight fist, I swallow back the words and march for the door. Just as my fingers graze the doorknob, Kyle’s words take root, snapping a light bulb on in my mind.
“Proof,” I whisper. A genuine smile pulls at my lips as I turn to face the man sitting behind the desk once more. “You're right, Kyle. No matter who you are, you have to have proof.”
His lips dip in a frown. “That's what I fucking said. Get out. I have shit to do.”
Eagerly I give him a two-finger salute—What the fuck is wrong with me and hand signals?—and yank the door open before speed-walking down the hall. The two beta team agents flank me as we march through the White House. Practically running down the stairs, I dive into the waiting SUV and immediately search through my laptop bag.
Pulling out my iPad, I open a blank document. Fingers flying across the flat screen, I have ten bullet points down on how we can oppose Trey's mother’s blackmail when I pause. I stare at my list. It's a great list, if I do say so myself. It’s the few cases I remember from law school and others I've randomly followed in the past. This is what I need to show Trey, that the case against him would never make it to court, and if it did, he would win. But there's something holding me back.
Fuckity fuck.
Biting my lip, I pitch the iPad aside and lean back against the leather seat to stare blankly out the side window. Outside, the buildings race by, pedestrians stare at the procession, and cars honk, annoyed that we're inconveniencing them with traffic. A thick ray of sun cuts through the dark tint, warming my cheek. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and hold it to ease the growing ball of dread in my gut.
I have the knowledge. I know the loophole to get Trey out of the mess he's gotten himself into—all for me.
Now the question is do I use it and make a formidable enemy?
Or do I play the political power game where knowledge is power and hold this information close to my chest for now, leaving Trey in the trenches of this political battle he brought on himself?
My heart begs me in one direction while my mind, focused on my political career, tugs me another.
Which one do I listen to?
Chapter Twenty-Two
Randi
July
The celebration is in full swing by the time I arrive. Limos and town cars idle along the tree-lined drive, waiting to drop off their passengers. Careful to not snag the soft silk of my dress, I tug at the tight midsection, hoping to give me an extra inch to take a deep breath for the first time since I slid the beautiful thing on. White is not my normal choice in dress color, but my wardrobe assistant told me it was perfect for this celebratory party.
A single strap cuts across my chest, leaving both shoulders bare. I suggested we leave my tattoos uncovered as an additional slap to Kyle tonight, but I was overruled by, well, everyone. Apparently there are still some parts of me, parts of my past, that people don't want to know about. So after layers of careful tattoo-specific cover-up, both shoulders now appear classy—their words, not mine.
I finger an earlobe, fiddling with the diamond chandelier earrings just to make sure they're still there. No way would I spend the kind of money needed to buy these suckers, but the jewelry shop was more than happy to lend them to me for the night.
The SUV inches forward, drawing us closer to the entrance. Swiping the black clutch from the other seat, I snap it open and pull out my phone. A bolt of anticipation shoots to my gut as I press the Home button with the hopes of seeing a text from Trey. The anticipation evaporates, leaving behind disappointment at the blank screen.
Today was a whirlwind for him too, preparing for the party and keeping his mother placated. It’s no surprise he hasn't reached out in the twenty minutes it took for us to drive over here. We've texted all day, mostly him making sure I'm okay and not planning to bail on tonight. It was a valid concern to have; all day my stomach has twisted with nerves.
After tonight, when his mom introduces Trey and Jessica to everyone as a new up-and-coming power couple, it’ll be hard to turn back. But this is what needs to happen. This has to go forward if I want anything to go smoothly over the next three years I'm in office.
After leaving the White House that day, I realized making enemies with his mom, all for a man, was putting my eggs in one basket, so to speak. A man who I like a lot, but love?
What is love anyway?
I thought I loved Ben way back in the day, but look how that turned out.
My love for Mom is so dysfunctional that it would take years of therapy to untwist that relationship.
I do love Tae, with all my heart, but that's a different type of love. That love is incomparable to any other.
I think.
Pursing my lips, I slide them back and forth along the layers of red lipstick.
Maybe after the life I’ve had, I'm incapable of real connection. I didn't have anyone to lean on, no one to really trust and depend on. But now there's Trey. But is great sex and dependability love? I'd rather be around him than anyone else. I trust him wholeheartedly. I'd do anything for him and know he feels the same. My heart races when he's around, but that could also be because he's smoking hot and always looks damn edible in his tailored suits and sexy smirks.
Where’s the line between lust and love? And how do you know which side you're on?
I pitch forward sligh
tly as the SUV comes to a slow stop. With a deep breath, I turn, angling my knees toward the door, preparing to step out once it opens. Warm summer air breezes through the SUV as the door swings outward. A dark mitt of a hand extends into the SUV. With a small smile on my perfectly painted lips, I grasp T's hand and step out onto the path.
“No seat belt?” he grumbles as he flicks his gaze from me to the back seat.
I shake my head, the soft waves of my dark hair gliding along my exposed back. “It would wrinkle the dress.”
“Wrinkles or potential death by being thrown through glass. Yeah, I can see how wrinkles won out.”
My red-tipped fingers pat his wide shoulder. “It's okay, T. I'm here and safe. No more worrying. We won, remember?” My smile grows wider as I take in the beautiful estate in front of me. “We fucking won.”
“That you did, Randi.” A hint of adoration seeps into his softly spoken words. “Now everyone in DC knows you're someone to reckon with.”
“So, smooth sailing the next few years?” I ask facetiously. Of course, thinking that would be as dumb of me as believing I'll ever have my pet unicorn. No matter how much I wish it, that doesn’t mean it’ll come true. Seriously though, how awesome would it be to have a pet that could impale people? It could be my secret assassin. “That would be so cool. Death by unicorn.”
“I don't even want to know.” T chuckles.
The thick summer air feels heavy on my exposed skin as I walk toward the front door, which swings open the moment I'm close. Candles flicker inside, creating a warm feel to the space while the glittering chandeliers sparkle and dazzle with their brilliance. Most conversations stop as I move through the crowd. The weight of a thousand eyes tugs at my shoulders, but I continue forward, my gaze set on the most beautiful thing in this room.
Power Twist: Power Play Series Book 2 Page 22