Only one came to fruition. But hey, at least the few community projects I’ve spearheaded and after-school programs are successful.
His words finally sink in, smacking me in the face. I hold up a hand. “Why did your advisor even know about me being mayor? Are you keeping tabs on me?” My voice rises with each word.
“I wasn’t until a recent development.” He leans back in the chair, relaxed hands clasped on his lap. “It was brought to my attention because I need someone like you.”
What? I collapse back in the chair, eyes sealing shut. Face to the ceiling, I blow out a tight breath. “I’m imagining all this, aren't I? I’ve officially sailed from the land of sanity, now floating aimlessly on the sea of lunacy.”
“You always were a strange one.” I peek one eye open, shooting him an annoyed glare. “It was one reason I hesitated at the mention of you for our plan, but here I am.” His eyes flick around the office, disgust written across is perfect features. “You're my only option, or I wouldn’t be here, believe me.”
“Still not following,” I mutter as I rub both thumbs against my temples. There isn’t enough Tylenol in the world to hold off the headache this man’s presence invokes.
A jostle, then footsteps draw my attention back across the desk. My horny side revels in the way his fit body folds out of the wobbling chair to stand. Long, lean fingers make quick work of his suit jacket’s buttons, securing them once again. I chew on a nail as my eyes skim up and down his fancy suit. Damn. He really is beautiful. Silky jet-black hair cut and styled to perfection makes those piercing blue eyes shine, a clean-shaven jaw showing off spotless tan skin, straight nose, and dimpled chin create a Greek god come to life.
No guy should be this pretty. Evolution fucked up with him in so many ways. Why make a man with all that and a greedy black heart?
Yes, his behavior in law school was cruel, but his malicious nature goes deeper than name-calling. He's corrupt greed personified. It’s in his arrogant looks, the emotionless aura surrounding him. There’s no doubt he would take me out right here in this office if he heard it would benefit him monetarily or advance his career.
But that’s a modern politician for you. Kyle Birmingham is one of thousands of corrupt bastards in DC. In that city, it’s who can bribe or blackmail to get what you want done for yourself. It has nothing to do with doing right by the American people anymore. Their voice has been forgotten, thrown aside by the politicians assuming their superior mind knows what’s best, when they haven’t lived a day below the 1 percent—hell, below the upper middle class.
I shake my head to clear the random internal rant. Suspicion and curiosity grow as Kyle paces from one side of the office to the other.
He pauses, turning with his perfectly plucked brows pulled together. “I'm running for president in the next election.”
My brows rise and my head tilts. “Congratulations, I guess? If you’re here to gain my vote, you won’t get it. I’d fill in Betty White as a write-in candidate before I check the box voting you for president of the United States.”
“That's why I’m here. The fucking initial surveys say I'm an unfavorable candidate. Can you believe that? Me,” he shouts. Pacing once again, he runs both hands through his black hair, disrupting the gelled style. “Apparently, the Birmingham name is associated with a dynasty in DC, like we’re the damn Kennedys or something. Ignorant voters seem to think it's time for a change.”
I raise my hand and nod in agreement. “Not ignorant, aware. I agree it’s time for a change in that city.”
“Why?” He stops behind the chair, both hands grasping the back as he tilts forward. I hold back from breathing deep as another strong waft of cologne infiltrates my nose.
“Nothing gets done anymore,” I say with a held breath. “It's all pomp and circumstance. Nothing is being done to ease the burden on the lower class; instead we're taxed and taxed. All for the sake of more government programs that do shit because the money is mismanaged or whoever’s running it doesn’t understand the real plight of the American people.” Palms down, I push off the desk’s worn wooden top to stand. “We need someone who's been here, understands what it’s like living below the poverty line and never, ever believing you'll break out of it. Someone who fights for our rights, our freedoms instead of handing them over to some jackass in Washington who thinks he knows better.”
My chest heaves, eyes locked with his, tense silence growing with every second he doesn’t respond. The wind howling outside the window and the clicking of nails as Jennifer types on the other side of the thin walls the only sounds.
“I one hundred percent disagree with you,” he finally says. “But if I want to win the election, I need to embrace these fanatic beliefs. Which—” Kyle clears his throat. “—is why I'm here.”
Hell. Either alcohol or nicotine is needed to process this shit and I only have one of those on me.
My legs wobble like a newborn calf as I move from behind the desk to the side window. I snag the pack of cigarettes Jennifer left and pop one between my lips. The window rattles open, a welcomed blast of cold, dry air cooling my heated skin. “You’re here to ask me, Walmart, for my help?” Sparks fly from the flint as I flick the lighter twice, lighting the end of my cigarette. “To what, teach you how to have a fucking heart for the American people? To guide you on what it's like to be poor?”
“No.” Kyle steps to my side, eyes narrowed at the cigarette. “That’s a disgusting habit. And I don't need you to teach me, Walmart. I know who I am, and I know what I want. Adjusting to the voters’ perception of me is simply a roadblock, one I already have a plan to overcome. You by my side.”
Mid-inhale, I laugh, sending the cloud of smoke barreling down the wrong pipe. Tears well and my stomach tightens at the violent coughing attack it brings on.
“By your side?” I croak, throat raw. I bark a raspy laugh. “You can't be serious.”
Right? He’s crazier than me.
“I'm offering freedom, Walmart. Don't mock the hand that can save your poor ass.”
I grind my teeth, jaw clenched tight.
“Nothing would convince me to help—”
“All your debt paid off, gone.” Well, nothing except that. He smirks at my silence, knowing he has my full attention. “I'm talking about changing your life, the life of your kid. Pull your head out of your white trash ass and listen to what I'm willing to offer before saying you'd never partner with me.”
As much as I don't want to hear what he has to say, I do. Talk about conflicting emotions. Do I want to stab him with any sharp object within reach, hell yes. Do I also want the chance of a debt-free life for Tae, fuck yeah. I’ll give a kidney right here—hell, I’d even cut it out of my own body with a letter opener—to erase all the debt I've accrued over the years. Between student loans, which are currently in arrears, and the few maxed-out credit cards, I’m on the cliff of bankruptcy.
Add in being on the verge of homelessness and recently waterless….
That all sounds great, but at what cost? With men like Kyle Birmingham, everything has a cost. Every word, every move is a power play of some kind in their fucked-up game of life.
“I'm listening.” I glare at his bleached-white, straight-toothed, victorious grin. “Begrudgingly, of course.”
“Wouldn't expect anything less from you.” His features harden as his eyes scroll over me from head to toe. A grimace deepens with each inch his dissecting gaze covers.
I squirm under his scrutiny. Here he is in a thousand-dollar suit—well, that’s a wild guess, since I’ve never seen one before, but with the way said suit hugs his lean frame, there's no doubt it’s expensive—and me, well, my dark-wash jeans lost their dark a hundred washes ago. My blazer, a recent Goodwill find, has seen better days, and let’s not even get started on my hair. I freaked out at finding a gray hair two weeks ago and hightailed it to the Dollar General for a box of dark brown hair dye.
“What the hell did you do to your hair?”
My mood sours.
“I found a gray hair,” I say like it explains everything, but by the look of his furrowed brows, it only explains things to a woman.
“It’s the color of day-old dog shit.”
“That's oddly specific,” I retort, nervously leaning toward the desk as I gather the ugly strands. Grabbing a chewed pencil, I stab the pointy end through the messy bun I constructed and turn back to him.
“A complete makeover will be needed, obviously. Hell, maybe we could find someone to make you somewhat attractive.” Those ice-blue eyes narrow as he scans down my frame. I wrap both arms around my waist at the click of his tongue. “Complete wardrobe plus a diet plan and workout regimen. You look like a fucking meth addict.” He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose between two fingers. A clear sheen reflects off his nails. Of course he gets manicures. “Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this. Grasping at damn straws. Those assholes better be right about all this, or I'll kill them myself.”
“You're wasting your breath—”
“All expenses paid by the Birmingham trust. Plus a monthly allowance.”
“Allowance,” I seethe. “I'll show you where you can shove your allowance, you asshat.”
“Ten grand a month.”
“Oh, well, uh,” I stammer. Shit, that’s a lot of money. But again, what’s the cost? He's conveniently only covered the perks of the 'help' he needs. “For what, Birmingham? My soul?”
Kyle's chest rumbles, a deep chuckle vibrating through the office. “Basically. All this for your help during the campaign and after.”
“After?” I hold a breath. I swear a suspenseful score plays somewhere in the background.
“While I'm president.”
I swipe my tongue across my dry lower lip. “And I'm… I'm what? Your advisor on how not to be a conniving, greedy asshole? Not sure there's hope for accomplishing that.”
My stomach sinks at the Cheshire grin spreading across his flawless face. Apprehension builds, but no matter what he says, I can’t turn down what he’s offering. It’s a new life. A chance to get Taeler out of this town, to show everyone I can break the cycle.
“No, Walmart. My wife.”
Well, except that.
“But I hate you,” I respond, each word slow in case he somehow forgot our feud. “And you hate me. Hell, we can't be in the same room without plotting the other’s slow death.”
Or maybe that’s just me. My imagination does tend to lean toward violence.
“Moot point.” He shoves both hands into the pockets of his expensive slacks that accentuate his figure. “Most married couples hate each other, but it doesn't matter. I'm talking about you as my pawn, not someone I love.” He snorts with one more condescending look up and down. “This offer will change your pathetic excuse for a life. Think about never having to worry about money again, about the opportunities that will be available after the four years. Don't think short term, think about your life, about your daughter’s. You want her to grow up piss-ass poor with zero hope of ever rising above the lower middle class, just like her mom, because you’re too self-righteous to accept a simple proposal?”
“You asshole,” I manage through gritted teeth. Fuck, I hate him. “I know what's on the line. You don't need to remind me of my shitty-ass life.” Breaking from his stare, I glance out the window. My chest expands, lungs filling with a deep calming breath to ease the resentment and anger clouding my thoughts.
“Your daughter applied to several colleges and was accepted to a few, yet she hasn't committed to one.”
A sharp breath catches in my chest. “How do you know that?”
He waves a perfectly manicured hand in dismissal. “We’ll pay for her college too, along with expenses and housing to ensure your… continued cooperation through the campaign and after if—no, when I win.”
Hell, that's a lot of money in and of itself. Not to mention all the other perks.
“Why?” I blurt. “What can I do as your wife? What does that change for you in the campaign?”
“It eases my image. The people will see I understand their plight, have a voice in my ear from their perspective. With your background, people will eat up the rags-to-riches story you’ll tell them. It’ll be like saving an injured animal. People will fucking love me.”
Oh hell.
He’s serious.
But….
The biggest question is, can I do it? Be with him every day, playing pretend wife, all while I hope he dies of a heart attack with no one around to help him? And toss in lying to the American people about Kyle’s true self daily, using my shitty history as a talking point in the campaign.
Can I live with being his pawn?
Chapter Three
Randi
“Jack on the rocks.” Exhaustion slurs my words. I slide onto an empty barstool and hold up two fingers to the expecting bartender. “And keep them coming.”
This bar is exactly what I need. The other patrons are clustered together in their own booths, leaving the bar entirely empty. It’s a local place that used to be busy until the Chili’s opened up down the road last year. Now most nights it’s like this, a few customers and the lone bartender. It’s not updated, but it has stools, booths, and alcohol—all the things a bar needs. Sure, the floors are constantly sticky, the lights are dim, and dust puffs up when you sit on a booth bench, but the happy hour is phenomenal.
I couldn’t force myself to go home. Not with Kyle’s offer consuming my every thought. I gnash my teeth at the text still on the screen from Taeler. She doesn’t want to stay at the trailer tonight—I don’t have water after all—deciding to stay with her grandparents instead. They already think I can’t take care of my own daughter, and instances like this just prove them right.
Hell, I can barely take care of myself these days.
Maybe everyone is right. I’ll never amount to anything. I should just toss in the towel.
I scratch a chewed-up fingernail along my scalp, raking my fingers through my dirty hair. A section of the slick brown strands falls in front of my eyes. I inspect it, holding it up to the light. Damn, Kyle was right. It looks like day-old dog poop. But the box of dye was five dollars, so… it is what it is.
But does it have to be?
I shake my head, swiping the locks behind my ear, and grip the chilled highball glass in front of me. I take a slow sip of the whiskey. The rows of liquor bottles behind the bar blur before me.
Debt free. Plus the monthly ten grand from now until he's out of the White House. All for me. After the 'wife' bomb, he spent the next hour detailing his expectations.
The contract.
I would stand by his side, allow my background to be used as a way to make him seem more human. Pretty much he needs Trailer Park Barbie next to him to show the voters he isn't the aristocratic douche they assume he is at the core. Which he is, so basically I’ll lie, which isn't ideal, but no credit card debt and zero student loans to pay back, plus changing Taeler's life, make a convincing argument for hoodwinking the American people.
The last few drops of Jack slither down my throat, leaving a warm burn in their path. The slap of the glass on the smooth wood of the well-used bar signals the bartender for another.
A shadow creeps over, followed by the shuffle of feet to my right. “Celebrating or drowning your sorrows?”
Resting my chin on my shoulder, I flash Ben a tired smile. I should hate him, but I don’t. He left me pregnant and scared, let his parents take Tae away from me. A piece of me might love him. Well, maybe not him but the memory of him, of the fun and love we shared before those two pink lines appeared. Maybe when the right man comes along, it’ll make me realize my hang-up on Ben is simple infatuation and inability to let go of the past.
The right man. I huff and reach for the fresh glass of whiskey. Like that will happen.
In undergrad I was too busy studying and working to date, plus no one wanted to date the single mom. Then during law school, no one would touch me with a te
n-foot pole because of the shit Kyle spread around about me. You would think those fancy-schmancy idiots would know poor choices and low economic status doesn’t rub off with skin-to-skin contact.
“Both,” I say after taking a quick sip as he slides on to the stool to my right.
“Budweiser.” The bartender nods before turning to the cooler that holds the longneck bottles. “Do I need to kick that rich pussy's ass?” His smirk grows into a full-on mischievous smile. I love that smirk; it makes me forget to be overwhelmed. “I went to State in wrestling, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.” Mostly because he won't let anyone in a ten-mile radius forget.
“Those were the good old days, am I right?” His Adam’s apple bobs with each long pull he takes of the beer.
“Maybe for you,” I murmur. “I was pregnant and then had a baby to keep alive and fight to keep.”
His shrug has sparks firing in my veins. Idiot. He really didn’t get it then and still doesn’t. He doesn't remember how difficult it was balancing school and taking care of an infant because he wasn't there. A slice of pain cuts through my heart at the memory of Ben breaking it off after I announced I was pregnant. He loved me but wasn't ready for that kind of commitment. Like love isn't.
“I'm sorry for not telling you about Taeler's decision. I really am.” His short nails scrape at the bottle’s label as he stares at the bar. “But it is her decision, and I can't blame her. I know you tried to make something of yourself, but look at you now. Was it worth it?”
All those years separated from Taeler plus the lifetime of debt I accumulated. Was it worth it?
“Yeah it was. Still is.” I sigh into the glass at my lips before taking a sip of whiskey. The warmth blooms in my belly, adding to that first glass. For the first time today, I’m not chilled. “At least I know. At least I tried. That means everything. Sure, it’s not what I expected, but I'm not giving up, and I feel like that's what she's doing. She's letting a little roadblock stop her from trying. What's the point of living if you don't risk everything for the dream of something better?”
Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1 Page 3