Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  “What did he want, anyway?”

  I spin the base of the thin glass on the bar, the remaining slivers of ice swirling together. “A job offer of sorts.” A little embellishment never hurt anything. “It could solve all my financial problems, but… I don't know. I hate the guy.”

  Ben's warm hand wraps around my wrist, stopping the glass. Turning on his stool, he leans forward, putting his face inches from mine. His long blond lashes flutter, drawing attention to his soft baby blue eyes.

  “Is he asking you to do something illegal?”

  “No.” Unless you count lying about his character.

  “Did he ask you for favors that involve your pussy?”

  I cringe, sliding back on the stool. “So crass.”

  “Like you have room to talk. Answer me.”

  “No, he's not looking for sexual favors in return for money, also known as prostitution, which is illegal, which I covered with my 'no' answer to your first question.”

  “Smartass.” The grip on my wrist tightens, sending a shot of excitement straight to my lady parts. What does it mean that a controlling grip gets me hot but a delicate one bores the shit out of me? Hmm, some hands-on research is needed. “I don't see the problem, then,” Ben says, turning back to his beer.

  My eyes are locked on my wrist, warmth still seeping into my skin from the earlier contact. “Exactly,” I muse. “It could be fun research.”

  “What?” he says, the bottle hovering at his lips.

  “What? Oh, sorry, wrong conversation.”

  “Hope you don't have to pass a psych exam for whatever job he's offering.”

  Hmm, didn't ask that. Probably should’ve.

  “I'll ask, but this job isn't ideal. I'll lose my voice, my freedom. I'm not sure there's a large enough sum to convince me to give that up. Honestly, I'm not sure I even can.”

  Ben shakes his head as he angles the empty beer bottle to the bartender.

  “I know you can't, baby girl. But I know you tackle anything you set your crazy-ass mind on. If you want more from this job he's offering, then ask for it. Demand it. You've never been shy about demanding what you wanted before. Why now?”

  Hmm. Absentmindedly, I chew on a jagged nail. “You speak the truth, wise one.”

  “Fuck, you're getting weirder as you get older, you know that? You'll end up in a padded room by the time you're forty at this rate.”

  Five years from now… yeah, he's probably right.

  “What's holding me back from telling him what I want?” I ask, more to myself than to Ben. “He told me what he expects and wants out of this deal. Now I need to come up with a counteroffer.”

  “Surprised you didn't earlier.”

  Nibbling on my pinky nail, I shake my head. “I was in shock. My nemesis in my office offering to shower me with money and gifts in exchange for my soul was a lot to take in at the time.”

  “No need to wonder where our daughter gets her dramatics,” Ben mutters around the lip of the bottle before tipping it back. “But can I say something?”

  I tilt the glass in my hand, indicating for him to continue.

  “Why you? I mean, I'm not gay or nothing, but I saw that man, and he's way out of your league.”

  “Seriously, Ben!”

  “What? He's good-lookin' and rich as hell, so what does he want with you? I mean, you're….”

  “I'm what, Ben?” I glare into his eyes, wishing mine shot death rays. “You certainly liked the way I looked at one time.”

  “Yeah, but that was when you were, I don't know, happy? Full of life, maybe. Now you're just haggard.”

  My jaw drops, my hate-filled glare going with it. “Haggard?”

  “Yeah, like life has beaten you down so far that you don't even care to try anymore. Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  I fight a cringe.

  “If I were you, I'd have said yes before he had a chance to change his mind.”

  “I don't want to be someone's pawn.”

  “Then don't be,” Ben huffs, clearly exasperated. “Fuck’s sake, woman, isn’t that the problem I just solved?”

  Gazing into the final sips of whiskey swirling at the bottom of my glass, a poor man’s crystal ball, I search for some kind of sign.

  “I need to think. Be right back,” I mumble over my shoulder as I slide off the wooden barstool. I step through the back exit and immediately wrap both arms around my body. There goes all that delicious warmth the whiskey provided. I look to the sky, searching the stars, and snag the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. Movement catches my eye, and I follow Kyle's business card as it flutters in the wind, landing on the gravel a couple steps away.

  I snag the small, hard cardstock and flip it over to look at Kyle’s handwritten cell number. He instructed me to call, soon, with my answer. But do I even have one?

  It's an opportunity to make all my financial worries go away, but at the cost of my pride, my voice, my character. Is there a sum that's worth that?

  Ben’s right. I need to figure out a way to finagle what I want out of the offer so I'm not the pawn.

  Find a way to be the queen in this political chess game plus everything he's offering.

  But how?

  He needs me to make him believable to the voters. What do I want in return? Deep down, it’s always been the same—to prove everyone wrong. They think they know me, enjoy the addict’s daughter stigma they keep shoving me into. I want to show Ben’s parents that I am a good mother, that I can take care of Taeler. It might be a few years later than I wanted, but it still matters to me. Show my teachers, my professors that all the hard work wasn’t for not.

  A crazy—even for me, which tells you it’s batshit—idea forms. One that would give us both what we want. I would come out ahead in my mind, but if it works, he’ll be the president of the United States. Not a bad trade-off.

  First, am I even qualified?

  With a swipe of my thumb across the phone screen I tap the internet icon and type in my search.

  Okay here we go.

  Natural born U.S. citizen. Check.

  At least thirty-five years old. Unfortunately.

  Resident in U.S. for at least fourteen years. Never even stepped foot in another country, so yeah.

  Nipping the cigarette between my front teeth, I hold out the business card and press the numbers into my phone. Depositing the card back into my pocket, I snag the dangling cigarette and wait for Señor Douchenozzle to pick up. Annoyance rises as it continues to ring. Of course he’s not going to answer.

  I swipe the screen with as much annoyance as I can channel into my thumb, hanging up on the generic automated voice mail. Just as I’m sliding it back into my pocket, it vibrates with an incoming call. I glance at the screen—Unknown Caller.

  Being the one who calls, initiating the contact, is some kind of power play to him, I’m sure. As stupid as it sounds, if this is going to happen, I need to learn the rules of this power game. Fast.

  “Walmart.” Kyle’s deep voice vibrates through the earpiece.

  “Tool Bucket,” I say on a gritty chuckle. “Get it? You’re not just a tool, you’re the whole tool bucket.” I think I'm hilarious, even if the world doesn't always get my humor.

  “Hilarious. What's your decision?”

  Right. Decision time.

  “Yes, but I want a few revisions to the agreement. I want a voice,” I state, pushing as much conviction into my tone as possible. If I don't believe I can do this, there’s no way he will either. I have to believe in myself, like I've done my whole life, even with the odds stacked against me.

  I can do this. I have to do this. For me, for Taeler, for every person I can help.

  “A voice?” Curiosity laces his tone. “Explain.”

  “I won't accept sitting on the sidelines, allowing you to use me as your poverty puppet to deceive the voters.”

  An irritated sigh crackles through his side of the line. “I expected nothing less from the only woman who can out
debate me. What does that mean, Walmart? A charity in your name? A fundraiser for the poor? Maybe a building?”

  “More,” I say, a cloud of smoke billowing out of my puckered lips. I watch it rise into the dark night sky before dissipating with a gust of wind as I wait for his response.

  “What, then? What is it that you’re asking for?”

  Here I go. This is it. My chance to change the tide of… everything. My life and the lives of millions. Just the thought of being able to turn the tables for the working people of this country steels my spine. With my degrees and background, I can be the people’s voice in Washington.

  “Put me on the ticket. Make me your running mate. The VP.” I pause, allowing my words to settle through the phone. “It’ll make a bigger impact toward winning the White House. I can do it, I know I can. With me being mayor here plus my law degree, I’ll figure it out. I meet the basic qualifications and okay yeah I don’t have a lot of experience, but I swear I’ll make it work. Hell, even a helmet-wearing monkey is more qualified than the idiot who's in the role currently. Anyone can do a better job than him, and that someone is me.”

  “You're fucking with me right now.”

  I shake my head. “No I'm not. I won't be Poverty Barbie who you can flounce around as your good deed. If you want the White House, if you want the most powerful position in the world, then list me as the vice president. I know it’s a crazy idea but what do you have to lose? It’s either this or nothing for me.”

  Nothing. His deep breaths huffing across the mouthpiece are the only indication he’s still on the line. The silence is a good sign. It means he's considering it, not telling me to fuck off and ending the call. If he’s not considering it, then I’ve fucked over my daughter's future. No pressure.

  I rake a couple fingers through my nasty, dirty hair. A minute passes of deafening silence. I bob on the balls of my feet, attempting to get some feeling back in my toes.

  “I'm inclined to tell you to fuck off and watch you fail miserably at life, but if I say yes to your proposal, then I’ll have a front row seat to your failure here in DC.”

  “I won't fail.” I flick the cigarette butt to the ground and grind it into the gray gravel with the toe of my shoe. No way. Not happening. This is my shot to get ahead, to prove to everyone, prove to myself, that I'm more than what I was born into.

  His condescending laugh rattles through the phone, and my upper lip curls in a snarl. “Oh, but you will, Walmart. You think you can play with the most powerful people in the world and win with no experience? I'm questioning your intelligence. They will chew you up before you even start the campaign.”

  “Aw,” I coo, faking surprise. “You do care about me.”

  “I care about winning. Tell you what. I'll pitch your ludicrous proposal to my advisors and campaign manager. I’ll send for you when I know more. Just to make sure I understand this correctly, it’s either the vice president position or nothing. Correct?”

  “Correct.” I swallow hard against the knot building in my throat.

  “If I propose this, there’s no going back. If we lose, there will be no ongoing funds since you won’t be my legal wife. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes, I understand everything, Kyle.” Shit, didn’t think about that side effect. If we do this, it means we have to win.

  “Also know that the man who’s currently slated as my running mate will not be happy if he’s kicked off the ticket. If this does work, know you'll have a target on your back.”

  That's mysteriously ominous.

  I open my mouth to ask what he means but snap it shut at the void on the other end of the phone. Peeling it from my ear, I scan the black screen and let out an incredulous snort. Of course the douche hung up on me.

  Tapping the edge of the phone against my thigh, I again stare up into the dark night sky. My pulse races as the reality of the situation sinks deep.

  I’m crazier than anyone gives me credit for. Vice president? For fuck’s sake.

  “Damn idiot,” I mutter.

  Now I wait and maybe run by Mom’s to take a shower.

  Hand wrapped around the cold metal handle, I give it a hard tug, swinging the exit door open. Laughter and old country music fill the hall as I make my way back to the bar. With every step, the same two questions repeat over and over in my mind.

  What will I do if he says yes?

  What will I do if he says no?

  Chapter Four

  Randi

  The wheels of my rolling suitcase quietly whirl down the carpeted hall. Fancy chandeliers dot the long hallway’s ceiling, making the suite of offices appear like a hotel rather than a place of business. Of course, I am in Washington, DC. Maybe people use this space for business and pleasure; the two go hand in hand in our nation’s capital, after all.

  Wait. I tilt my nose and inhale deep. Is that vanilla?

  Midstep I halt, sniffing the air. Surely this building isn’t piping a yummy scent into their hallways. I spin, eyes falling to the floral wallpaper. What if the wallpaper is scented and that’s what I’m smelling? That would be opulent fancy. I cut my eyes both ways, making sure the coast is clear, and lean toward to the wall. The wallpaper brushes the tip of my nose, but the delectable scent isn't any stronger than when I was a few feet away.

  Unless… it could be scratch and sniff—I saw that in a movie once. Forgetting my surroundings, my sole focus on the scent mystery, I scratch a mauve flower with the edge of my serrated nail. Nose pressed firmly to the same spot, I sniff.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Startled, I jolt back, my hand catching the extended handle of my rolling suitcase. It teeters before falling to the floor with an echoing thump.

  I shift from one heel to the other, avoiding the man’s pointed glare.

  “Smelling the wall.” I frown at my ragged bag on the pristine carpet. “The scent in the hall… I thought it came from the wallpaper, so I sniffed it. I'm sure it happens all the time.” My knees pop as I squat, righting the toppled suitcase.

  “I can guarantee you it doesn't. Kyle mentioned you were a strange one.” His near-black eyes flick to his watch, a frown forming.

  Using the distraction, I take in the rude man. Dirty-blond hair, square jaw with high cheekbones, and a narrow upturned nose. Attractive if it weren’t for the dark and foreboding aura pulsing around him. Every internal alarm sounds, the clenching in my gut telling me to get the hell out of here.

  His eyes swing back to me, narrowing. “Hurry up. You're late.”

  I tighten my grip on the suitcase handle, the hard plastic slipping in my sweat-damp palm.

  My steps are hesitant, the bag barely rolling behind me. “I'm at a disadvantage. Who are you?”

  An unnaturally wide smile curls up his cheeks, and I retreat a step. He appeared dangerous before, but with this Joker-like smile, I'm sufficiently creeped out.

  “Come on, Trailer.” He shoves off the thick, dark wood door without a glance back, moving into the office suite.

  “Asshat,” I grumble under my breath. I grip the door’s edge before it closes. Shoving it open, I lug the bag through, only for it to close sooner than I expect. Near my limit for the day, I hold back a scream of frustration. Backtracking, I give the heavy door another big shove, freeing my suitcase. Sweat beads beneath my arms and glistens on my forehead. Hopefully I don’t look as discombobulated as I feel. The redeye flight out of DFW was rough in its own right. Add in the constant turbulence from there to DC, then the frantic scene at the taxi stand at Reagan and I'm whipped.

  “Good to see you finally made it, Walmart.” Kyle sneers as I cough at the assault of his overpowering cologne. “Come, we have items to discuss.”

  I swallow, fighting the panic that wants to seal off my airway as I follow him into the next room. Yesterday, Kyle called, informing me they’d come to a decision on my counteroffer and I was needed in DC as soon as possible. So here I am, sweating like a pig, nerves frayed.

  What if they agree
?

  Oh hell, what if they don't? The prospect of zero debt, Taeler’s college paid for by someone else, and proving to everyone I’m not worthless has filled my thoughts the last few days.

  Now I'm here.

  Shit, things just got real. This is happening.

  The fancy décor and furniture in the large room Kyle leads me into match the opulence from the hallway. It resembles a posh living room rather than a boardroom, dotted with four large leather chairs and two dark fabric-covered couches centered around an imposing wooden table.

  The four older men stand from where they sat as we enter the room. The lone woman remains seated as she types furiously on the cell phone inches from her scowling face. My eyes scan the room, falling on the mystery man from the hall. Pure hate fills his eyes from his perch against a sideboard, its top littered with decanters of various sizes and shapes, all filled to the brim with honey-colored liquid.

  “My assistant and attorneys,” Kyle states with a wave of his hand, not bothering with introducing everyone by name. “Sit.” He points to the smaller couch. “We have significant information to discuss and little time to work with.”

  The delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee hits my nose, and a slow throb pulses in my head with the need for more caffeine. I dismiss Kyle, heading straight for the narrow buffet along the opposite wall. My mouth waters as the steaming dark brew streams from the thick metal carafe into my awaiting white mug. Wouldn’t be shocked if the shit’s china. Rich bastards. Even their mugs are fancier than me.

  After one Splenda and a dash of cream—it’s here, so why the hell not—I wrap both hands around the warm mug and turn to the group.

  “Now I'm ready,” I announce, sinking into the soft plush couch. The cushion molds around my ass and back like a fucking cloud.

  Holy fuck, expensive furniture is soft.

  Kyle sneers, gracefully sliding into the dark leather chair opposite me.

  “After running the numbers and taking preliminary surveys, we found that, as far-fetched as it seems, you becoming running mate in next year’s election will elevate the ticket higher in the polls.” The white mug slips in my tight grip. “We need to switch the names on the paperwork as soon as possible. The convention is right around the corner, and all delegates must announce their candidacy by that time.”