Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1

by Mitchell, Kennedy L.

  New York City. I would be excited if it weren’t for the crazy nerves hijacking my emotions.

  A warm palm slides over my bare knee. I shift my observing eyes from the passing umbrellas lining the sidewalks to the contact.

  Fine lines, some from age and some from injuries leaving faint white scars, mar Trey’s tan hand. A simple swipe of his thumb along the inside of my knee sends a chill racing through my veins, having nothing to do with the cool temperature inside the car. I swallow back the building unease, my gaze shifting from his hand to the man himself.

  “We'll be with you every step of the way,” Trey says, his tone low, soothing. “If you want to cancel—”

  I give him an adamant shake of my head. Peering through the darkness, I meet his concerned brown eyes. “No, I have to do this. You know I do. This is my chance to gain leverage on those assholes. It's a great plan.”

  “Some might even call it brilliant.”

  A snort tickles my nose. The expensive fabric of my cocktail dress slides along the soft leather of the seat as I adjust, angling my knees toward Trey, who sits inches away in the other passenger seat. “I'll call it brilliant if it works.”

  All humor leaves his face. His eyes shift, and I track the path of his gaze to where his hand still rests on my knee, that sneaky thumb still swiping along my bare skin.

  He pulls his hand away, the heat that was building between my thighs following suit.

  He clears his throat. “Sorry.”

  I bite the tip of my tongue to keep myself from begging him to move it back. His touch, the soft yet powerful way his skin feels against mine, is more than welcomed. Not sure what that means, but for the first time in my life, I want a comforting caress from someone besides Taeler. His comforting yet possessive hands holding me close.

  In the back seat of the sleek black town car, I meet his intense stare as the passing streetlights filter in and out through the windows. It's only been a few days since we met, but there's something building between us. Something deeper than I've experienced even with people I've known for years. He sees me, the real me. And I see bits of the real Trey Benson. I see the slivers he doesn’t intentionally show. The soft touches, considerate actions, and supportive words.

  And I want more.

  Want it all.

  “Almost there,” T says from the driver seat. I reluctantly pull my gaze from Trey’s to glance out the windshield. The wipers swipe back and forth in slow repetitive arcs. “I still don't like it.”

  I bite back a smile. Of course the cautious and careful Terminator doesn't like this crazy plan. To be honest, I'm not a huge fan either, but it's the perfect scenario to kill three birds with one stone. If it works.

  No, it will work.

  My chest pitches forward as we slide to a stop in front of a dazzling hotel. The brilliant blue lights cast a strange hue over T and Gremlin.

  I inhale deep, filling my lungs with the determination and strength to get through this night and finally, finally have the upper hand in life. The leather groans beneath my backside as I rotate toward the door, waiting for the approaching bellhop to pull it open.

  “Randi?” I turn my chin, glancing over my shoulder to T. “If you feel this won’t work, or if you're scared or… anything, get out. Give the code word and it's done whether we have the information we need or not. Got it?”

  My dark hair slides forward across my shoulder at my tight nod.

  “What's the code word again?” he demands.

  “Pumpkin spice latte,” I say with a grin. That was T's addition to the plan. I wanted 'sparkle the unicorn' as the code word, but neither him nor Trey thought I could find a way to work it into a normal sentence. Just proves they don't know me as well as they think they do.

  A burst of cool, damp air brushes against my legs and floats a few sections of hair across my face. I face the familiar callused palm dangling midair, waiting for my own. With another deep breath, I slide my fingers between Trey’s and wrap my fingers around his own. I fold out of the car, stepping cautiously onto the sidewalk in my heels. I glide both hands down the thick material of my black dress, repositioning the hem from where it rode up my thighs.

  Tipping my chin, I take a step toward the enormous revolving doors. Sweat beads along my palms the closer we get. Rapid breaths steal the air from my lungs, making my head fuzzy.

  “Calm down,” Trey says. I flick an annoyed glance his way at the laughter in his tone. “You're fine.”

  A tight smile pulls at my lips for Gremlin, who holds the side door open for us, as we step into the hotel lobby.

  All the building anxiety melts away as Trey presses his hand against the small of my back. Slowing my pace to increase the comforting pressure, I give my fingers a tiny shake. My heels click along the polished marble as we stride across the lobby toward the restaurant where I'm meeting the campaign donor.

  The plan is simple: gain information we can use to blackmail him and get out. The information can be anything from bribery all the way to harassment. Whatever it ends up being, I hope it happens fast. The less time I have to spend with this guy the better. Being alone with him isn't on my top twenty things to do while in New York City.

  “I wish I could see the city,” I say to Trey, my attention staying on the approaching hostess stand. Mr. Hindle, the campaign donor, insisted we meet here. The fact that it’s a restaurant inside this upscale hotel didn’t pass my notice. “I've only been here for rallies or something else to do with the campaign. Never seen the city like a real tourist.”

  The pressure on my back changes as he guides me through the intimate tables of the restaurant. I scan the large area over the packed crowd for the man I'm meeting.

  “Back booth. More secure,” Trouble whispers into my ear. “Almost there. You good? Head in the game?”

  No. “Yes.”

  We don't say another word. The restaurant darkens the farther back we go, the other patrons’ murmurs growing quieter. An older man slides from a small intimate booth. I recognize him immediately based off the pictures and information Kyle had me review in DC. Early sixties, multimillionaire, wants world domination. Okay, that's not one hundred percent true. In exchange for funneling millions into our campaign fund, he wants a blind eye on his companies unfavorable working conditions if we win.

  I shudder at the way his clouded eyes ogle my thin frame. Not as thin as it was last year before I met Kyle but still putting on weight in the right areas has been a challenge. The hand at my back tightens to a fist, the knuckles now digging into my lower spine. I chance a peek up to Trouble, but he doesn't notice. His intense stare is locked on the donor with a promise of a slow death behind those honey brown eyes. I love the humor and twinkle I normally see, the side he shows me, but this side of Trouble is just as sexy.

  That intensity, the utter control the man exudes, zaps the final drop of worry clouding my thoughts. He's here. T's outside. Gremlin and the rest of the boys are waiting in the shadows.

  I can do this. They're trusting me to have the balls to get through this, and I will not let them down.

  They believe in me. It's time I did too.

  “Miss Sawyer.” Mr. Hindle leans forward, pressing a swift kiss to one cheek, then the other. “Thank you for meeting me.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” I say, somehow suppressing my utter disdain from seeping through.

  He raises his hand to the side, extending into the booth. I swallow hard and step out of Trouble's comforting touch. The dress’s hem rides up my thighs as I slide along the supple leather semicircle booth. Settled on the opposite side, Mr. Hindle climbs in and keeps going, pausing when our knees touch but keeping a respectable distance between us for the world to see. Sneaky prick. I grip the hem of my dress beneath the crisp white table linen and give it a quick tug as I cross one leg over the other, sealing my thighs tightly together.

  “You can leave.”

  My mouth pops open. Attention flying from the front of my dress to Mr. Hindle, I sh
ift back against the tufted black leather of the booth at his pinched features. But his annoyance isn't directed to me. My gaze floats across the table in the direction of Mr. Hindle's glare. My own eyes widen in surprise.

  Trey still stands at the booth opening. Stance wide, hands lightly folded in front, exuding refined power. Not money power like the filthy idiot beside me. No, real power. The kind of energy that radiates off someone who knows without a doubt he or she can handle whatever comes their way.

  “My team is conducting one more sweep of the restaurant as we speak. I'll move as soon as I get the all clear.”

  If Mr. Hindle doesn't catch the unspoken 'asshole' at the end, I'll be shocked.

  Several tense seconds tick by while the two men battle for dominance.

  “All clear.” Trouble's eyes flick to me. My breath catches knowing this means he’s leaving me here alone. “Ma'am.”

  I watch as he turns and fades into the dark corners of the restaurant where no doubt the rest of the team is waiting.

  My foot taps furiously in the air beneath the table.

  I'm up.

  Careful to keep my movements smooth, I slide my red clutch from where it rests on the seat to the table. It's not super close to Mr. Hindle, but T assures me the tiny listening device tucked in the pocket will pick up our conversation just fine as long as it's within reach. I tug it a bit closer just in case.

  Hands fidgeting, nerves at an all-time high, I adjust and readjust the five forks and thirty spoons surrounding the single white plate to give my anxious fingers something to do while Mr. Hinkle smiles seeming to enjoy my uncomfortableness.

  A stiff back waiter approaches with zero animation on his surly face. Without asking what I would like, Mr. Hindle immediately speaks up to order an expensive bottle of red wine and waves the waiter off with an arrogant flick of the wrist.

  “How's DC treating you?” he asks after the waiter scurries away.

  I roll my shoulders and adjust in the booth.

  Game time.

  “Different than Texas, that's for sure. Complex, fast paced, brilliant are a few words I’d use to describe what I've seen so far.”

  He chuckles and rests a wrinkled hand on top my own. He gives a pointed look to their constant movement. “First time doing this?”

  “This?” Oh, please tell me he's going to say something sleazy so I can get the hell out of here sooner than later.

  “Meeting with a campaign donor, of course.” His easy chuckle rakes my frayed nerves. “Let's get some wine in us before we dive into the business side, shall we? I have to admit your background is intriguing to me.”

  “Oh?” I move my hand from under his, tucking it in my lap. “And why's that?”

  “It's different. Most of the people in this town don't know what it's like to live below the 1 percent. Hearing your perspective through the campaign coverage so far has piqued my interest. Tell me a bit about yourself, Randi. Can I call you Randi?”

  I force a stiff nod. “There isn't much to tell, but you're correct that my perspective is different. I know what it's like to scrape by, to have your hard-earned money be siphoned away before you even can cash your paycheck.”

  “And that's what you want to change. I like that. Tell me more.”

  The tight tension in my gut fades. My shoulders relax and my foot stops its midair thumping. Maybe Kyle was wrong about what this guy wants from me. He's pitched forward, elbows on the table, fully engaged in what I have to say. Embarrassed warmth sparks along my cheeks, no doubt turning them a bright pink. What if all this was for nothing and this guy is just a nice old man?

  As the waiter holds out the bottle for Mr. Hindle's inspection, I detail out my thoughts and ideas on how to change the lives of those who fall beneath the middle-class financial status. By the time I wrap up my crazy ideas—Kyle’s words, not mine—excitement flickers in my belly and hope flows through my veins, making my fingers twitch in anticipation. If I can get this man to see things from my point of view, maybe Kyle will change his tune and let me spearhead some of these projects.

  A wide smile stretching across my face, I lean forward, reaching for my wineglass, only to find it empty. Huh, when did that happen?

  “It's good, isn't it? At four hundred dollars a bottle, it should be.” My fingers slip from the glass. I shift my gaze to his—still full. “I'll get you another bottle.”

  Another?

  Frantic, I glance around the restaurant, but with the lights dimmed and zero windows, there’s nothing to use to judge how much time as passed during my long-winded rant.

  “Sorry, I-I got carried away,” I stutter. Condensation slicks my palm and fingers as I grasp the water glass and lift it to my lips.

  “No need to be embarrassed, Randi.” The seat shifts my weight, angling me toward Mr. Hindle as he scoots an inch closer. My muscles tense at the brush of his suit pants along the skin of my bare thigh.

  My breath hitches.

  Kyle was right, I am an idiot. I played right into this fucker’s hands.

  At the first brush of his fingers along my knee, I jerk out of his reach.

  “Come on now, Randi, don't be that way.” This time his fingers clamp around my exposed thigh, preventing me from flinching away. “I can do so much for your cause.”

  “If…?” I ask, not having to add a tremble to my tone. It's already there.

  “I think that's something we can discuss after dinner, don't you?”

  No. I can't let it get that far. If I go up to his room, like I’m sure he'll suggest, I'm done for. He's twice my size; if he tries anything, there's no way I could fight him off. Plus, behind closed doors, I won't have Trey's hawk eyes monitoring the situation.

  This needs to end now, even though he's not lying about the wine. That shit is yummy with a capital Y. I'd take a picture of the label to buy later, but even if I had enough money to wipe my ass with hundred-dollar bills, I couldn't justify spending that kind of cash on a single bottle of wine.

  Case? Debatable. But bottle, no way. Do you know how many boxes of wine you could buy for four hundred dollars? A lot, that’s how much.

  His soft skin slides up toward the juncture of my legs that's securely sealed off by the closed thighs, pulling me back to the present.

  “I know how much this means to you,” he mutters. “Have you found a rehab center for your mother yet?”

  The sip of water I just took sputters back into my glass. “What?” I say on a deep cough, trying to clear the rest of the water from my lungs and give me a moment to wrap my head around his words. “How did you—”

  “Enough money in the right hands and you can find the truth in anything.” I balk at his cold sneer. “You see, Randi, this is in your best interest. We can make a deal, you and I.”

  “And what deal is that?”

  “Eager,” he says, digging his fingers deeper into my flesh. I hide my wince of pain behind the water glass at my lips. “I like that.”

  “What do you want, Mr. Hindle?” I straighten my spine. I will not bow to this fucker. “I thought this was about your business and your donation to the campaign.”

  “Ah, that. Kyle and I already discussed the terms.”

  “What?” I gasp.

  “You didn't know?” He releases my thigh. Immediately I move out of his reach, sliding to the other side of the booth. “Figures he wouldn't fill you in.”

  “In on what?” I grit out. Fuck Kyle and his power moves. Moving me around the country like his little pawn protecting the damn king.

  “You sealing the deal, of course.”

  I slump forward, all fight draining from my muscles.

  “Don't look so repulsed. I'm not that bad, am I?”

  I school my features, keeping the hint of excitement from showing. This is my opening.

  “Depends,” I say in the meekest tone I can muster. “What… what do you want from me? I don't understand what you’re referring to.”

  “You want me to spell it out for you,
sweetheart?”

  I fight a cringe.

  Fluttering my lashes, I glance around the restaurant, pretending to ensure no one is around. I moisten my lower lip with a slow swipe of my tongue. “Yes.”

  His cold eyes fall to my wet lip as he licks his own in anticipation. I battle internally to not shudder in disgust. “Come to my room and I'll show you.”

  Well hell. Maybe a different angle?

  “If I do this, if I come up to your room, you'll keep my mom out of this? You'll give the money to the campaign?”

  “We can work out the terms upstairs, but yes, in a nutshell. Give me what I want, and I'll make sure the money is deposited tomorrow.”

  Rallying what bit of courage I have left, I scoot along the booth, our hips now touching. “So how does this work? A promise of a hundred grand for you to fuck my mouth? Five hundred for me to spread my legs?”

  His eyes darken with lust, beads of sweat glistening across his creased brow.

  This is where I want him. On the edge of reason, tipping over into the abyss of dark desire.

  “And how much for my ass?” I whisper into his ear. Ugh, I’ll need two scalding showers to remove the ick from my skin. “How much is my entire body worth to you?”

  “Two million.” His voice is coarse with the gallons of desire pumping through his veins. “Two million dollars to the campaign if you let me pound into your ass.” His rapid, hot breaths brush over my face as he leans close. “Another million, and my promise to keep your family’s finances out of the press, if you make that arrogant agent watch.”

  Fucking creeper.

  I open my mouth to tell him just as much but gasp at the panic in Mr. Hindle's bulging eyes. The leather slips beneath my sweaty palms as I scramble down the booth.

  Trey sits on the opposite side of Mr. Hindle, their shoulders close enough to touch.

  “You want me to watch, do you?” Trey's arm beneath the table shifts, and Mr. Hindle gasps, face paling. The hate threatening behind Trey's light eyes disappears when his gaze shifts to me. “I think we got enough, don't you?”

  Mr. Hindle's narrowed eyes flick between me and Trouble. “You set me up.” Red clutch in hand, I raise it in the air. His clouded eyes search the bag like he's scanning the recording itself, replaying every word he said tonight. “Nothing will hold up in court. You've got nothing, you fucking conniving—” A sharp whistle of air cuts off his words as he sucks in a quick breath.