“I don't know, Randi. I really don't.” My eyes fall to the expanse of white sheet between us. “Hey, stop that. Look at me.” Scrolling up his bare chest, I meet his eyes once again. “I'm not saying I don't want us to keep doing this, but things will change if you're in the official VP spot. Expectations are higher, the scrutiny more intense—hell, you might not have more than thirty minutes alone until your four years are done. All I'm saying is I don't know what will happen next, but that doesn't take away from this, us, right now, does it?”
Thumbnail between my teeth. I shake my head. “No, no it doesn't. I just… I want to be prepared for what's coming. I feel out of control right now, and I hate it. I need one thing, one sure thing I can hold on to until the election, you know?”
The corners of his lips tug in a knowing smile. “I know, but the reality is anything can happen, and—”
A pounding on the door cuts Trey off, and we both jolt straight up. Trey hops off the bed, yanking his jeans up his thighs before I can blink. He scans the phone in one hand as he attempts to dress with the other.
The jerky movements slow, stopping completely with his T-shirt halfway on. Wide eyes meet mine, his nostrils flaring.
“What?” I breathe. “What happened?”
I ignore the pounding at the door, eyes searching Trey's. His face is paler than moments ago.
“Trey, talk to me.” I blindly reach for the nightstand, hand slapping the surface in search of my phone. He races across the room, bare feet pounding against the carpet, snatching it away before I can grab it. “You're freaking me out,” I shout.
“Open up,” T's demanding, angry, and—if I'm not mistaken—a bit scared voice booms from the other side of the door.
I suck in a breath, eyes flicking to the door. Trey lets out a loud, slow exhale and walks to it, shoving his arms through the sleeves of his T-shirt. The sheets tangle around my legs as I kick them furiously until I'm free, then race to the bathroom. The door isn't all the way closed behind me when the bedroom door slams open.
Each move jerky, I bolt from one side of the bathroom to the other, searching for something to slip on. Once T finds Trouble in my room at this hour, it’ll be obvious what he and I were doing, but that doesn’t mean I want to confirm his suspicions by popping out there naked. Clothes sail behind me, floating to the tile floor, as I rummage through the dirty laundry.
The black yoga pants have some kind of food stain dotting the left thigh, but the sweatshirt I yank on appears somewhat decent. Whatever, it's just T and Trey. Quick stop for a hair tie and I ease toward the door. The tips of my hair flick and twirl beneath my hands as I wrap it in a makeshift bun.
T's voice vibrates through the painted wood at my face; I don't even have to try and eavesdrop to hear what's being said.
“You've crossed the line this time, Benson.”
Oh snap, T is pissed.
“It's not what you think.” Trey's tone is tight and low.
“Really? Seems to me you're fucking—”
“Watch it,” Trey bites out. “I'm trying to tell you it's not what you think.” A pregnant pause has me pressing my ear against the door, not wanting to miss a word. “I like her, okay? It's not just about the sex, but the fact that you think so little of me, that I'd use her like that, fucking hurts.”
T mumbles something too low for me to understand.
Screw this.
Taking a big step back, I yank open the door. The two men stand inches apart, their hands curled into tight fists. Neither looks my way.
“Oh stop it, you two. Duke it out later, okay? Right now I need one of you to tell me why I can't check my phone and why T's here so early. What's. Going. On.”
T's the first one to break the stare-off, his dark brown eyes finding mine.
“It's out.”
“Not following. What's out, T?”
“Your mom. Your life. Plus some sources saying you’re cheating on Birmingham with one of your Secret Service agents. It's being covered on every network. Hell, they already have people on location in Boone and camped outside that rehab facility you put your mom in.”
I can't breathe. The room spins. All the blood drains from my face, and my hands tremble at my side. Eyes still locked with his, I shake my head, disbelieving his words.
“No, that's… no. It's impossible. Not now.”
I stagger back, the wall stopping me from tumbling down. Both men rush across the room, Trey's arms reaching me first. I'm numb, barely registering the tight grip around my waist that keeps me from falling to the floor.
“Easy, Randi,” Trey whispers into my hair.
My breaths come in short pants, desperate for small amounts of air.
“Randi, look at me.” T's thick fingers wrap around my chin, tipping my gaze up to meet his. “Calm down. You can't solve anything passed the fuck out. Do you hear me?” His voice is stern, commanding. “Get it together. Now.”
“Match my breaths, Mess. In.” Trey’s chest puffs out, pressing against my back. “And out.” Wisps of my air float forward on his deep exhale. Over and over he urges me to mirror his deep breaths. After several rounds, the room stills, my vision clearing.
“I'm, okay. I'm… oh fuck.” I gasp, clasping a hand around my neck. “This is bad. It's bad, isn't it?”
My eyes frantically search T's for answers.
“It's not good.”
“Tell me.” I ball my hands into small fists. “Give me my phone.”
“Let's get you to sit down first,” Trey says, already guiding me across the room. He sits me in the buttercream-colored chair but doesn't go far. Squatting between my legs, he gives a comforting squeeze above both knees.
“How bad is it?” I ask T again.
“The worst are calling you a fraud,” he states, zero emotion in his tone, the stone-faced protector mask back in place. I groan, dropping my face into my awaiting palms. “The best are focusing on the cheating angle.”
“This couldn't have come at a worse time. Now we have zero time to come up with a new strategy. Early voting starts today.”
“The timing is… questionable.” I drop my hands, blinking rapidly at T, his tone giving me pause. “I find it odd that right when you're making headway in the polls after that debate, this bomb drops. The timing of everything seems planned. Plotted.”
My mouth pops open, gaping wide.
“Holy fuck,” I whisper. “You think Shawn did this. You think Shawn's the one who leaked it all.” I whip around to face Trey. “Before the debate, he suspected something was going on between us.”
T huffs and crosses his trunk-like arms across his broad chest. “Anyone could tell there was something going on between you two if they saw you together.” I cringe. “You're an idiot, playboy. I had no idea it was this”—his mitt of a hand waves between us—“deep.”
“Whoa. Playboy?” I scoff.
“Can we focus on the issue at hand, please,” Trey grumbles, running a hand through his hair. “Why didn't you say anything?” He turns on the balls of his bare feet to face T.
“I thought it was innocent flirting. If I'd known this?” He looks to me and shakes his head. “You both know you're playing with fire, don't you?”
“Is it that bad?” I ask.
“Yes.” I shrink back into the chair. “It makes a weak link in the team, puts you at risk, not to mention how it would look to the public. It stops, now.” T jabs a finger at Trey. “You know what happened the last time you bent the rules.” I turn to Trey. His features are filled with remorse, guilt. “I will not let you sideline this team again. You two end today.”
“Not that it matters.” Emotions clog my throat. Tears well, stinging my eyes. “Nothing matters. It's over. How can I face the public again? They know I lied.”
Trey leans a shoulder against the chair, focusing on the carpet.
“I am a fraud,” I whisper, losing all restraint on the tears.
“But you're not,” Trey mutters. “Everything is about per
ception. They only have the side Shawn gave them.” He glances up from the floor, eyes locking with my questioning gaze.
“So?”
A smirk tugs at his lips.
Oh no. This could be brilliant or terrifying.
“So, we give them yours. I need something to write on,” he says, shoving off the floor and striding away. At the door, he turns, excited energy pulsing off him. “Get dressed in your normal stuff, not the fancy dresses Kyle makes you wear in public. Minimal makeup.” His gaze flicks to my unruly hair. “Might want to put a little work into that though. It's a mess, Mess.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask, pushing up from the chair.
“Turn the tide.”
Only a miracle sprinkled with unicorn blood could turn this clusterfuck around.
Which begs the question: What in the hell is he planning?
Chapter Twenty-One
Randi
I tug down the hem of my green V-neck sweater below the waistband only for it to pop right back up. Glancing out the glass doors to the mob of reporters, I swipe my sweaty palms down the sides of my dark-wash jeans. Like Trey instructed an hour ago, I’m normal Randi. Not the perfect Political Barbie Kyle always demands me to be in public. From the older sweater to my Wranglers and scuffed boots, I'm me. Still fancier then Randi 1.0 but not nearly the obnoxious sparkle of Randi 2.0.
So what does that make this version, Randi 1.5 or Randi 3.0?
Debatable for sure.
“You think this will work?” I ask over my shoulder to where T and Trey huddle with the rest of the team. Several came in on their day off to be here for me. Never in my life have I had this much support. It strengthens my resolve to get this right. My one shot to correct the damage Shawn did by leaking my background to the media. We don't know for certain it was him, of course, but I wouldn’t put it past that conniving asshole
“It has to work, Mess.”
I turn my attention back to the glass doors.
Due to the size of the University of Texas campus, Taeler is able to lie low until after the press conference, thank goodness. Still, T called in extra security to watch her until the story’s initial sensation wears off.
Which it will, hopefully.
“Ready, guys?”
“Ready,” the team announces in unison behind me.
I choke back the building tears. Without these men, one in particular, I couldn't get through this shit show.
A blast of bitter wind slashes against my cheeks, blowing my loose hair from one shoulder to the other. I suppress a shudder as I step deeper into the mass of reporters, all yelling my name and demanding answers while cameras snap.
I hold up a hand, hoping it’s enough to quiet the crowd.
It’s not.
Instead, several in the front lurch forward, propped up by the people behind them, closing the distance between me and them. Trey, T, and the rest of the agents rush forward, shoving the circling vultures back to their original distance.
A full-body tremble bolts down my spine, my hands twitching nervously at my side. This isn't my normal stage, the typical monitored debate. This is real, ugly, and terrifying.
“Everyone calm the hell down,” T bellows.
The shouts quiet to murmurs. Seems no one can disobey a direct order from the big guy.
Locking his kind, dark eyes with mine, T nods. An indication for me to get this show on the road.
I clear my throat, widen my stance, and clasp both hands behind my back. Straightening my back, I smile into the crowd.
Here goes… everything.
“I know everyone has questions they want to ask regarding the details of my life which were released early this morning, but I won't be answering them.” A chaotic shout of protests answers in response. “What I will do, however, is give you the true story. My story. The truth. All of it. But first I'd like to address the people whom I've misled these past several months.” I pause, letting the crowd quiet down. Nostrils flaring, I inhale deeply and continue.
“To my fellow Americans, I'm sorry.” I swallow thickly and wet my lips. “I'm not apologizing for the story you were led to believe early on but for being ashamed enough about my past that I felt the need to. I'm here to set the story straight, for you to see the real Randi Sawyer. The good, the bad, and the nitty gritty—and believe me, there's a lot of that. I was born to a teen mother who had no business raising a child but still did. She supported us through welfare and social security fraud and lived in a run-down trailer in the worst trailer park in town, where she went through a new boyfriend every other week.
“I knew early in my childhood that I didn't want her life for my own. I wanted to succeed, to be someone I could be proud of becoming. Most days after school were filled with my closest friends, Blanche, Sophia, Dorothy, and of course the hilarious Rose. There were days when she forgot to buy food, so I learned to depend on myself for everything. Homework, bathing, clothes—everything fell on me from about kindergarten on.”
I tighten my hands into fists. Tears threaten as the memories flood through, a heart-shredding tidal wave of knives slamming into my chest.
“I was bullied, made fun of, teased, ignored, all of it. All because of whose daughter I am, of things I couldn't control at such a young age. I tell you this not to make you feel sorry for me or for you to pity my childhood. As neglectful as my mother was, I still had it better than some. I'm telling you this to explain why I did it. My entire life, I've been judged, overlooked, forgotten, and, worst of all, told repeatedly that I'm nothing, a loser, and that I will never, ever break the cycle my mother birthed me into.
“At fifteen, I proved everyone right. I got pregnant by my boyfriend in the back of his parents’ van. I thought up to that point the harassment was bad, but oh no, it could get worse. It did get worse. I decided then, after my daughter was born, that I would do everything in my power to make sure my life didn't bleed over into hers. I wanted her to have it all, to be the pretty, popular girl in school that I had never been and would never be.
“Things got a little hairy after she was born. My mom kicked me out to the shed to raise my daughter, the schoolwork was piling on, and I was out of options. CPS was called in, and”—I swipe a lone tear dripping down my cold cheek—“I was devastated. Absolutely devastated. Only weeks old and I was already failing her. The justice system deemed me an unfit mother, giving my child—my daughter who I would've sacrificed my life for—to her biological father’s parents. I had to fight to see her, and when I did, the hateful words, shaming, and disgust filled the house from the moment I stepped through the door until I left. It ripped me to shreds.
“Those following weeks changed me. My determination to change my life, to be more than a trailer trash teen mom, strengthened. The parts about me going to UT Austin and then on to Harvard are all true. You can ask any of my professors; I'm certain they haven't forgotten the student who asked for more work every class to stay one step ahead of everyone else.”
My gaze floats up to the gray sky.
“How I got to this spot, well, that’s another long story, but I'll keep it short. I knew Kyle Birmingham at Harvard, and we hated each other.” An uncomfortable chuckle vibrates through the crowd. “After law school I went back to Boone, started my own family law practice to be the voice for the underprivileged, and became mayor to help implement some much-needed changes. One day last year, Kyle walked into my office declaring he wanted to run for office but wanted someone with a 'normal' life to help him see things from the people's perspective.” Slight lie, but this is my spin on the truth. “He helped me pay off some of the student loans and other debt that hung around my neck like a boat anchor, got me to DC, and here I am. Here I am pleading for you to understand.
“It had nothing to do with you and everything to do with my fears. I was scared I wouldn't get a chance in this town, a chance to win your vote, if you knew the truth about my background. I've heard too many times the hateful words, the snap judgments p
eople make when they know the truth, and I couldn't risk it.
“So, that's my story. That's the truth. All of it. And I'll tell you one more truth: I want this job. I want to represent you here in Washington. This town is full of people who don't understand the daily struggles of living paycheck to paycheck and the frustration when taxes go up again and less of your hard-earned money comes home. I will be your voice, the slap of reality to this town. If you'll have me.”
Two seconds of shocked quiet pulses before the crowd erupts in shouts.
I smile, give a quick wave, and turn to head back into the safety of the lobby.
“What about the cheating rumors?” someone shouts above all the other voices. “A liar and a cheater. Sounds like the same old politician to me.”
My steps pause. I suck in a breath and turn back to the cameras.
“Right, forgot about that one. First of all, let’s get the thing cleared up about me and Kyle.” I have to tread lightly here. The people might forgive me for being ashamed of my past, but admitting to lying about the relationship part might push them over the edge. “What's going on between us is our business. However, I can tell you we've decided we're best as political partners, nothing else. As far as a relationship with a certain agent, that's a load of fiction. I have made a few friends with the men who are at my side day in and day out the past few months. They've had my back and provided me with some great counsel, seeing as this whole political power game is new to me. I had no one to confide in until they arrived. Now I'm happy to say I have friends here—they just to happen to get paid to hang out with me.”
I smile at the rumble of laughter.
“Early voting starts today. Go out to the polls, vote. Vote for me, vote for another candidate, but please, please vote. It's your voice, your chance to tell the people in DC who you want representing you. Change can happen, but it won't if you expect others to pull the load. Thank you.”
Smiling, I wiggle two fingers in the air like a motherfucking idiot. Turning on my heels, I speed-walk back to the lobby doors, throwing them open and rushing inside, heat blazing across my face. I press the traitorous fingers to my cheeks, attempting to cool my flush.
Power Play: Power Play Series Book 1 Page 19