Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,16

covering his tracks.”

Thumbnail between my teeth, I tuck a knee to my chest and rest my chin on top. “Could be both.” A million different angles slip through my head. A hint of something I should remember flares in the back of my mind but disappears before I can grasp hold.

I sigh. “I can't help you. Not only do I have zero connections in this town, but I don't know anything that's going on in the White House unless it’s directly connected to me or my team.” I take a deep inhale and release it slowly to quell my racing mind. “I wouldn't put it past him though. Any of it. I say keep digging. You'll find something, but I guarantee it won't be with me. I know less than you do.”

He arches a single dark brow and leans forward across the desk.

What is up with the guy in wanting to get all up in my personal space? Not that I mind. His bad-boy hotness isn’t at all offensive.

A faint waft of crisp, cool cologne hits my nose. The scent tightens the awareness of how alone we are. I scan his harsh features that somehow work for him, the main focus being his piercing green eyes that seem to suck you in with the intensity behind them.

“What if I asked for your help?” Sam asks, placing a palm in the middle of the desk to support his upper body as he leans closer.

Ah shit. Averting my gaze, I switch to chewing on the middle fingernail. That’s a hard no, even though I’d love to—for more reasons than one. What Sam isn’t privy to is that stupid agreement I signed to support Kyle during the campaign and after. No doubt aiding in gaining information needed for impeachment goes against said agreement, which states if I breach the contract, then I have to pay every cent he spent on me back to the Birmingham estate. There’s no way I can do that considering they paid off my massive credit card debt, student loans from undergrad and law school, the makeovers, clothes, travel, campaign, and Tae's school. Sure, I make decent money now, but that’s a shit ton of money I 100 percent don’t have waiting in the wings.

Knowing Kyle and his awful family, if I fail to pay every cent back, there’s no doubt some kind of indentured servant clause in the fine print that I missed, and I'll be his unwilling slave for the rest of my life.

“Not cleaning toilets,” I mutter, ignoring Sam’s confused head tilt.

Okay, surely after UT Austin and Harvard, I would've caught something that drastic. But all those months were a blur. All I heard was “out of debt” and didn't consider the long-term effects of signing on with the Birmingham family.

Now I do. I'd like to say I regret it, but I'm the vice president of the United States, so… I don't. Sure, earlier this year when Kyle was trying to take away the voting rights for the lower class, I regretted my decision to be his running mate, which in turn aided in him winning the White House. But now that we stopped that bill, I'm glad to be in this role. On a daily basis, my team and I help thousands across the states.

Currently we're fighting for a different way to support low-income families who fall just above the food stamp cutoff. What these fuckers in DC haven't wrapped their brains around is that they’re punishing people who are trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. The second they get a job and push out of the poverty status, thousands of dollars in benefits are ripped away from them, making it impossible to take care of their family and work. Where's the incentive? Why try to find a job, to work hard, if nothing will be better?

And don't even get me started on low-income housing and what happens if someone gets a bonus or higher-paying job.

This is why I'm here. This is why I was voted in. To be their voice. To show these asshats the right way to take care of all the citizens.

“Randi?”

“Asshats,” I grumble.

“Excuse me?” he says with a chuckle.

I wave a hand, dismissing him. “Sorry, wrong conversation.” Damn, I forgot what it's like to be around someone who doesn't understand my level of crazy. Ugh, if he's going to stick around, I'll have to train him in all the “Randi-isms.” Which could be fun. Teacher, student…