Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,17

plaid skirts—on me, not him. Lots of possibilities.

I bolt out of the chair, slamming the tops of my thighs under the desk.

Fuck, what is wrong with me? I love Trey. Trey loves me. Stop thinking dirty thoughts about the attractive-as-sin lawyer who keeps getting too close, Randi.

Just because he's sexy. And smells good. And is smart as hell. And has this arrogant authority thing going on. Oh, and don't forget the tattoos I want to investigate further….

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I'm in deep shit.

“You okay? You're all flushed.” I swear there's a hint of humor in his tone. The bastard knows I'm flustered.

Crap, what if he knows I was thinking about him naked?

Wait, was I thinking about him naked?

Well, hell, now I am.

Ugh, I'm a lost cause.

“Fine, just hot flashes.”

Fucking hell, Randi. Now this guy thinks you have the uterus of a fifty-year-old.

“Right.” Glancing over, he straightens from the desk and slides both hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “We need help, inside help, to gain proof that this is all going on. We need to know who his partners are inside, who he's funneling money to.”

I shake my head.

“You heard what that idiot said this morning. If we don't prove that the cost of rising gas prices is due to his dealings, not others’, we’ll go to war. A war where men and women will lose their lives on a lie. Is that what you want, Madam VP?”

I swallow the bile rising up my throat. Choosing me is selfish. But still, I can't risk it. I can't risk everything I've built, who I've become, for his wild-goose chase.

Old Randi, sure. She would've jumped in the ring without a second thought.

But new Randi, well, she's a little more cautious. More is riding on each decision. I have to look at the big picture nowadays. New Randi has more to lose.

“I'm sorry, but I can't help you,” I whisper, not daring to look him in the eyes. Walking to the bookshelf, I pretended to scan the spines. “I have another meeting I need to prepare for. I think it's time for you to leave.”

The soft click of his dress shoes echoes around the library. Out of my periphery, I see him pause at the door.

“I know I didn't know you back then, but I sure as fuck expected more out of you than this. You're no better than the rest of them.”

With that, he throws open the door and storms out.

I slump forward, pressing my forehead against the hard spine of a massive book. My stomach cramps at the frustration and disappointment in his voice. The sexy gravelly tone he has going on didn't do anything to soften the blow of his words.

Movement by the door snags my attention. The soft leather rolls along my forehead as I shift to see who's entered the library.

T and Trey stand at attention, hands lightly clasped. Blowing out a heavy breath, I stare at the book spines.

“That seemed to go well,” Trey says, zero humor in his voice.

I huff. The skin of my forehead peels from the spine as I stand straight. “I need a drink.”

“No,” T says.

“Fine, a cigarette.”

“Negative.”

“Killjoy,” I retort.

“Been called worse.” T shoots a mock salute my way.

A corner of my lips turns upward. “Same.” Hanging my head back, I let out a loud unladylike groan. “Fuck,” I say, drawing it out into multiple syllables.

“Tell us,” Trey demands. “We can help.”

I shake my head and turn to my two best friends. “I wish I could. You have no idea. But what he told me is real shit. Beyond Kyle creating that stupid bill to take away voting rights. If I disclose what Sam and I discussed, I could be prosecuted, and I won’t do that to you or to me.”

A ball of nausea rolls in my gut. Sweat dots along my forehead and dampens beneath my arms. I make quick work of shoving my sleeves up to my elbows before toeing off one shoe, then the other. The cold hardwood quickly soaks into the bottoms of my bare feet, instantly cooling the sudden hot flash.

I swallow and glance around the library, hoping the answer lies somewhere in this room.

“But I want to tell you,” I admit.

T and Trey share a quick look, an unspoken conversation happening in that split second.

“I think you need to get out of this house,” T says.

“Okay,” I agree, uncertain of his change in topics but whatever. “But remember, the president wants me dead, which is why I’ve been