Power Switch (Power Play #3) - Kennedy L. Mitchell Page 0,21
huskiness in my voice, giving away the lust riding through my veins. “In convicting Birmingham? As in teaming up with DOJ?”
She shakes her head. “No not as an attorney but in gaining evidence.” Attention on me, she says, “Proof. No matter if you’re the president or a sexy-ass secret service agent, anyone needs proof for a case to even be considered to be taken to court.”
“Um, have you seen the last few years in DC?” Tank says with a laugh. “Pretty sure fast allegations get blasted across every news channel and social media daily. Proof isn't needed in today’s trial by Twitter.”
“I agree, but the public opinion of guilt is different than actual guilt. To have both the House and Senate agree to proceed with impeachment, there has to be substantial evidence or they're risking their own careers. Kyle has material on them, don't forget. So they’ll have to know 100 percent that there will be a guilty verdict to even consider moving forward.”
Nodding to an unheard beat, I flip the bread as I process her words. “He needs inside help.”
“That's exactly what Sam wants.” A light flare of pink highlights her cheeks. “I think I can trust him.” I school my features to keep my emotions from showing. “Not that it matters.”
“Order up,” I grumble with less enthusiasm than earlier.
“I agree that we can trust him, but why doesn't it matter?” Tank asks as he leans across the counter with plate in hand, waiting to accept the hot sandwich. I slide it onto his plate and turn back to the stove to prepare the next one.
“You both know what I signed with Kyle,” she explains. “I can't risk being in breach of contract. I'd have to pay everything back, and even with the salary I make, it wouldn't be a drop in the bucket to what I’d owe.” She shoves the last piece of toasted bread into her mouth and shakes her head. “I won't risk it. I have to think long-term.”
Neither Tank nor I say a word. Butter sizzles in the hot pan, filling the otherwise silent kitchen. I chance a look at Tank, whose dark eyes are already on me. He nods, knowing exactly what I’m thinking, and goes back to his sandwich, confirming we're on the same page.
Part of me wants to push her to help the DOJ, even if it means her working closely with Sam. Randi came to DC to make a difference, to stop the political leeches from taking advantage of the people they were elected to fight for. The Randi I met on the campaign trail would be furious at her current desire to stay out of this fight, and for what? Money? Status? Randi's current mindset is selfish, which isn't her.
But it is the safe option.
That’s where the other half wants me to plant my flag, to side with her. Randi already has a target on her back between Birmingham, Whit, and the rest of the aristocratic dipshits who don’t want to change. Assisting on this investigation will put her safety in more jeopardy. Plus it’ll put her working side by side with the man she no doubt finds attractive.
So which do I vocalize?
The smell of burnt bread draws my focus from the white subway tile I'd mindlessly focused on to the pan.
“Shit,” I hiss. Flipping the sandwich, I curse again at the blackened bread. Out of nowhere, my patience snaps. The knob nearly snaps as I twist off the gas flame. Grabbing the sizzling pan with the ruined sandwich, I toss it into the sink with more force than necessary and storm out of the kitchen.
The soft leather recliner molds around my ass and back as I fall into it. Closing my eyes, I take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm my rising anger as heat fills my veins. I shift in the chair, grumbling to myself as I try to get comfortable but fail miserably.
With an annoyed sigh, I reach up and massage my forehead where a blooming headache has started. Even with the soft groan of the leather as I attempt to settle deeper into the chair, her soft footsteps meet my ears. An intoxicating cherry vanilla scent fills my nose, easing the building stress behind my chest. I peek one eye open and watch as she removes one small shoe and then the other.
Slowly, she crawls into the recliner, settling in the small open space between me and the armrest. I exhale long and hard