Page 1 of Power Struggle

Chapter One

January

My computer pings with an email alert at the exact moment my desk phone begins to ring. My eyes jolt up from the document I’ve been scanning for the last ten minutes, and I momentarily debate ignoring both and calling it an early day. The phone clicks to voicemail, and I sink back, relishing the momentary reprieve. My head drops onto the high back of my pink velvet desk chair, and my eyes drift closed.

3, 2—

My phone rings again, and the email notifications on my laptop begin to ping in rapid succession. Sighing heavily, I shake myself out of the mental exhaustion that seems never-ending these days and grasp my phone, answering it blindly. I don’t need to check the caller ID to know who it is. Only one person’s calls are allowed to come through during my workday.

“Yes, Phillip?” I quip, throwing on the confident, badass mask I’m forced to wear whenever I leave my house.

I should stop leaving the house, I idly muse.

“It’s an hour past when you typically take your lunch, Ms. Hughes. Would you like me to order your usual?” He’s as professional as ever, but after all these years of having Phillip as my assistant, I know better. It’s in the slight lilt of his voice. The strain when he asks me about my lunch order. Like he’s unsure if today will be the day I go off on him or maybe even fire him altogether. It has me swallowing thickly and rolling my neck uncomfortably on my shoulders.

My eyes flick to the large clock over the cream sofa across from me. Is it only 1:00 pm? Shit. I was hoping it was much later. Clearing my throat, I force myself to smile, hoping the fake joy spreads through the phone and calms his concerns. Doubtful. “I’m not all that hungry today, Phil.” I hear a disapproving sound leave his throat, and I quickly amend, “But a salad would be great.”

I can practically feel him deflate happily through the walls separating our offices. “Sure thing, Ms. Hughes. A grilled chicken Caesar salad, and I’ll have them add a vanilla latte for a little afternoon pick-me-up.”

This time, my smile is genuine. I don’t have many friends…well, any friends these days, but if I did, Phillip would probably be one of them. “Thanks. You’re the sweetest.” He chuckles awkwardly at the way my voice comes out in a sultry purr.

“No problem,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back in twen—”

“Phillip?” I interrupt, then immediately chastise myself for being so rude. My heart pounds for some unknown, ridiculous reason. “Make sure that’s non-fat and sugar-free.” I swallow, my head pounding in time with my heart. God, why am I like this? “Please,” I add. Get it together, Addy. My lip curls flirtatiously even though I’m alone in my office. Fake it till you make it. “And make sure to get yourself something, love. It’s on me.”

Awkward.

Stupid.

Idiotic.

“Oh, I will. Especially if you’re paying,” he purrs back, immediately ending my internal spiral. I grin again as we hang up.

That is precisely why Phillip Orion got the job as my assistant over every other applicant all those years ago. He knows me. He knows what buttons he can push and when to cool it. He knows how to handle me at my worst, which, admittedly, is nearly all of the time. My flirty banter and damn near harassing mouth roll off his back without a hitch, and when no one else is around, he gives it right back. We’re a great team. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he might be one of the only people on this planet who truly knows me.

The idea of him knowing me makes me shudder, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of what’s to come. My mind spins, already planning how we’ll make it through the next hour without being obvious.

Sighing, I turn my attention back to my laptop and the chain of emails that have come through in the last few minutes. Flicking through, I find one that has my heart instantly dropping into the pit of my stomach, but like the masochist I am, I read it anyways.

Addison—

Your attendance is required at an event this Saturday night at 7:00 pm sharp. Dress to impress, and for the love of God, do not wear the blue dress you wore in court last week. We saw your photo in the Harold, and it’s unbecoming, particularly in the midsection. Have you gained weight? Perhaps you need to increase your cardio. I will speak to Jillian about getting you into a one-on-one Pilates class at the club. As you know, she’s likely booked out, but I’m sure your father and I can pull some strings. Lord knows you need it.

See you Saturday. Do not be late, and do not disappoint me again.

Wendi Hughes

My eyes burn, matching the aching lump in my throat, but I quickly blink the tears away. They’re useless. I skim over the parting lines again and again. Wendi Hughes. No, ‘love you,’ or Heaven forbid, ‘mom.’ Instead, she signs the brief, shitty email with her full name as though I’m likely to forget the awful woman who gave me life anytime soon. I scoff. I could never, no matter how badly I wish I could.

Shoving up from my desk, I force myself to step away from her hateful words and the thoughts swirling through my head before I can really begin to spiral. Stepping into the bathroom attached to my office, I let the door softly click shut behind me and breathe through the stifling silence created by the cold ceramic and porcelain room. My eyes dart to the shiny white toilet instinctively, and my stomach flips. Exhaling rapidly, I quickly look away and step up to the sink instead, turning the water on cold and submerging my already icy fingers.

I can’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t like this. Broken. Messed up. Wrong. I stare down at my pale fingers, which are steadily turning pink from the cold, fighting the urge to look up. I already know what I’ll see if I look in the mirror, and I already know that I’ll hate it.

To the world, I’m Addison Hughes. Also known as Paddy Wagon Addy, a nickname that I loathe with every fiber of my being. I’m the top prosecutor in Colorado. My conviction rate is nearly unmatched. I love what I do, and I’m damn good at it. When I walk into the courthouse, I’m noticed and recognized immediately, and it’s not just because of my looks. Though, I’m fully aware they contribute to the cause.

I’m tall, slender, and lithe. My waist is tapered. My muscles are toned. My breasts are large and perky, matching my pert ass. My hair is long and blond. My complexion is clear. My eyes are blue. My lips are thick and tantalizingly pink. My cheekbones are high. My jaw is angular and cut. My features are perfectly symmetrical.

And I hate it. All of it. It’s not…right.

---