Page 2 of Power Struggle

Every single time I look in the mirror, I cringe. I hate the person staring back at me. Hate her with a deep, dark passion. I hate her because she is not the woman everyone else sees. The one that a modeling agency recruited at eight years old. The one who was entered into beauty pageants time and time again, winning tiaras until they became crowns, crowns until they became titles. I won money and fame. Was featured in spreads in magazines and walked countless runways. But none of those things was my choice. They came with side effects, repercussions, and harsh judgment that one should never have to endure. If I could go back and take it all away, I would in a heartbeat.

Sighing, I flick the cold water off and swap it for hot, defrosting my chilled fingers as I mentally work through the rest of my day. Things at Attenborough Law have changed significantly in the past few months. Ever since the shit show Rayvn went through last year with Vincent Sutton and Tinsley Snow.

It was no secret that Roy Brandt, our unofficial leader, was opposed to Ray taking such a high-profile case, and he made his opinion on the matter known often and loudly. Sandra Royale, another partner known primarily for being up Roy’s ass, agreed with him tenfold for no other reason than to suck up. The rest of the partners, Scott Harrison, Jackson Lowell, and myself, were split, but the three of us agreed that it was Ray’s decision and that no one should force her to step down. Unfortunately, the point and argument were moot when Tinsley Snow backed out of the trial only months before Vincent Sutton’s untimely death.

Everything should have gone back to normal after that…except—that’s not what happened.

A gentle rap on my office door pulls me from my thoughts. I quickly turn the water off, dry my hands and throw my shoulders back as though that one act will clear my head. Unlikely. I step back into my office, calling out for Phillip to come as I tuck myself behind my desk.

Smiling, he breezes through the large room as though it’s a runway, his hands full of both of our lunches. “They were quick today,” he muses, pursing his lips as he drops the brown takeout bag onto the glass surface before sliding a large, iced coffee in my direction. My lip tips up, and I nod my head in thanks, sliding my laptop to the side to make room for our food. Sighing, Phillip drops into one of the chairs opposite me and rolls his eyes. “We could use the breakroom, you know? Maybe just once. Get to know the new crew.”

I cock a brow. “You’re welcome to eat wherever you like, and you know it.” He scoffs, unwrapping a thick, cheesy sandwich that makes my mouth salivate.

“Like I’d make you eat alone.” Swallowing, I shove down the rush of happiness and gratitude that fills me at his words. That is—until he opens his mouth again. “We both know I’m your only friend, and without me, you’d wither up and die an old maid.”

I know he’s kidding. I can tell by the sassy smirk on his angular face and the wink he throws at me. Still, the words stab me directly in my chest as though they were tossed at me by a mortal enemy rather than my assistant and pseudo-bestie.

Shaking away the unintentional hurt, I grab the clear plastic box housing my salad and peel the lid away. “Whatever,” I grumble, stabbing a chunk of lettuce with a plastic fork.

Phillip chuckles around a bite of food, drawing my attention away from my own meal only to find his sandwich nearly gone already. I almost choke on my tongue. Shit. Either I’m really behind, or he’s really fast. Either way, I need to do something to keep his attention off of me. Clearing my throat, I roll my shoulders back again in a practiced move, forcing my back to straighten and my neck to elongate.

Posture reflects attitude, Addison. If you hunch, you’ll have a double chin and belly rolls. Is that what you want? To look fat?

Gritting my teeth, I stab another piece of lettuce with more force than necessary as I imagine stabbing the incessant voice in my head with the shitty cutlery instead. Or maybe its owner. Swallowing, I look back to Phillip, finding him finished with his meal and scrolling on his phone as he sips at his iced mocha, completely oblivious to the way I’m spiraling. “Are you almost done?” he grunts, his eyes flicking toward my salad.

Think, Addy, think.

“So,” I purr, blinking rapidly as my full lips tip up. All of his attention turns to my face, and I shovel my salad around in a move that looks absent, but really, I’m digging a hole and making it look like I’ve eaten more than three bites. In actuality, the thought of eating with such a messy mind has me ready to vomit everywhere. Think of something to say. Anything. “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?” I practically blurt.

Phillip leans back in his chair, his lips still wrapped around his straw, and crosses his legs. His head cocks to the side, and his eyes narrow on me. Normally, I’m unaffected by people’s stares. At least, on the outside, I appear that way. I’ve gotten really good at hiding what’s constantly simmering just beneath the surface. But right now, with no one else to observe me but Phillip in a quiet, secluded room—I don’t feel the need to mask quite so severely. Because of that, I have no doubt that he’s noticed how the words Valentine’s and Day make me cringe and shift awkwardly. I hate this holiday with a passion.

“What are you doing for Valentine’s Day, Addison?” he purrs right back.

Well, fuck. I hadn’t thought that through at all, had I?

Fighting a grimace, I primly bite into a tomato, chewing slowly to buy myself time before leaning back in my chair with my drink to mirror his posture. We fall into a silent stare-down—a battle of wills. Normally, I’d win, but right now, I’m slightly rattled by everything tumbling around in my brain and body. The food. The voice that never leaves. The holiday. Thoughts of Attenborough and my old coworkers. Ray. Him.

Shaking my head, I exhale heavily. “You know I’m not seeing anyone, Phillip,” I finally sigh.

His perfectly manicured dark brows dip down as he squints at me in confusion. He swallows a huge gulp of coffee and points the nearly empty cup at me as though he’s brandishing a weapon. “That’s not what I asked you.”

I tip my shoulder and take a sip of my drink. The bitter, acidic flavor of plain, unsweetened, un-fattened, un-delicious coffee smacks me in the throat, and I barely stifle a gag. Gross.

Better than having acne from the dairy and bloating from the sugar, Addison. My throat tightens at the commentary that sounds almost identically to the woman who gave me life’s favorite words.

“If I’m not seeing anyone, then my Valentine’s options are limited. Besides,” I add, pointing my straw right back at him. “I’d rather just pretend the day doesn’t exist at all. It’s a holiday created by Hal—”

“Don’t,” he hisses, leaning forward. “Don’t even give me that shitty line sad people tell their friends and family to avoid the fact that they’re depressed, horny, and alone on the most romantic day in history.”

I roll my eyes and bark out a laugh at that. “Please,” I scoff. “Just because a person is single does not mean they’re lonely. It means they’re strong, independent, and know what they want.”

“And what they want is a sad, shriveled-up vagina that hasn’t seen a dick since Lucifer knows when and has probably forgotten how it feels to have cum sliding out of you after being well and truly fucked?” he challenges, his eyes twinkling. Meanwhile, my mouth has gone dry. A complete opposite to the situation in my panties at just the mere thought of what he’s describing. Well, hell. I do miss that. He’s got me there. At my silence, Phillip smirks and turns back to his phone. “Thought so,” he murmurs, just as my computer pings with an email.

He gives me a smug look and glances at my laptop without a word of explanation. Huffing, I shove my hardly-touched salad away and turn to my emails. The newest message is a forwarded email from my assistant.

The headline reads: Be My Naughty Valentine-Brought to you by Kinkster. Intrigued and confused, I open the email to find a beautiful, discrete invitation for a Valentine’s Day party hosted by the Kinkster dating app that both Ray and I had been on months ago. It caters to kink-positive people, seeking like-minded partners in a safe and controlled way. I spent months on the app with no real success, unlike Ray, who scored on the first try. After she met Wolfe and moved away to live with him in New Mexico, I deleted the app, no longer in the mood for online dating. That’s not the only reason; my annoying brain chides, but I ignore the bitch and keep reading.

Looking to spice up your dating life or enjoy a night of filthy fun with hot singles near you?

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