Page 14 of Power Play

Startled, I jolt back, my hand catching the extended handle of my rolling suitcase. It teeters before falling to the floor with an echoing thump.

I shift from one heel to the other, avoiding the man’s pointed glare.

“Smelling the wall.” I frown at my ragged bag on the pristine carpet. “The scent in the hall… I thought it came from the wallpaper, so I sniffed it. I'm sure it happens all the time.” My knees pop as I squat, righting the toppled suitcase.

“I can guarantee you it doesn't. Kyle mentioned you were a strange one.” His near-black eyes flick to his watch, a frown forming.

Using the distraction, I take in the rude man. Dirty-blond hair, square jaw with high cheekbones, and a narrow upturned nose. Attractive if it weren’t for the dark and foreboding aura pulsing around him. Every internal alarm sounds, the clenching in my gut telling me to get the hell out of here.

His eyes swing back to me, narrowing. “Hurry up. You're late.”

I tighten my grip on the suitcase handle, the hard plastic slipping in my sweat-damp palm.

My steps are hesitant, the bag barely rolling behind me. “I'm at a disadvantage. Who are you?”

An unnaturally wide smile curls up his cheeks, and I retreat a step. He appeared dangerous before, but with this Joker-like smile, I'm sufficiently creeped out.

“Come on, Trailer.” He shoves off the thick, dark wood door without a glance back, moving into the office suite.

“Asshat,” I grumble under my breath. I grip the door’s edge before it closes. Shoving it open, I lug the bag through, only for it to close sooner than I expect. Near my limit for the day, I hold back a scream of frustration. Backtracking, I give the heavy door another big shove, freeing my suitcase. Sweat beads beneath my arms and glistens on my forehead. Hopefully I don’t look as discombobulated as I feel. The redeye flight out of DFW was rough in its own right. Add in the constant turbulence from there to DC, then the frantic scene at the taxi stand at Reagan and I'm whipped.

“Good to see you finally made it, Walmart.” Kyle sneers as I cough at the assault of his overpowering cologne. “Come, we have items to discuss.”

I swallow, fighting the panic that wants to seal off my airway as I follow him into the next room. Yesterday, Kyle called, informing me they’d come to a decision on my counteroffer and I was needed in DC as soon as possible. So here I am, sweating like a pig, nerves frayed.

What if they agree?

Oh hell, what if they don't? The prospect of zero debt, Taeler’s college paid for by someone else, and proving to everyone I’m not worthless has filled my thoughts the last few days.

Now I'm here.

Shit, things just got real. This is happening.

The fancy décor and furniture in the large room Kyle leads me into match the opulence from the hallway. It resembles a posh living room rather than a boardroom, dotted with four large leather chairs and two dark fabric-covered couches centered around an imposing wooden table.

The four older men stand from where they sat as we enter the room. The lone woman remains seated as she types furiously on the cell phone inches from her scowling face. My eyes scan the room, falling on the mystery man from the hall. Pure hate fills his eyes from his perch against a sideboard, its top littered with decanters of various sizes and shapes, all filled to the brim with honey-colored liquid.

“My assistant and attorneys,” Kyle states with a wave of his hand, not bothering with introducing everyone by name. “Sit.” He points to the smaller couch. “We have significant information to discuss and little time to work with.”

The delicious aroma of fresh-brewed coffee hits my nose, and a slow throb pulses in my head with the need for more caffeine. I dismiss Kyle, heading straight for the narrow buffet along the opposite wall. My mouth waters as the steaming dark brew streams from the thick metal carafe into my awaiting white mug. Wouldn’t be shocked if the shit’s china. Rich bastards. Even their mugs are fancier than me.

After one Splenda and a dash of cream—it’s here, so why the hell not—I wrap both hands around the warm mug and turn to the group.

“Now I'm ready,” I announce, sinking into the soft plush couch. The cushion molds around my ass and back like a fucking cloud.

Holy fuck, expensive furniture is soft.

Kyle sneers, gracefully sliding into the dark leather chair opposite me.

“After running the numbers and taking preliminary surveys, we found that, as far-fetched as it seems, you becoming running mate in next year’s election will elevate the ticket higher in the polls.” The white mug slips in my tight grip. “We need to switch the names on the paperwork as soon as possible. The convention is right around the corner, and all delegates must announce their candidacy by that time.”

Little waves ripple along the surface of my coffee, my hands trembling in anticipation. I lift it to my lips, take a scalding sip, and then lean forward, setting it on the table.

Should I find a coaster or something?

I swipe both damp palms down my gray slacks. “Great, so what do you need from me? Birth certificate and proof of residency are two that come to mind that are required for eligibility.”

An older, balding man slides a manila folder across the table. “We need several items to complete the submission process.” I stop its path before it tips to the floor. “The list is in there, along with several forms that you must sign.”

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