Page 18 of Power Play

I stare at the congealed sauce at the bottom of the container. Maybe Tank’s right. Maybe I am jaded. I’m just over this city and the phonies in it. Everyone doing whatever they can to get ahead. Using, manipulating, lying—nothing is off the table.

After everything I've seen growing up in this fake-ass political circus, how could I not be jaded? This past year hasn’t been a breeze either. Is this a good way to live, this bitter version of myself? No, but if I keep my guard up, no one will make me a fool again.

“Yeah,” I mutter. Turning, I gaze out the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, marveling at the soft glow of the Capitol Building. “Doubtful, but maybe. Let's just hope they don't win.”

“I've heard she had a few run-ins with protesters. The campaign hired additional security for her.”

“Wonder why?” I muse before shoving a warm dumpling into my open mouth.

Eyes glued to the game, Tank shrugs. “No idea. Maybe some people don't like the idea of a woman potentially being in the VP spot, or they don't like the idea of someone outside of the political powerhouse families in the election at all. All I'm saying is if they do get the nod for their party, it could get ugly early.”

“Well, that could be fun. Change of pace.”

“Fun for who?” He chuckles.

“Us, of course. Even before the demotion, the prior years were boring as shit. Why else do you think I stirred up so much trouble?”

“If I'd known that, I would've given you more to do,” Tank mutters under his breath as he strides across the living room, eyes on the food.

“You love me and the entertainment I bring to the table.”

He snatches the disposable set of chopsticks I launch at his head right before they smack his face. “Tell yourself whatever you need to make you feel loved.”

“That hurts, man,” I say with my lips around the top of the beer bottle. I tip it back only to get a few drops of backwash. Disgusting.

“The truth hurts. Speaking of your desperate longing for someone to love you, how are your parents?”

He should be glad I'm not carrying right now. Fucking prick.

“Still disappointed in my life choices and making sure I'm aware of that fact every time I see them. Last week my mom pulled me aside and asked me when I’m going to grow up and get a real job.”

“Wow,” Tank says around a mouthful of food. “Man, this is good.”

I slide off the stool and make my way to the fridge. “Yep. They had the perfect plan for my life before I went and destroyed it. If I’d stayed true to their timeline, I'd be the one running for the president gig, not Birmingham.” Swiping a bottle of water and another beer from the fridge, I kick it closed behind me. “His name being all over the news is making it worse. They can't stand that family, even though they're best friends. I know it's killing Mom and Dad both that Kyle is the political poster child, not me.”

The stool wobbles on the tile as I sit back down, placing the bottle of water in front of Tank. Lifting the hem of my T-shirt, I wrap my hand in it and twist the cap off the beer.

“Knowing you all these years, I can't imagine you shoved into one of those political figure roles. You'd be like a bull in a china shop.”

No doubt. It's why I went into the army after college. Damn, my parents were pissed when they learned I’d signed up without telling them. It pissed them off even more when not even their name—or their money—could change my enlistment. Best decision I ever made, breaking free from their perfect plan. There isn't a doubt in my mind that I would be as miserable as they are if I hadn’t.

Not that the past year has been that great, but the others have. And the ones after this one will be. Change is coming; I can almost feel it. The past few weeks, I've been antsy, tense, like I’m waiting for something.

Butwhatis the question.

Chapter Six

Randi

September

Holding in a shallow breath, I tug back the gold and green embellished curtain, peeking into the ballroom.

Wall-to-wall people dressed to the nines fill the room all laughing and mingling with a thrill of excitement in the air.

After various live debates and the hundreds of speaking engagements throughout the campaign, I'm used to all this. Well, except the pointed, hateful glares from those who deem me unworthy. No matter how many pep talks I give myself in the mirror, those crush the part of me that wants to be accepted.

They don't know me. They think they do because of what our campaign has told them, but they don't. No one out in the crowd knows the person they see in front of them night after night isn't the real Randi Sawyer. No, the real me was polished, waxed, highlighted, and sculpted away. Am I the perfect Politician Barbie? Yes. But not really me.

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