Page 50 of Power Play

A burst of cool, damp air brushes against my legs and floats a few sections of hair across my face. I face the familiar callused palm dangling midair, waiting for my own. With another deep breath, I slide my fingers between Trey’s and wrap my fingers around his own. I fold out of the car, stepping cautiously onto the sidewalk in my heels. I glide both hands down the thick material of my black dress, repositioning the hem from where it rode up my thighs.

Tipping my chin, I take a step toward the enormous revolving doors. Sweat beads along my palms the closer we get. Rapid breaths steal the air from my lungs, making my head fuzzy.

“Calm down,” Trey says. I flick an annoyed glance his way at the laughter in his tone. “You're fine.”

A tight smile pulls at my lips for Gremlin, who holds the side door open for us, as we step into the hotel lobby.

All the building anxiety melts away as Trey presses his hand against the small of my back. Slowing my pace to increase the comforting pressure, I give my fingers a tiny shake. My heels click along the polished marble as we stride across the lobby toward the restaurant where I'm meeting the campaign donor.

The plan is simple: gain information we can use to blackmail him and get out. The information can be anything from bribery all the way to harassment. Whatever it ends up being, I hope it happens fast. The less time I have to spend with this guy the better. Being alone with him isn't on my top twenty things to do while in New York City.

“I wish I could see the city,” I say to Trey, my attention staying on the approaching hostess stand. Mr. Hindle, the campaign donor, insisted we meet here. The fact that it’s a restaurant inside this upscale hotel didn’t pass my notice. “I've only been here for rallies or something else to do with the campaign. Never seen the city like a real tourist.”

The pressure on my back changes as he guides me through the intimate tables of the restaurant. I scan the large area over the packed crowd for the man I'm meeting.

“Back booth. More secure,” Trouble whispers into my ear. “Almost there. You good? Head in the game?”

No. “Yes.”

We don't say another word. The restaurant darkens the farther back we go, the other patrons’ murmurs growing quieter. An older man slides from a small intimate booth. I recognize him immediately based off the pictures and information Kyle had me review in DC. Early sixties, multimillionaire, wants world domination. Okay, that's not one hundred percent true. In exchange for funneling millions into our campaign fund, he wants a blind eye on his companies unfavorable working conditions if we win.

I shudder at the way his clouded eyes ogle my thin frame. Not as thin as it was last year before I met Kyle but still putting on weight in the right areas has been a challenge. The hand at my back tightens to a fist, the knuckles now digging into my lower spine. I chance a peek up to Trouble, but he doesn't notice. His intense stare is locked on the donor with a promise of a slow death behind those honey brown eyes. I love the humor and twinkle I normally see, the side he shows me, but this side of Trouble is just as sexy.

That intensity, the utter control the man exudes, zaps the final drop of worry clouding my thoughts. He's here. T's outside. Gremlin and the rest of the boys are waiting in the shadows.

I can do this. They're trusting me to have the balls to get through this, and I will not let them down.

They believe in me. It's time I did too.

“Miss Sawyer.” Mr. Hindle leans forward, pressing a swift kiss to one cheek, then the other. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“The pleasure is mine,” I say, somehow suppressing my utter disdain from seeping through.

He raises his hand to the side, extending into the booth. I swallow hard and step out of Trouble's comforting touch. The dress’s hem rides up my thighs as I slide along the supple leather semicircle booth. Settled on the opposite side, Mr. Hindle climbs in and keeps going, pausing when our knees touch but keeping a respectable distance between us for the world to see. Sneaky prick. I grip the hem of my dress beneath the crisp white table linen and give it a quick tug as I cross one leg over the other, sealing my thighs tightly together.

“You can leave.”

My mouth pops open. Attention flying from the front of my dress to Mr. Hindle, I shift back against the tufted black leather of the booth at his pinched features. But his annoyance isn't directed to me. My gaze floats across the table in the direction of Mr. Hindle's glare. My own eyes widen in surprise.

Trey still stands at the booth opening. Stance wide, hands lightly folded in front, exuding refined power. Not money power like the filthy idiot beside me. No, real power. The kind of energy that radiates off someone who knows without a doubt he or she can handle whatever comes their way.

“My team is conducting one more sweep of the restaurant as we speak. I'll move as soon as I get the all clear.”

If Mr. Hindle doesn't catch the unspoken 'asshole' at the end, I'll be shocked.

Several tense seconds tick by while the two men battle for dominance.

“All clear.” Trouble's eyes flick to me. My breath catches knowing this means he’s leaving me here alone. “Ma'am.”

I watch as he turns and fades into the dark corners of the restaurant where no doubt the rest of the team is waiting.

My foot taps furiously in the air beneath the table.

I'm up.

Careful to keep my movements smooth, I slide my red clutch from where it rests on the seat to the table. It's not super close to Mr. Hindle, but T assures me the tiny listening device tucked in the pocket will pick up our conversation just fine as long as it's within reach. I tug it a bit closer just in case.

Hands fidgeting, nerves at an all-time high, I adjust and readjust the five forks and thirty spoons surrounding the single white plate to give my anxious fingers something to do while Mr. Hinkle smiles seeming to enjoy my uncomfortableness.

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