Page 51 of Power Play

A stiff back waiter approaches with zero animation on his surly face. Without asking what I would like, Mr. Hindle immediately speaks up to order an expensive bottle of red wine and waves the waiter off with an arrogant flick of the wrist.

“How's DC treating you?” he asks after the waiter scurries away.

I roll my shoulders and adjust in the booth.

Game time.

“Different than Texas, that's for sure. Complex, fast paced, brilliant are a few words I’d use to describe what I've seen so far.”

He chuckles and rests a wrinkled hand on top my own. He gives a pointed look to their constant movement. “First time doing this?”

“This?” Oh, please tell me he's going to say something sleazy so I can get the hell out of here sooner than later.

“Meeting with a campaign donor, of course.” His easy chuckle rakes my frayed nerves. “Let's get some wine in us before we dive into the business side, shall we? I have to admit your background is intriguing to me.”

“Oh?” I move my hand from under his, tucking it in my lap. “And why's that?”

“It's different. Most of the people in this town don't know what it's like to live below the 1 percent. Hearing your perspective through the campaign coverage so far has piqued my interest. Tell me a bit about yourself, Randi. Can I call you Randi?”

I force a stiff nod. “There isn't much to tell, but you're correct that my perspective is different. I know what it's like to scrape by, to have your hard-earned money be siphoned away before you even can cash your paycheck.”

“And that's what you want to change. I like that. Tell me more.”

The tight tension in my gut fades. My shoulders relax and my foot stops its midair thumping. Maybe Kyle was wrong about what this guy wants from me. He's pitched forward, elbows on the table, fully engaged in what I have to say. Embarrassed warmth sparks along my cheeks, no doubt turning them a bright pink. What if all this was for nothing and this guy is just a nice old man?

As the waiter holds out the bottle for Mr. Hindle's inspection, I detail out my thoughts and ideas on how to change the lives of those who fall beneath the middle-class financial status. By the time I wrap up my crazy ideas—Kyle’s words, not mine—excitement flickers in my belly and hope flows through my veins, making my fingers twitch in anticipation. If I can get this man to see things from my point of view, maybe Kyle will change his tune and let me spearhead some of these projects.

A wide smile stretching across my face, I lean forward, reaching for my wineglass, only to find it empty. Huh, when did that happen?

“It's good, isn't it? At four hundred dollars a bottle, it should be.” My fingers slip from the glass. I shift my gaze to his—still full. “I'll get you another bottle.”

Another?

Frantic, I glance around the restaurant, but with the lights dimmed and zero windows, there’s nothing to use to judge how much time as passed during my long-winded rant.

“Sorry, I-I got carried away,” I stutter. Condensation slicks my palm and fingers as I grasp the water glass and lift it to my lips.

“No need to be embarrassed, Randi.” The seat shifts my weight, angling me toward Mr. Hindle as he scoots an inch closer. My muscles tense at the brush of his suit pants along the skin of my bare thigh.

My breath hitches.

Kyle was right, I am an idiot. I played right into this fucker’s hands.

At the first brush of his fingers along my knee, I jerk out of his reach.

“Come on now, Randi, don't be that way.” This time his fingers clamp around my exposed thigh, preventing me from flinching away. “I can do so much for your cause.”

“If…?” I ask, not having to add a tremble to my tone. It's already there.

“I think that's something we can discuss after dinner, don't you?”

No. I can't let it get that far. If I go up to his room, like I’m sure he'll suggest, I'm done for. He's twice my size; if he tries anything, there's no way I could fight him off. Plus, behind closed doors, I won't have Trey's hawk eyes monitoring the situation.

This needs to end now, even though he's not lying about the wine. That shit is yummy with a capitalY. I'd take a picture of the label to buy later, but even if I had enough money to wipe my ass with hundred-dollar bills, I couldn't justify spending that kind of cash on a single bottle of wine.

Case? Debatable. But bottle, no way. Do you know how many boxes of wine you could buy for four hundred dollars? A lot, that’s how much.

His soft skin slides up toward the juncture of my legs that's securely sealed off by the closed thighs, pulling me back to the present.

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