Page 53 of Power Play

“You want me to watch, do you?” Trey's arm beneath the table shifts, and Mr. Hindle gasps, face paling. The hate threatening behind Trey's light eyes disappears when his gaze shifts to me. “I think we got enough, don't you?”

Mr. Hindle's narrowed eyes flick between me and Trouble. “You set me up.” Red clutch in hand, I raise it in the air. His clouded eyes search the bag like he's scanning the recording itself, replaying every word he said tonight. “Nothing will hold up in court. You've got nothing, you fucking conniving—” A sharp whistle of air cuts off his words as he sucks in a quick breath.

What in the hell is Trey doing under the table? I tilt my head in question, but he shakes his. Hmm, he'll tell me later, then.

I shift my focus back to the sweaty Mr. Hindle. The air of power and influence is gone, his older age showing as his skin pales.

“You're correct, nothing will hold up in court.” His brows rise and a flush of life spreads back into his gaunt face. “But that wasn't what I was going for. You see, I've noticed that in today’s social media society, justice doesn't mean anything. One slip of the voice recording leaked on the internet, one accusation, and poof, someone is guilty in everyone’s opinion before the case ever sees a courtroom. Trial by Twitter. It’s a thing.” His shoulders round as the truth in my words sink in. “Do you care what the public thinks of you? What about that beautiful young wife of yours? Oh, and your five kids. What would they think if they heard daddy dearest demanding sexual favors in exchange for money?” I click my tongue and tilt my head. “And the watching part? That's dark.”

“What do you want?” he bites out, holding as still as a statue.

Seriously, does Trey have this guy’s balls in a vise or something? I fight the urge to dip under the table and see what the hell is going on under there.

“A few things, actually. First, I need you to tell Kyle everything went smoothly tonight and pay out whatever you agreed on.” A blast of satisfaction fills every inch of my heart at the condemning look he shoots my way. Not sure why he's pissed at me; he's the old dirty bastard. “Second, you'll also tell him to keep his hands off me or you'll pull your donation.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

I wave a hand in dismissal. “I don't know. Think of something. Maybe that you want me all to yourself or something. I don't care.”

Seconds tick by, the murmuring of the other patrons, oblivious to what we're doing, filling the background. I lick my lower lip as I eye his still-full glass of wine. Would it be bad form to let that go to waste? I can't let down those poor grapes who lost their lives for this wine. Lifting one shoulder in agreement with my internal debate, I reach across the table and cradle the delicate glass in my palm.

“Seriously?” Trey admonishes.

I shrug and take a sip.

“For all this, you'll destroy the recording?”

I nod and pause, holding up a finger. “Also, no releasing my mom's information to the press. And if I ever hear you're attempting to extort sexual favors for political ones again, I'll release the recording and pay a visit to your wife personally to tell her everything that happened tonight. ’Kay? ’Kay.”

I shouldn’t wink. That would be an asshole move.

Eh.

I wink.

He begrudgingly grunts some form of acknowledgment. Good enough for me.

Another hasty sip. Yum, so good.

You know what? Fuck it. I slide my phone from the clutch and snap a picture of the bottle. Maybe it can be a special occasion bottle, like when the queen visits or I’m successful in securing world peace.

I scoot out of the booth to stand, skimming both palms down the black material, drying them and pushing the hem back down my thighs in one move. The dress is beautiful, classy yet sexy. Too bad I'll burn it after tonight. I don't care how much it cost; I could never wear it again without remembering this asshole’s hands on me.

I’m held captivated with acute interest as Trey leans closer to Mr. Hindle, whispering something in his ear. I track Trey's movements as he shifts out of the booth and stands beside me. Our eyes meet, something dangerous and hot flaring between us.

I turn my attention back to the table, locking eyes with the slimy bastard.

“Nice doing business with you, Mr. Hindle. Thank you for the wine. It was delicious.”

I spin from the table, more than ready to put this night behind me. My feet don’t get a single step before a comforting hand presses against my lower back, guiding me through the restaurant once again.

I won this battle.

Wewon this battle.

One of many in this political warfare I’ve immersed myself in, I’m sure.

I glance over my shoulder to Trey, a smile spreading up my lips. At least I’m not alone.

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