Page 8 of Power Play

My brows rise and my head tilts. “Congratulations, I guess? If you’re here to gain my vote, you won’t get it. I’d fill in Betty White as a write-in candidate before I check the box voting you for president of the United States.”

“That's why I’m here. The fucking initial surveys say I'm an unfavorable candidate. Can you believe that?Me,” he shouts. Pacing once again, he runs both hands through his black hair, disrupting the gelled style. “Apparently, the Birmingham name is associated with a dynasty in DC, like we’re the damn Kennedys or something. Ignorant voters seem to think it's time for a change.”

I raise my hand and nod in agreement. “Not ignorant, aware. I agree it’s time for a change in that city.”

“Why?” He stops behind the chair, both hands grasping the back as he tilts forward. I hold back from breathing deep as another strong waft of cologne infiltrates my nose.

“Nothing gets done anymore,” I say with a held breath. “It's all pomp and circumstance. Nothing is being done to ease the burden on the lower class; instead we're taxed and taxed. All for the sake of more government programs that do shit because the money is mismanaged or whoever’s running it doesn’t understand the real plight of the American people.” Palms down, I push off the desk’s worn wooden top to stand. “We need someone who's been here, understands what it’s like living below the poverty line and never, ever believing you'll break out of it. Someone who fights for our rights, our freedoms instead of handing them over to some jackass in Washington who thinks he knows better.”

My chest heaves, eyes locked with his, tense silence growing with every second he doesn’t respond. The wind howling outside the window and the clicking of nails as Jennifer types on the other side of the thin walls the only sounds.

“I one hundred percent disagree with you,” he finally says. “But if I want to win the election, I need to embrace these fanatic beliefs. Which—” Kyle clears his throat. “—is why I'm here.”

Hell. Either alcohol or nicotine is needed to process this shit and I only have one of those on me.

My legs wobble like a newborn calf as I move from behind the desk to the side window. I snag the pack of cigarettes Jennifer left and pop one between my lips. The window rattles open, a welcomed blast of cold, dry air cooling my heated skin. “You’re here to ask me, Walmart, for my help?” Sparks fly from the flint as I flick the lighter twice, lighting the end of my cigarette. “To what, teach you how to have a fucking heart for the American people? To guide you on what it's like to be poor?”

“No.” Kyle steps to my side, eyes narrowed at the cigarette. “That’s a disgusting habit. And I don't need you to teach me, Walmart. I know who I am, and I know what I want. Adjusting to the voters’ perception of me is simply a roadblock, one I already have a plan to overcome. You by my side.”

Mid-inhale, I laugh, sending the cloud of smoke barreling down the wrong pipe. Tears well and my stomach tightens at the violent coughing attack it brings on.

“By your side?” I croak, throat raw. I bark a raspy laugh. “You can't be serious.”

Right? He’s crazier than me.

“I'm offering freedom, Walmart. Don't mock the hand that can save your poor ass.”

I grind my teeth, jaw clenched tight.

“Nothing would convince me to help—”

“All your debt paid off, gone.” Well, nothing except that. He smirks at my silence, knowing he has my full attention. “I'm talking about changing your life, the life of your kid. Pull your head out of your white trash ass and listen to what I'm willing to offer before saying you'd never partner with me.”

As much as I don't want to hear what he has to say, I do. Talk about conflicting emotions. Do I want to stab him with any sharp object within reach, hell yes. Do I also want the chance of a debt-free life for Tae, fuck yeah. I’ll give a kidney right here—hell, I’d even cut it out of my own body with a letter opener—to erase all the debt I've accrued over the years. Between student loans, which are currently in arrears, and the few maxed-out credit cards, I’m on the cliff of bankruptcy.

Add in being on the verge of homelessness and recently waterless….

That all sounds great, but at what cost? With men like Kyle Birmingham, everything has a cost. Every word, every move is a power play of some kind in their fucked-up game of life.

“I'm listening.” I glare at his bleached-white, straight-toothed, victorious grin. “Begrudgingly, of course.”

“Wouldn't expect anything less from you.” His features harden as his eyes scroll over me from head to toe. A grimace deepens with each inch his dissecting gaze covers.

I squirm under his scrutiny. Here he is in a thousand-dollar suit—well, that’s a wild guess, since I’ve never seen one before, but with the way said suit hugs his lean frame, there's no doubt it’s expensive—and me, well, my dark-wash jeans lost their dark a hundred washes ago. My blazer, a recent Goodwill find, has seen better days, and let’s not even get started on my hair. I freaked out at finding a gray hair two weeks ago and hightailed it to the Dollar General for a box of dark brown hair dye.

“What the hell did you do to your hair?”

My mood sours.

“I found a gray hair,” I say like it explains everything, but by the look of his furrowed brows, it only explains things to a woman.

“It’s the color of day-old dog shit.”

“That's oddly specific,” I retort, nervously leaning toward the desk as I gather the ugly strands. Grabbing a chewed pencil, I stab the pointy end through the messy bun I constructed and turn back to him.

“A complete makeover will be needed, obviously. Hell, maybe we could find someone to make you somewhat attractive.” Those ice-blue eyes narrow as he scans down my frame. I wrap both arms around my waist at the click of his tongue. “Complete wardrobe plus a diet plan and workout regimen. You look like a fucking meth addict.” He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose between two fingers. A clear sheen reflects off his nails. Of course he gets manicures. “Fuck, I can't believe I'm doing this. Grasping at damn straws. Those assholes better be right about all this, or I'll kill them myself.”

“You're wasting your breath—”

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