Page 15 of Power Play

“Great.”Not great. So not great right now. Maybe it’s not too late to back out. What the hell was I thinking! I can’t do this, help run a fucking country. Maybe if I avoid eye contact and make a break for the exit, they’ll forget I was ever here.

“I asked my attorneys to draw up an agreement detailing everything we discussed. That is also in there,” Kyle says, nodding to the folder in my hands.

My eyes flick to the door. If I back out now, what is there to go home to?

Just breathe, Randi. Deep inhale and slow exhale.

“Moving on to your cover story.”

My brows draw together. “Cover story? I thought you wanted mebecauseof my background, not despite it.”

He nods, steepling two fingers beneath his dimpled chin. “With you switching from my wife to filling the vice president slot, we only need select portions of your background known, not everything.”

“I don't understand.” I shake my head and glance around the room, hoping someone will fill in the missing pieces.

“He means they need you poor, but not the poor white trash you are.”

“Fuck you,” I grit out to the man smirking against the sideboard. Knew he was an asshole the moment I laid eyes on him in the hallway. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

“Shawn Whit,” Kyle says with a tight smile. “Shawn’s blunt but correct. We've decided to embellish your backstory so it's not so fucking depressing. No one would believe some low-rent trailer trash would be effective in the VP seat.”

I relax, sinking farther into the seat. I’m not mad—I’m relieved. The thought of the whole world knowing everything added more pressure to the already crushing weight resting on my shoulders.

“I can see that angle. What are you suggesting we change?”

“We keep your loser mother out of the press. Instead we give the media a softer version of your story, a version we can spin to appeal to the voters.”

“Sounds like a back-ass way of saying you want to lie to the voters.”

No surprise that he ignores the accurate comment. “It will take a lot of maneuvering inducements—”

“Bribes. It's called a bribe, which is illegal,” I interject.

“—but we'll make sure only the parts we want of your backstory make it to the press. If we feed them the information, they'll never bother digging to verify the facts.”

“NowthatI believe,” I mutter. Leaning forward, I grasp the warm mug and take a long drink. I savor the warmth the liquid ignites down my throat, the smooth flavor unlike anything I’ve ever had. Bet it’s laced with diamond dust or gold flecks. “I don't think it’ll work, but you're the one in charge of this evil plot.”

“I'll get the basic points of your improved background that you'll need to memorize before we hit the campaign trail. Also, to keep the media busy, the campaign will lead the press to believe we’re romantically involved. Those idiots thrive on a good love story, a rags-to-riches sob story. Plus, it will give you a small foothold in the DC social scene if you’re linked to me and my family name. If they think we’re together maybe a few key circles will accept you, but it’s a long shot. Now the next step, making you look the part.”

I sink deep into the soft cushion, hoping it can swallow me whole. Every eye in the room zeros in, scanning me from head to toe, scrutinizing very inch.

“Hair, obviously,” says the woman. For the first time since I entered the room, her attention focuses on me instead of the phone glued to her hands. “A few chemical peels can improve her skin tone.”Yikes. Didn't realize it was that bad.“Botox around the forehead and eyes to make her appear less worn.” I'd be pissed if I didn't agree with her assessment. “Lip injections, fast-track Invisalign, plus several whitening treatments.”

Hell, maybe Ben is right. I am haggard. All that sounds not only expensive but painful. Not that they would have any sympathy to my plight.

“Is there enough time to make her believable?” Kyle asks. He leans back in the chair, blue eyes still assessing. “We only have two months until the convention.”

The woman's blonde hair swishes along her collarbone. Everything about her is perfectly placed. Not a single wrinkle mars her crisp suit, and her makeup is dewy in all the right places, giving off a refreshed look. Unease rolls in my gut. I shift my focus from her to the table, unable to take her disapproving scowl any longer.

“It won't be perfect, though a vast improvement from the distressed appearance she has now. We can continue the various treatments through the campaign as well. At that point the changes will be gradual. No one will take notice.”

“Add in some etiquette classes.” Shawn smirks. “I bet she eats with her fucking toes.”

My nose and lips tug in a sneer. The earlier embarrassment vaporizes, red-hot anger blasting through my veins instead. “Fuck you.” Palms pressed to the leather, I pitch forward, ready to tackle the asshole.

Shawn chuckles, glass clicking along the sideboard as he stands from his perch on the edge. “You've said that already. If you keep it up, I'll take you up on it. After the improvements, obviously.”

“Great. So that settles it.” Kyle's fingers dig into the cushioned arms of the chair. Standing, he straightens his navy pin-striped suit coat. “Shawn will be our advisor through the campaign.” He gestures to the narcissist whose death I'm already mentally plotting. “What he says goes, just the same as me. You will do everything we tell you, or this contract will not only be voided, preventing any future payments from the Birmingham trust, but we will also pursue legal action against you, demanding repayment of every cent we've paid out to that point.”

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