Page 14 of Power Twist

“Not with him,” he snaps.

“Then. With. Who?” I toss the file on the desk. It slides across the shiny surface before disappearing over the edge. “I have no friends in this town except you and T. All you two suggest is holing up in that damn house like I'm a prisoner. I need to get out for a few hours.”

“Then you should've said something instead of agreeing to go on a date with that fuckstick.” He rakes his hand through his shiny hair.

“Um, it's not a date. It's dinner,” I correct. Seriously, a date? With Todd. I don’t think so. It’s dinner between two colleagues.

“It's a date.”

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“It's fucking dinner.”

“It's a fucking date.”

“It isn't because I don't want to sleep with him.”

“He does,” he says as he steps closer. Shoving my chair back, he grips the armrests, boxing me in. Leaning forward, he pauses with his nose an inch from my own. “And now he thinks you do too because you said yes.”

“To dinner, Trey.” I fight the internal battle to reach up and cup his cheek, to draw it an inch closer and seal my lips to his. My thighs pinch together against the growing ache building at his closeness. Memories of us naked, wrapped in the other’s arms, flood through me, making heat build beneath my skin. “I don't want him. I want you,” I whisper.

A light knock sounds from the other side of the door, causing both our heads to snap that direction. The handle angles down, and then the door opens a foot.

“Trey? Madam VP?” a feminine voice calls out.

Trey shoves back, keeping his heated gaze locked with mine. Pulling at one sleeve and then the other, he adjusts his suit before striding across the room to open the door. “Come on in, Jessica. She’s ready for you.” With a pointed glare over his shoulder, he adds, “We're not done with this conversation, Mess.”

Anticipation coils in my lower belly, building on the smoldering heat he already ignited between my thighs.

Should I be excited or worried?

Both?

Shrugging off the last two minutes of strangely hot angry verbal foreplay, I plaster on a fake smile, readying for the initial introductions. The smile immediately falls as the beautiful young woman strides through the door, looking confident in her thousand-dollar smile, full bouncing blonde hair, and perfect red wrap dress.

I hate her.

Okay, I don't hate her, but I want to, which just makes me hate myself for hating someone I don't know. Even my subconscious shakes its head, not understanding that line of thinking.

I swipe my clammy hands down the front of my navy slacks before I stand. Careful to not trip—that would be the epitome of embarrassing in front of this woman—I round the small coffee table with an extended hand.

“Jessica,” I say as enthusiastically as I can. Instead I sound like one of the stupid mice from Cinderella. “Please come in, and it's Randi, please.” Internally I high-five the shit out of myself for not stumbling over my words. Not that I'm attracted to her or anything, even though she does have great boobs.

Halfway across the room, I turn with an expectant look to Trey, but his focus is on the beautiful Jessica Hawthorne. Of course it is. My heart sinks in my chest.

A dainty hand slides into mine and gives it a hard squeeze.

“It's a pleasure to meet the first female vice president of the United States.” She beams, still shaking my hand. Her aqua eyes are bright with excitement, highlighted by the fresh coat of red lipstick across her plump lips.

Bet they're fake.

Agh. I drop her hand and turn to the desk.Stop comparing yourself, Randi. Don't be a bitch just because she's prettier than you. And richer no doubt. And looks like she would fit into this role better than you.

“Everything okay?” she asks hesitantly behind me.

Glancing over my shoulder, I smile and nod. “Fine, just didn't expect this.” I wave a limp hand toward her. “Sorry, I shouldn't say shit like that. Shit!” I whisper-yell. “I shouldn't say shit either. Fuck.” Dammmmmmmnit.

---