Page 55 of Power Switch

“Thank you.” I tilt my head left and then right, looking at all the different angles through the expensive sunglasses the agents are required to wear as part of their uniform. “Wow. No wonder they seem attached to your face at all times. Can we order me a pair?”

With a grunt of what seems to be agreement, Trey places a hand against my lower back, guiding me toward the massive set of wooden doors with ornate iron work decorating the front.

Did I say cabin? I retract the earlier statement and now would like to add to the record that we've arrived at the estate. I should've knowntheCamp David would be a massive compound.

Both doors swing open. Welcoming smells and the murmur of happy chatter greet us as we step over the threshold into the gilded cage. At my side, Sam slips his hand into mine, giving my cold fingers a slight squeeze for reassurance.

The murmuring silences as my entourage and I stride into the large living room. A few women openly roll their eyes my way and then turn back to their conversation partners, dismissing me outright.

Palpable anger attracts my attention to the roaring fireplace. My stomach tightens at the pure hate seeping through Mr. Hindle's hard stare. Beside him, a lovely woman, who I recognize from the research I did last year on his family, holds his bicep, struggling to draw his notice back to her. Of course he’s here.

Wait a minute.

If he was a big campaign donor, then maybe….

I make a mental note to think harder on that when my brain doesn’t feel like an ice pick is piercing through it with every thought.

A man stands from the overstuffed couch and turns to face me. Todd's smile is strained as he approaches. His weak hand extends between us, slightly shaking. Which is fine because mine is too, considering all my energy is channeled into my knees not buckling under my weight.

Revulsion slides down my spine, churning my stomach as his moist palm slides into my own and gives it a squeeze that wouldn't even crack an egg.

Ugh. Weak handshake. Who chose this guy for our secretary of state again?

Kyle moves into view, pausing beside Todd, whose face is overly tight like his Botox is just now kicking in full force. His lower lip appears slightly poutier too.

“Good to have you here, Madam VP,” Kyle says. “Pierce, welcome to Camp David.”

“We didn’t really have a choice, now did we, Mr. President,” I say just as lackluster as his greeting was. We both know this is all for show. There are more hate-filled forced encounters between us than pleasantries at this point. “Todd, good to see you. Haven't seen you since that night at the Benson estate. You know, the one where we celebrated that horrible bill failing in the Senate.”

“Take those damn glasses off,” Kyle hisses as he reaches out and swipes them off my face. I blanch at the bright overhead lights but hold back from showing any other reaction. “Of course you're hungover.”Sure, we'll go with that, not dying from the inside out.“The apple isn't falling far from the white trash tree, is it?”

Sam grumbles something of discontent as Trey tightens the hand still at my back into a fist. Todd just tucks his chin to his chest, avoiding the confrontation altogether. I open my mouth, readying to tell him to fuck off and starting to believe my failing health is his doing, when a familiar face catches my attention.

My jaw drops, the pain in my head forgotten, overtaken by pure disbelief.

I tilt my head one way and then the other, my hair shifting from side to side as I try different angles. Confusion sets in as those innocent blue eyes continue to stare right back into mine from across the room.

“Taeler?”

14

Trey

Whether from the headache or the startling bombshell of seeing her only daughter here surrounded by her enemies, Randi’s first step toward the giddy Taeler falters, almost taking her to the floor.

Sam forces his hand between mine and her back, taking over the role of supporting boyfriend. The role I should be playing, not him. Anger hardens my resolve to get his hands off her, completely forgetting our surroundings. Nothing else matters, just removing that hairy fucking hand pressing against the small of her delicate back, way too close to the curve of her ass.

“Secure the room,” T says loudly beside me, almost like he’s yelling directly in my ear. Who knows, maybe he can see the murderous glint in my eyes as I plot Sam’s demise. “Playboy.” I don't break my focus from the two moving across the room with Todd and Birmingham close on their heels. “Do not let them get too close. Stay glued to her fucking side. Watch what she eats, what she drinks. Hell, watch the air she breathes.”

I nod, already moving forward.

“Mom,” Taeler exclaims, clapping her hands together, having no idea the egregious amount of stress she’s added by being here in the grasps of those who want her mother to fail. “You're finally here. I was beginning to wonder when you'd show up. Who's this?” Her light brows furrow at their joined hands, confusion written over her tiny features, which are nearly identical to her mother’s. Tilting her chin up, she searches the room. Her gaze slides over me only to halt and zero in. “Hey, Trouble.”

“What are you doing here, Taeler?” Fear, pain, and anger bleed through Randi's quivering voice. She rubs a hand down her daughter’s arm in long, comforting strokes.

Once again, confusion takes over Taeler's innocent face.

Fuck, she doesn't need to be anywhere near here.

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