Page 6 of Power Switch

“I know. I didn't want to go over that late and drunk. I forgot she had something to tell me.” With a curse, I shove off the stool to pace the expansive kitchen. “Fuck, this is worse than I thought when I first woke up. I thought I'd just disappointed her by not showing up when I said I would, but now she probably thinks I'm avoiding her or didn't want to hear what she had to say. Or—”

“Get your head out of your ass, Benson. This is bigger than that. Did you hear me? The associate attorney general demanded a meeting with her. Today. Something big is about to drop, and we have no fucking clue what that entails.”

“Her meeting with the Russians?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe it has something to do with Birmingham.”

“Possible. But why approach her if that’s the case?”

“Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly, which is why I'm here so damn early on our day off getting ready to eat through my stress with two pounds of bacon.”

I arch a brow. “There's another pound in the freezer.”

“Fine, three pounds of bacon.”

“When's the meeting?” Pausing in front of the Nespresso machine, I pop a pod into the dispenser with one hand while swiping a mug off the exposed shelf with the other. After hitting the brew button, I turn to face Tank, who's busy placing several crispy slices of cooked bacon on a plate. “You said today.”

“This afternoon. He's coming by the house around three.”

“We need to be there for her.” And I want a good look at this guy.

“It's our day off,” Tank states like I could’ve forgotten as he shoves three pieces of hot blackened bacon into his mouth. “What excuse would we have for showing up and sitting in on her meeting? We’re her friends, yes, but not everyone is good with the notion that she tells us everything. We know we’d never use it against her, but others don’t.”

The gurgle of the bubbling water pulls my attention to the brewing coffee. Focused on the dark streaming liquid, I shuffle through the options. I hate to admit it, but he's right. We don't need to draw attention to our friendship with Randi. Who knows? The fuckers might take us off her protection detail just to be assholes.

But I can’tnotbe there.

“Call in a favor to the beta team lead, Chaz. He owes you, I’m sure.” Before the last drip reaches the foam, I pull the mug up to my lips and take a scalding sip of the steaming liquid. Hopefully this will help clear my head. “Tell him we want to sub in for two of his agents for a few hours today. That way we’ll have a legit excuse to be there, nothing suspicious.”

Excuse or not, I'll be at that meeting.

I cringe behind the coffee mug.

Even if Randi might be pissed as hell and notwantme there.

* * *

The wooden front porch step creaks under my dress shoe as I travel up the short set of stairs toward the front door. The unknown of the next few hours rakes at my nerves. A thin sheen of sweat dampens my palms and shines across my forehead. It’s hot as a sauna in hades today. I hate these humid summer days where Mother Nature attempts to smother you with the heat.

I pause at the closed door, half ready to get inside to the AC while the other part of me doesn’t want to face her. I hate disappointing the people I love. That’s due to those childhood years I spent doing whatever it took to make my parents proud of me, working for the parental love that should’ve come easily only to be rejected at every opportunity.

Instead of knocking, I twist the knob and push the heavy door open. Inside, a beta team agent perks his head up, eyes scrolling across my face and then down my chest before turning back to his phone. Quiet day, I guess. Wonder if anyone else knows about the upcoming meeting with the associate attorney general, Sam.

Sam.

What kind of name is that anyway? Three letters do not make a name. That’s like Bud or Rob, neither of which are strong names, which means this Sam character will be weak as fuck. Just like his name.

No, I'm not jealous.

Keeping my steps silent, I move around the house, searching each room for Randi. My ears perk up at the sound of a voice I know and hate.

At the edge of the living room, I pause just out of sight, giving myself a second to observe her. Dressed in dark jeans and a lightweight long-sleeve T-shirt, she's curled on the lush sofa, iPad forgotten on her lap, attention riveted on whatever is on TV. Again, Birmingham’s voice pours through the house.

I shift my attention from the beauty I love to the idiot on the screen, my brows furrowing in confusion at what I see at the bottom of the screen.

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