Page 25 of Power Surge

They all file out, except two. Trey and Tank. With only these three as witness to the tiny rebellion against the cold woman I'm being molded into, I roll my eyes to the ceiling and point to the door. “And you two. Shoo.”

“Come on now, we're not pu—cats howling at the back door,” Trey declares as he shoves off the wall. Our eyes lock across the short distance between us. Regret and desire cramp my stomach. We've talked daily, texted nonstop, but nothing face-to-face since that night weeks ago.

“No, Agent Benson, you're more like a curious raccoon,” I say with a grin.

T grumbles under his breath, too low for me to hear, but Trey's face lights up, shooting his friend a mischievous smile. Without another protest, T stands from the tight chair and grasps on to Trey’s arm, tugging him along on his way toward the door, and they both stride out without a single glance back.

With the office empty except me and the director, I allow another facet of the bravado to slip. Folding into the chair T vacated, I lean back and rest both arms on the armrests.

“How are you doing? If I’m allowed to be ask.” The director’s intuitive gaze skims my face.

“Honestly?” I blow out a long breath. “I'd be up shit creek if it weren't for good concealer,” I say with a quick gesture to the dark circles that have been ever present since that day Kyle walked into my run-down mayor office in my hometown of Boone, Texas.

A tiny grin curls her lips, breaking the resigned act she dutifully played while the male agents were present. I tilt my head, really taking in her appearance for the first time since I entered the office. She's beautiful, a bit taciturn, but maybe that's what's expected of her in this role, or possibly who she’s had to become being a high-ranking woman commanding hundreds of dominant men.

Like me.

“Does it ever get easier?” In a moment of weakness, I raise a finger to my teeth and attempt to gnaw on the fake acrylic nail.

The director relaxes into her office chair, causing a high-pitched squeak to cut through the quiet. She cringes as I find joy in the sheer normalcy of the situation. It's a wonderful reprieve to not feel the strain to be polished political Barbie.

“I’d like to tell you that it does get easier with time, but no, it doesn't.”

“Honesty,” I huff. “That's refreshing.”

“Madam President, I—”

“Please, call me Randi. I'm less than two months in and I’m already sick of the title.”

A frown shifts her features. “I'm sorry, that I cannot do.”

“That's what everyone else says,” I grumble like a pouting five-year-old girl.

“Back to the reason you’re here, Madam President. The Secret Service teams assigned to the presidential protection detail are required to complete more situational training than any other team. You're requesting an unqualified team for the level of security needed to protect you. I advise against that.”

“I understand your concerns, but you aren’t seeing things from my perspective. Those men know my routine, know what to expect from me even sometimes before I do. They know my strengths and weaknesses. They can protect mebetterthan anyone else because of our history. Sure, other agents tested higher or have been through more challenging simulations, but that doesn't mean they are the better fit forme.” Leaning forward, I widen my knees—another no-no—and press both elbows into my thighs. “I need some semblance of comfort back, and they offer that.”

“Comfort will get you killed.”

“They'd never allow it.” I shake my head. “You have to trust me that I'm making the right decision here.”

“Not that I have much of a choice. When the president makes a direct order, I have to obey it.” Her thin lips purse in obvious disapproval.

“Great.” I release a measured breath at the simplicity of this meeting. The continuous meetings revolving in and out of the Oval Office are mostly crisis control, meaning every word I choose, every decision, means life or death for someone. Too many choices over the past several weeks had the potential to impact millions; this here today just impacts me.

And the guys too, I guess. But they’re all on board with the change and additional responsibility. At least that’s what T says.

“I presumed today would come to this.” Her gaze flicks to the desk almost in avoidance. “Which is why I came prepared too.” Middle finger to a button on the phone, she leans in close to the speaker. “Pamela, please send in Agent Smith.” At the mention of the unfamiliar agent joining us, I straighten in the chair, sliding my polished presidential facade back into place.

A rush of cool air breezes along the back of my bare neck, the clatter of the office space increasing before ceasing once again.

My skin pebbles down my arms as a sense of vulnerability blankets me. I resist the impulse to twist around and see the stranger at my back. Steady footsteps approach, increasing my anticipation before a man clad in a gray suit appears at my left side.

“Madam President,” the director says, still avoiding eye contact. “This is Agent Smith. He will be the new team lead for your alpha team.”

“No,” I retort. “Not happening.”

She exhales. “Agent Smith will make up for the lack of experience on your alpha team.”

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