Page 27 of Power Surge

“Ma'am,” the agent replies, sounding conflicted.

“They're both agents. I'll be fine. I know you have at least ten guys on the bottom floor waiting anyway.” Not waiting for his answer, I step into the elevator and not so gently shove him forward while signaling for Trey to take the agent’s vacated place. The doors glide together, cutting off the furious agent's face from my view.

The metal cage gives a soft jolt before descending. Tank, appearing to want to stay out of the little conversation Trey and I are about to have, positions himself in front of the doors, giving us some semblance of privacy.

“Cameras,” Tank mutters over his shoulder while keeping his dark eyes forward.

“Right.” I sigh. Squaring my shoulders, I face the elevator doors. “What the hell was that comment about?” I snap at Trey, whose shoulder almost touches mine, while also glaring at the reflective metal.

“You know as well as I do how we have to address you in public.”

“It was your tone,” I hiss.

“My tone?”

“Yeah, like….” I wave a hand in front of me as I try to find the right words.

“You were trying to make a point.”

I point to T. “Thank you, T, exactly.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Trey scrub a hand down his face. “I didn't mean it any way. I'm just tired, okay?”

“Can you come over tonight?” I whisper while turning my face down so the cameras can't see my lips moving.

“We're on shift tonight.”

“Oh, right.” Disappointment drops my stomach, the earlier anger morphing into acute loneliness. “Okay, yeah. I'll see you soon though, right?” There's no masking the hope in my wistful tone.

“Mess,” he says on a sigh. There's a long pause before he speaks up again. “You have enough on your plate besides trying to plan around me.”

Forgetting all presidential decorum, I spin on my heels and face him straight on.

“Don't use my job as a damn excuse, Trey Benson. If you don't want to see me, then just say it. I'm a big girl. I can take it.” That's a bald-faced lie. Him saying those words would break me. “Are you done with us?” Somehow I continue to breathe past the mounting panic in my chest. The elevator seems to heat. Sweat slicks my palms, and my head swims as I teeter on my heels.

The elevator glides to a halt.

Pursed lips mixed with Trey’s annoyed glare offer me zero indication on how this monumental conversion will end.

When the doors slide open, those ten agents I knew would be down here securing the lobby stand waiting, their attention everywhere, searching for threats. But I don't move toward the open doors; instead, I glower right back at the frustrated asshat I love.

“That's not…. What are you talking about? You're blowing this way out of proportion,” he whisper-yells. “Calm the hell down.”

“Excuse me?” My tone, those two words like a cracking whip, triggers every man in the vicinity to hold their breath.

“Damn idiot,” I catch T grumble. Turning to face us both, he levels Trey with a hard look.

“Can you shoot him for me?” I question, pointing to the man I can't even look at right now without wanting to wrap my fingers around his throat.

“Just listen to me,” Trey grates, the words more of a low hiss than actual syllables.

“Fucking hell.” T grunts. “We're out. You have her,” he declares over his shoulder to the awaiting agents. “Now get your stupid ass out of the damn elevator.”

Trey winces at the viselike grip T slams on his shoulder to drag his best friend out of the elevator.

Their hushed exchange fades as they stride toward the glass doors. Filling my lungs with a deep inhale, I settle my stoic features back into place before striding out of the elevator.

Even though my stomach churns with worry and anxiety, I have to shut it down. Now. I cannot let what happened affect me, not anymore. I no longer have the luxury of dwelling. Old Randi, sure, she'd probably go have a few shots of expensive booze she couldn't afford and list his number on Craigslist in the M/M personal section.

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