Page 42 of Power Surge

Those thin, burdened shoulders round. “I couldn't put a man like him in the vice president seat. I know what I did—or didn't do, rather—put a larger target on me, but I couldn't do that to the American people. He's a fucking sociopath, not an arrogant asshat like every other politician in DC. I stand by my decision. There’s no doubt he’ll get his payback one way or another, but when, who the hell knows. The waiting for him to strike has all of us on edge even more than normal.”

“Why not kill him first?”

Both Randi and I snap our heads to Smith, who's paused his search, placing his full focus on us.

“Um, because that would be wrong,” Randi says with a shaky laugh around the nail between her teeth. “I can’t cross that line. I couldn’t want someone killed because I didn't like them or because they want to harm me. No, we wait and catch him in the act and let the justice system handle it, like we did with Kyle. Not that it worked. He was still killed, just not by me.”

“Randi,” I groan, the exhaustion morphing into irritation. Fuck, I need some sleep. “Why do you refuse to believe Birmingham killed himself? Let it go—everyone else has. You have other things to worry about.”

“Why do you think he was murdered and not a suicide?” Smith asks.

Randi shrugs, the soft material of her robe swaying with the move. “I knew Kyle. Hated him, but there were some redeemable qualities about the man. One of which was attempting to protect me from Shawn’s devious plans, and the second, he wanted me to stay far away from the scandal he’d caught himself in. He warned me to stay out of it time and time again. Not that it did any good, but still he tried, and I’d like to say it was for my sake, not his. Kyle was a narcissist and craved power. There's no way he would've taken an out when he held all the cards.”

“What cards?” he asks.

Randi seals her lips shut. Her eyes cut to me.

“Right.” Releasing her hand, I seal a quick kiss to her forehead. “I'll clear the bathroom. You check the balcony and finish up in the room, Smith. Let's get this done. I'm fucking exhausted.”

Chapter Twelve

Randi

One-handed typing is for the birds. It's taken a whole minute of my life to type out a single sentence. Only a few hundred more before this email is finished and ready to be proofread by my admin. It's miserable. My elbow hurts from the strange angle and awkward movement, as well as my wrist and back, and the pain in my neck is causing a low throb to radiate at the base of my skull.

It would be simple to ease my pain, to adjust in the bed to get my work done quicker.

But no way in hell will I.

Tearing my eyes from the glowing laptop screen, I cast a soft look at the man snuggled beside me, his arm wrapped protectively around my waist and my fingers entangled deep in his thick hair. I scrape the acrylic tips across his scalp, ensuring he stays asleep as I finish up work.

A content smile spreads across my lips as I take him in. Asleep, he looks like the boy he acts like most of the time. The fine wrinkles along his eyes are nowhere to be seen, the constant concentrated furrow of his brow relaxed.

Sliding my fingers through the locks one more time, I trace the arc of one dark brow, then the other. My touch lighter than a feather, I brush a fingertip along his scruff-covered jaw and chin. The sharp edges snag the pads of my fingers as I memorize each inch. His lips parted in a peaceful sleep, I fight the urge to close the distance between us and press my own to his.

Those long dark lashes flutter, nearly fanning across his unblemished cheeks. Sleepy honey brown eyes slowly wake. They meet mine only to blink closed once again.

“Mess,” he groans, his voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing?”

I huff in full pout mode when he rolls, dragging his radiating body heat with him. Stretching out a long toned arm, he grips his phone from where he left it on the opposite side of the king-size bed and activates the screen. I wince when the time flashes across. He curses and tosses the device back to the bed. “It's four in the damn morning,” he complains while scrubbing at his face.

I bite my lip to suppress a growing grin. This isn’t the first time we’ve slept all night together, but I’ll never get tired of seeing him like this. Hair rumpled, lids heavy, and lips pouty, he's 100 percent adorable.

“I have one more email to get out, but the progress is slower than normal.” I lose the fight with the growing smile. “You're so cute.”

“I'm a badass,” he grumbles with a fake pout, making his already fuller lower lip stick out even farther.

“A cute badass.”

A high-pitched squeak erupts as he attacks. The laptop slides to the side, his ninja-like reflexes catching it before it can crash to the ground. Nose to nose, our matching smirks bloom into wide smiles.

“Your cute badass,” he whispers while ghosting a kiss across my lips.

Searching his eyes, I debate asking the question that's been nagging at me since Agent Smith left the room hours ago, then decide to just go for it.

“Do you trust the new guy?”

“What happened?” Trey demands, going from cute and sleepy to protective boyfriend in a flash.

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