Page 55 of Power Surge

“Tomorrow, then?” My lips part, the rejection speech ready, but he cuts me off before a single word can slip out. “Just to talk, about Taeler. We need to have a real conversation about what we're going to do here. It's my grandbaby too in her belly, and I'm not walking away from that.”

Red flashes across my vision as heat blasts through my veins with the rolling anger. “Really, Ben, really? You walked away from her when I was pregnant, so why the fuck can't you do that now?”

He tosses both his hands in the air before lacing them behind his head. Features tight, he groans in frustration. “Hell, Rand, that was years ago. I'm a different person now. I helped raise her. My parents stepped in—”

“Don't you dare bring up your parents.” My hands tighten into fists. “Not after what they did.”

“Did?” He scoffs. “Did as in taking care of the baby you couldn't?”

His honest words cut along the jagged scar etched in my heart, opening the old wound. The familiar agony leaks from the wound, infecting my entire being with self-loathing and inadequacy.

“Did as in railroaded me, took my baby, and treated me like shit for even living.” Each word is difficult as war rages in my mind.

“Fuck you’re dramatic,” he mumbles, but the words carry, making each one crystal clear. “Why can't we have a damn civilized conversation like we used to?”

“Tomorrow night,” I relent. “I'll tell Tae to be there too because it's her baby. We won't make any decisions without her. And—”

A quick knock at the door stops my next anger-filled rant. It’s swinging open before I can stop the person from entering.

My breath whooshes from my lungs as a tense Blake strides through the room with purpose before stopping in front of the desk.

“If you say we have a problem, I might toss myself onto the letter opener hidden in my desk drawer,” I say, my words signaling how weary I am.

Blake seals his lips together and clears his throat. “There was an earthquake in Southern California moments ago.”

My spine straightens as a shot of renewed energy flashes through me. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

It takes two long strides to reach my desk and slide into the chair. Snagging a pen, I jot down notes as he continues to detail the destruction.

“One hundred casualties is the preliminary number,” he says, now beside me, eyes on the iPad glued to his hands. “The governor is calling in—”

“The governor is on line one,” my secretary calls from her desk outside the still open door.

“Thank you,” I yell back while watching the red blinking light on the massive multiline phone.

“He'll issue a state of emergency momentarily and will seek federal funds.” His fingers fly over the screen. “I've asked several analysts and experts to email you initial estimates for the cost of recovery and rebuilding. You can't make the decision alone with how much federal funding they’ll be offered. Listen to him, get their inside details, but do not promise anything until we know what we can get approved.”

“Listen,” I whisper to myself. “No promises. Got it.”

“Be empathetic but not sympathetic. No emotions, just obtain numbers and the details of his plan going forward to help those affected.”

“No emotion.” Nodding, I angle my head toward the door. “Ben, we'll talk tomorrow night. Blake, give me the room and please ask Janet to cancel my meeting with the deputy director of defense. Tell him I'll reschedule for tomorrow.” I grimace. “Well I’ll try to fit him in anywhere I can.”

Both men exit the room, leaving me alone with the still ringing phone. Stealing my spine, I sit up straight and roll my shoulders back.

Time to get to work.

* * *

“Beethoven,” I plead the moment the office door slams shut behind me. “Please tell me someone here has a cigarette I can bum.”

A few stifled amused coughs from the agents surrounding me pulse down the hall from where we stand outside the Oval Office. The desks in the neighboring offices and bullpens are empty, lights off except a soft yellow glow from the two desks stationed in the small adjoining room. Normally everyone stays until I'm done for the day, but today was hell for us all, so I sent them home a few hours ago.

“It's Braxton,” the agent says.

Ah, that's right. Knew it was something unique.

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