Page 57 of Power Surge

“Come on, up you go.” Trey drops to a low squat, sliding one arm behind my shoulders and the other beneath my bent knees. A restrained grunt escapes as he stands with me clutched to his hard chest. The rubber soles of his tennis shoes squeak against the ceramic with each long stride toward our designated smoking area. With more tenderness than needed, he sets me atop the smooth stainless steel counter.

“Got a light?” I ask. His answering smirk and nod warm a part of me that's been bleak since the last time we had a minute alone. Just his presence, the support and love he freely offers, awakens part of my soul in a way no one before him ever has.

At the grind of the flint and metal of the cheap blue plastic lighter, my hand instinctively draws up, inserting the filter of the cigarette between my parted lips. Only when the end glows orange do I lean back, a hand resting along the cold metal keeping me propped up.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks with his own cigarette snagged between front teeth.

“Not really. It was just a day from hell that never let up. Everything terrible and evil and catastrophic in the world finds its way across my desk. And somehow everyone expects me to know how to fix it all. Like the US somehow has a cure-all in its back pocket for dictators, bombings, and natural disasters.” A quick drag fills my lungs with the awful smoke; it seeps out through my slightly parted lips as I debate my next words. “The role isn’t more work than I expected. I knew it would require more of me and my time than anything I’ve ever done. It's thetypeof work, I guess, that surprises me, daily sometimes. Everything I do, every word and approval or denial affects millions of people’s lives, and I make those kinds of decisions every hour. In the VP role, there was this—” I wave a hand in front of me as I search for the right word. “—failsafe, I guess. I know that doesn't make sense because I was still responsible for a lot, but in this role, it's all me. I'm the final word,theopinion.” I kick my legs back and forth, knocking my bare heels against the cabinet beneath me. “And honestly I don't want to know the evil in our world. How there's a typhoon in Asia while our own country is crumbling along the West Coast. But you know what?” I meet his honey brown eyes. “Even with all the stress and headaches, I'd rather it be me than anyone else. Sure, I'm overwhelmed all time, and there’s always something for me to stress over and issues to solve, but it's my call. That's so empowering considering most of my life, I felt powerless.” He remains quiet, tracking my hand as I lift it to take another hit. “I'm meant to be here, in this role. I don't know why, but I can feel it in my bones.”

“I agree, Mess. I know this is hard on you. Those around you every day see the toll it’s taking, but there is no doubt in any of our minds that you can do this job better than anyone else.” Hip against the counter edge, he slides a palm over my thigh and squeezes. “What are you doing hiding out down here tonight?”

The tiny circles his thumb traces along the inside of my thigh send waves of chills along my skin. “After the shit show in Saudi Arabia, coming back and having Ben here, dealing with Taeler’s pregnancy and doctors’ visits… things have been nonstop since we landed. I just needed five minutes to myself, five minutes of… normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yeah. To give me a few minutes away from that office upstairs. Some time to remind myself ofwhoI am despite my job. My title is president of the United States, but at the same time, I'm still Randi Sawyer. Teen mother, foul-mouthed, and a bit crazy Randi. I don’t know why, but today more than ever, I needed to remind myself who I am. If I’m not careful, the shadiness of this town will engulf me and make me forget between right and wrong. My morals, who I am at the core is why people voted for me in the first place, why they trust me. It would be so easy to get lost in the power I now have. So here, right now, I'm taking my five-minute time-out to remember who I am, why I'm here, and who I’m fighting for.”

A devious smile pulls at his lips, a sparkle shining in those light brown eyes.

“What?” I ask drawing back a few inches. “What are you planning?”

“You want normal?”

“Desperately,” I breathe.

Extinguishing the cigarette butt in the sink, he grabs mine and does the same.

“Do you trust me, Mess?”

There’s zero hesitation in my honest answer. “Always, Trouble.”

Sheer joy washes over his face, softening his previously tight features. “Good. Now come on. We need to get you changed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Randi

Agiggle tickles in my chest as I press my forehead harder against Trey's flexing back. Fingers curling into tight fists, I grasp his T-shirt as we maneuver our way down the dark alley and through the back door of his condo building. With the hoodie of my zip-up sweatshirt tugged low, covering my face, I’m forced to monitor the back of Trey’s gray tennis shoes to keep from stepping on the backs—again.

“Quiet back there,” Trey admonishes with zero heat. “We’re almost to the lobby.”

The soft fabric of his T-shirt slips beneath my forehead as I nod in acknowledgment.

A gaggle of agents shuffles ahead while a few hover close. We told them to act as casual as possible, but that was wishful thinking on our part. There’s no mistaking the dozen or so suit-clad men all wearing shoulder harnesses beneath their jackets and serious-as-hell expressions. At least we escaped without taking the whole damn motorcade. That little bit of freedom made me happy beyond belief. Two cars, the most nondescript SUV we own, and a small army on standby two blocks down was the least amount of force I negotiated out of the lead beta team agent, Bass.

It's Bass, right?

“Elevator hundred paces to the left,” Trey says under his breath to the closest agent. “Going to the third floor.”

Erm, what?I raise my head off his back and cast a quizzical look at the back of his neck. “Third floor? You live on the top floor.”

Trey doesn’t respond, just keeps us moving at a fast pace toward the bank of elevators. Up ahead, an agent holds the elevator open, his searching gaze taking in the expanse of the lobby. Trey rushes us into the small box, and three other agents file in behind us. Shoulder to shoulder, the heat magnifies in the small space making the long sleeves and hoodie almost unbearable. Peering around Trey’s bicep, I watch as he presses the glowing button for the third floor.

Butterflies erupt in my empty stomach as the elevator shoots upward, settling as we slow to a stop at the third floor. The doors slide open with a near silent whoosh. In a herd of black and gray, we shuffle down the hallway, coming to a stop at the second door. Confusion and curiosity mix, making me forget that I'm hiding from the public eye. Releasing my tight hold on Trey’s shirt, I shift to take in the hall. Every few feet, a different door faces the hallway, the sheer amount of condos on this level vastly different than the one I've visited before.

“Trouble, what's going on?” I ask as he shoves a key into the door and twists. The deadbolt releases with an ominous click.

Worry lines along his forehead deepen as he rests his chin on his shoulder. At a hard shove with the heel of his palm, the door swings open. Several of the waiting agents brush past him to secure the inside.

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