Page 58 of Power Surge

Frustrated, I arch a questioning brow at Trey.

“Right, well, there’ve been a few changes that I haven't told you about. I didn’t know how. Fuck, this is a cluster.”

I swallow back the worry tightening my throat. “Trey Benson, if Jessica Hawthorne is in that apartment, I will commit murder tonight.”

The agent beside me shuffles on his feet. Guess hearing the president openly talking about killing someone isn't a normal thing. They'll learn soon enough that it is with this crazy-ass president the longer they're around me.

A shy smile spreads across his lips before he sinks his teeth into the lower one, fighting the growing grin. Not sure why he finds my growing anger funny, but he won’t for long, that’s for fucking sure.

One of the previous agents who slipped inside to clear the condo moves into view and gives us the all clear. Reaching behind him, Trey grabs my hand and laces his fingers with my own. A hard tug and I’m sealed to his back once again as he steps over the threshold into the strange condo.

It’s the smell that hits me first. The powdery sweet scent of fresh baking and thick aroma of seasoning from cooking. The underlying smell of lavender and mint mixes the earlier scents, confusing me further. With only two steps from the door, we’re in the living room area. A short window dots the wall while two chairs—one recliner I recognize—are all that fill the cramped space, along with the familiar massive flat-screen from his old apartment attached to the wall. To the left, the room opens up to a dated kitchen complete with a breakfast nook, and to the right is a darkened hallway.

An overwhelming sense of home envelops me, like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer. The soothing smells combined with the cozy space and something else that lingers in the air offer all the comforts a loving home should offer. For the first time in weeks, I relax, feeling comfortable in my own skin and my surroundings.

I shake my fingers free from his tight hold. Moving around him, I carefully inspect the living room in search of personal touches or knickknacks. With nothing to snag my curious attention, I rotate to make my way toward the kitchen.

Unease twists my stomach as I run a finger along the worn countertop. Yet another direct contrast to his previous condo. It's not the outdated appliances and decor that have caught me off guard, no, it's the fact that this kitchen looks used.Currentlyused. Clean baking pans and an assortment of pots rest on the drying rack beside the sink with several cups and plates stacked neatly alongside. My heart hammers, and a short breath catches in my chest. Trey doesn't know how to cookorclean up after himself.

I grip the damp dishcloth hanging over the side of the sink and tighten my grip around the coarse material.

“Trouble, I need you to start talking. Now.” My entire body quivers with tension as I turn on my heels, my worn Converses squeaking against the linoleum floor. Twisting the damp rag, just one piece of evidence that someone else was here recently, I wait as he plops into a chair near the small breakfast table. The quaint nook is barely big enough for the round table and three wooden chairs.

A repetitive grinding sounds from the table where he passes the salt shaker along the wooden surface from one hand to the other.

“Things fell apart after I was released from the hospital.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a hard swallow. “You were right, my mother had no right or the ability to cut off my trust fund, but the feds do. It's all frozen except for a small sum that was already in my bank account from the last deposit.”

I scan the small apartment, considering it in a new light with that revelation.

“I sold the condo upstairs to Jessica.” He releases a shaky laugh. “She could afford it and wanted it. They haven’t given any indication to how long the trust will remain frozen, which means I didn't know how long I could continue affording the large mortgage payment. So I sold it, used the money to buy this one, and stashed the remaining funds in an account in case the trial against my father drags on.”

“Trey,” I say on a breath. “Why didn't you tell me?” The stack of clean dishes pulls me away from the beautifully broken man in front of me. “And what’s all this?” I wave a hand to the drying rack. “You have roommates now too?”

“Kind of.” The chair legs scrape along the floor as he shoves away from the table. “I'm not doing a good job of explaining all this.” Reaching up, he runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I thought coming here would be relaxing for you. I'm sorry, Mess. We can leave if you want—”

“No,” I say quickly, cutting him off. “I'm a little disappointed you didn’t tell me about all this before now, but I like being here.” Taking in the cozy condo, I smile at Trey, who’s monitoring my every reaction. “It's cozy, homey almost.” Lifting my nose in the air, I take an exaggerated sniff. “Are those cookies I smell?”

Trey grins. “I'm glad you like it. It's small, but it honestly hasn't been as terrible as I thought it would be. It needs a remodel, but I'm not at a point where I want to waste the cash when I need to conserve.”

“Why did they freeze your trust?”

An incredulous huff pushes past his lips. He inches closer to lean a hip on the edge of the counter. Slowly he unravels the towel from my hands and tosses it to the counter. “My mother mentioned funds from my father’s dirty dealings and exchanges from the Boardroom were funneled into my trust.”

“That's not solid enough evidence for them to freeze the funds. Have they provided you with documentation?”

He shakes his head. Several thick sections of his long hair fall across his eyes.

I sweep two fingers across his forehead, pushing it to the side. “I'm guessing haircuts aren't on the new improved budget.”

That smile of his widens. “I've been a little busy.”

Chewing on a hard fake nail, I nod and allow those fingers to trail down his face. “Tell me about these roommates of yours. Are they cute?” I waggle both brows suggestively to lessen the heavy cloud that's hanging in the room.

Trey's hands lash out, gripping my hips with enough force that I wonder if I’ll bruise, and yanks me forward. A sharp breath escapes as our lower halves slam together. Desire quivers low in my gut as warm tingles erupt through my chest, heating my normally cool skin.

“Watch your mouth, Madam President. You’re mine and mine only.” A shiver races down my spine at his deep, commanding tone. “My mother dismissed the entire house staff after we confronted them that day in the sunroom. Part of me wonders if she couldn't afford their salaries with their funds frozen or if she knew how much it would upset me since I was the cause of them losing their jobs.”

“Trouble, none of what happened that day was your fault. You stopped your father, that's it.” I mold a palm against his scruffy cheek, brushing a thumb along his cheekbone.

---