Page 65 of Power Surge

“I like this friendship,” he says, gesturing inside the opulent home. “Come, we will talk inside.”

“Me too, Vlad. Me too. I have to say itisstrange that the one politician I feel like I can trust is the Russian president. What does that say about the men and women I’m surrounded by every day in DC?”

“You should off them.” The words are monotone, his features relaxed.

I stumble. “That’s mass murder.”

Bushy dark brows furrow. We’re halfway through the entryway when he laughs. “Wrong English word. Not off as in kill, off as in fire.”

“Whew, I was beginning to wonder if my best politician friend was a bit crazy.” I take in his profile. “You’re not, right?”

A chandelier hangs above our heads, its circumference nearly three of me, the setting sun’s final rays glinting and glittering off its crystals. The wallpaper covering the walls looks dated and exactly the unique style I expected here. Thick, dark wooden planks cover the floor from room to room.

Vlad leads us into a sizeable room with couches in evergreen fabric and deep leather chairs scattered throughout. Beside each of the ten windows lining the back wall, men and women stand, ARs strapped to their chests and their weighted stares all on my agents.

Vlad helps me into a chair, the leather groaning as I slide back and shift to get comfortable. He settles into the chair opposite of me, resting an ankle across his other knee. A woman enters, her uniform a pair of loose dark pants and matching black button-up dress shirt, and pauses beside our host.

“Drink?”

“Got any whiskey?” I ask, kind of as a joke yet hoping they have some Jack stashed around here somewhere. The increasing nerves fluttering in my belly tell me I might need a whole bottle by the time we’re done here in Russia.

He nods and shifts to speak softly to the woman.

“You’re in so much trouble.” Trey’s warm breath and harsh tone send a shiver down my spine.

“Oh?” I say more of a gasp than a word.

“Stick to the damn security plan, Randi. We’re here to keep you safe.”

I turn, resting my chin on my shoulder and putting us nose to nose. The world stills as we battle an unspoken war. Yes, I get what he’s saying, but at the same time, I can’t live a life where every move is planned out, every interaction on a schedule. That’s not me, and it never will be me.

Minty breath brushes along my warming cheeks. I lick my lower lips before sliding the tip of my tongue along the edge of the upper. Brows creeping up his forehead, Trey tracks the movement. The shuffle of feet drags his gaze away. Ever so slowly, he stands and adjusts his suit jacket.

Smooth, expensive fabric rubs beneath my sweaty palms as I swipe them up and down each thigh. I’m about to follow through on an owed favor to a Russian. That’s where my head should be, not on my hot-as-hell boyfriend who I can’t even look at without my breath catching.

Focus, Randi, focus.

Think with your head, not your heart.

Okay, fine, I shouldn’t think with my demanding lady bits. What can I say? Any time Trey’s around, they shift into overdrive, making every thought and action revolve around us naked.

No. Stop it. Bad Randi.

Russian. Favor. President to president.

Our drinks arrive on a silver tray, the woman bending at the waist to put it at eye level. I grab the tumbler she indicates and slowly bring it down to rest on my knee. After Vlad has his glass engulfed in one meaty hand, he lifts it across the small distance between us. The clink of the thick crystal tumblers resounds in my chest at the weight of this moment.

I huff a laugh, my breath pushing against the ice and dark liquor as I take a short sip.

“What?” Vlad asks, relaxing back.

“Who knew, right?” The cold glass rolls between my palms, centering me somehow. “Where we came from to this. So much has changed in the few years I’ve been in politics.” The ice clinks against the edge as I raise the glass to my lips once again. “And now I’m here. I’ve seen the world since Kyle and I won, and now I’m here having drinks with the Russian president—”

“Your friend, remember?”

I smile, balancing the glass on the worn leather armrest. “Now I’m here having drinks with my friend the Russian president. It’s surreal, you know. Did you ever expect this life?” I wave my free hand around the room. “Did you ever even dream of something like this?”

“Of the position or wealth?”

---