Page 87 of Power Term

I round a corner. A younger agent I recognize catches sight of me and stands a little straighter.

With a smile, I stride past the kid and continue toward the Oval Office.

The sounds of a bustling office grow louder the farther I stray from the resident side. Men and women discuss world events loudly on one side of the hall while the other side is too focused on their zillion-line spreadsheets to even notice anyone else is around.

Blake, Randi’s chief of staff, offers a sharp nod as I pass and then continues railing on whoever he’s on the phone with. I take a sharp corner, colliding with someone, their iPad jabbing into my sternum.

“Oomph,” I grunt. On reflex I reach out and grab hold of the person I nearly flattened to keep them from tumbling to the ground like their iPad.

A string of creative murmured curses reaches my ear. I chuckle as the woman rips her thin arms from my hold and narrows her eyes up at me. Holding up both hands in surrender, I take a step back, giving her some space. The mix of fear and loathing at my proximity has me curious. Obviously she doesn’t recognize me or she’d know I’m no threat to her.

Or any woman, for that matter. Not that I ever was. Well, if they were single, hot, and willing, then okay, maybe I was a threat to be wary of. But since Randi, I haven’t looked at another woman with interest. Mostly because Randi is all I need, but also because Sarah threatened to, and I quote, “Slice off my balls and dick, place them on a skewer with light seasoning, grill them over an open flame, and then force-feed them to me” if I ever looked at another woman or hurt Randi.

I rather like my balls and dick attached, as does Randi most nights—and sometimes during a long lunch—so yeah, I don’t look at women.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there.” I readjust my jacket to make sure both nine millimeters are concealed. Keeping my features neutral but friendly, I move to step around the unfamiliar woman.

She grumbles something in return about being lost and late as she bends to retrieve the iPad from the ground. She dashes off in the direction she was originally heading before I have a chance to offer any help with the lost part. I know this place like the back of my hand from years of working as an agent and living here personally; I could’ve helped her get wherever she needed if she would’ve waited.

As I approach the office, my smile widens. Both hands tucked into my slacks, the picture of nonchalance and ease, I stroll toward the duo.

“Howdy, amigos,” I say in greeting, leaning against the opposite wall and crossing a foot over the other ankle.

“You know I hate that,” Smith states, his annoyed glare flicking to me before scanning the halls once again. “But I assume that’s why you keep saying it.”

“Bingo, amigo.” I chuckle at his attempt to flip me off discreetly. “You guys see a little blonde woman, about yea high”—I hold my hand to midbicep—“holding an iPad, looked flustered and a little pissy?”

Tank growls. “That’s Sam’s new secretary. Why?”

“She ran into me, literally, in the hall. Never seen her before, so I wanted to vet her out, make sure she had clearance to be here.”

“She does for now.” I arch a brow. “She’s not doing so great. I overheard a conversation between the two, and the poor girl just couldn’t keep up with everything he was throwing at her.”

“He’s a hard-ass, for sure,” I admit. “It’ll take someone with a backbone and brains to handle Sam. And someone who won’t throw themselves at him.” A chunk of dark hair slides across my forehead as I shake my head. “Last I heard, he’s debating hiring an all-male staff.”

“Did you hear the one last month, the Yale grad?” I nod even though I can’t picture who Tank’s talking about. “Sam walked into his own office, and she was sitting on his desk butt-ass naked. He lost his shit and fired her on the spot.”

“I’m sure that’s not the reaction she was hoping for.” I shake my head.

“I’ve got a ten on the new one not lasting a week.”

“I’ll toss in twenty for her lasting two weeks but getting fired for accidentally emailing a confidential document to Sam’s entire contact list.”

“You don’t even know how long she’s been in the role.” Smith cross his arms across his chest. “Besides, the pool is an alpha team bet.”

Faking shock, I stand and press a hand to my heart. “Tank, bestie, are you going to let him talk to me that way?”

“For fuck’s sake, you two,” he grumbles in return, running a hand over his fluffy dark and gray hair. He says Sarah wants him to grow it out. I think he’s feeling old and trying to look young again. Either way, it’s not a good look for him. “Where are your agents, by the way?”

A grin pulls up my lips as I shrug.

“Oh hell, what did you do to them?” Tank’s exasperation is palpable and hilarious. The latter more for me than him.

“Nothing. I’m doing what you asked me to do—training them.”

When I officially resigned from the alpha team to become the First Husband, it was… difficult at first, to say the least. The days were boring while Randi was working, changing the world one community at a time, and even most of the nights, considering she worked almost eighteen hours a day. Me doing nothing but sitting around and pestering the agents assigned to shadow me lasted only a few days before everyone was over my complaining and sour attitude—their words, not mine.

That’s when Randi, the director, and Tank came up with their brilliant plan. And I’ll admit it is a great plan. It gives me purpose again and the opportunity to have a little mischievous fun at another’s expense. Like today.

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