Page 11

We can do this. Fake it until you make it, right?

Three years really isn't that long.

If you're an immortal magical fucking unicorn.

* * *

The sharp rap of knuckles against the library door kicks my anxiety into overdrive. Swallowing down the ball of nerves in my throat, I slide my hands down my T-shirt and jeans, making sure everything is on straight. Shit, I hope my shirt isn’t on backward. Surely Trey would’ve said something if it were.

My hammering heart tightens in my chest as Sam strides in, gaze immediately locking with mine. Reaching up, I wrap my fingers around my throat to keep the erratic pulse from beating out of my neck.

To say I’m nervous is an understatement. I loathe being unprepared like right now. It makes me edgy, frantic almost, not knowing what to expect or preparing my responses.

“Madam Vice President,” he says in that sexy-as-hell gravelly voice. His gaze settles on my jeans and ballet flats.

Shit, maybe I should’ve dressed up, worn a suit like I normally do. But with everything else going on in the past twenty-four hours, I just couldn’t muster the energy to put something fancier on.

Not that he’s dressed to the nines, but he’s still more business casual than going to the grocery store like my look. Instead of a suit, he’s in a pair of dark gray slacks with a stark white dress shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows exposing thick, corded forearms. My gaze latches on to the bit of ink peeping under both tight cuffs.

Well hell.

Deep breaths, Randi. Deep, calming breaths.Who knew I was a forearm type of girl? Or maybe it’s just Sam’s forearms I find sexy, along with the teasing ink I want to see more of.

“Sam,” I say, my voice trembling. His lips twitch upward before sealing back into an almost frown. “Please, it's Randi.”

Sam dips his chin in acknowledgment and casts a quick glance around the room. With an inquisitive expression, he angles his head toward the grouping of leather chairs in front of my massive desk. That’s one thing I didn’t expect when arriving in DC. The men here must equate their dick size to how large their desks are, because every single one of them could double as an unbreakable barricade. I gesture toward the chairs. Sam steps to the grouping and folds into the plush leather, resting one foot over the other knee.

“What I need to discuss requires them to leave,” he says, picking at an invisible piece of lint from the bottom part of his slacks. I hold back my surprise that he noticed Trey and T’s presence. “I know they can’t leave you alone technically, but they need to station themselves just outside the door for now.”

“They can hear whatever you have to say,” I respond, my tone flippant. The last thing I need Sam to know is how I tell Trey and T everything, how they’re my only friends in this town.

“Actually, they can't, Randi. It’s a matter of their level of security clearance compared to ours.” For the first time since he entered the room, he levels a look to T. “And cut the audio part of the security feed. I don’t mind you keeping a visual on the room, but this conversation is between the VP and myself, no one else.”

Oh hell. What is this about?

With a quick questioning look between the two men, I sigh and nod. It would've been nice to have them with me, but he's right. If this is something to do with national security, neither Trey nor T has security clearance as high as I do, or the AAG apparently. If it’s nothing that will jeopardize the safety of the American people, then I’ll fill them in later. Easy peasy.

Irritation radiates off both men as they shuffle through the door. Only once it shuts behind them do I let out the breath I was holding. With less pulsing testosterone in the air, the office seems lighter.

Angling toward Sam, I press my shoulder against the paneled wall and level my best no-nonsense look his way.

“Okay, they're gone. Now tell me what the hell is going on so I can get back to the thousands of other things I need to get done today.”

“Straight to the point, no bullshit. Nice,” he says, leaning back in the chair and sliding around the stiff seat cushion to get comfortable. “Have you noticed how meetings in this town drag on for hours with idiots talking about things that don't matter before finally getting to the issues the meeting was called for?”

I snort and then dip my chin in embarrassment at the slip. Kyle tried to train my snorting, nail biting, cursing, man walking—okay, most of my mannerisms out of me during the campaign in hopes I’d turn into a more presentable VP.

Obviously it didn’t work.

“How could I not notice that most of the meetings around here run over their scheduled time and still don’t get anything done?” His earlier wording replays in my mind, piquing my curiosity. “You said ‘in this town.’ Are you not from here?”

Sam's lips spread in an almost sneer. “No, thank goodness. Not that I care. Honestly, with what I've seen out of the men in this town, I'll take it as a compliment.”

“As you should.” The overhead soft lighting does amazing things to his already deviously handsome face. Something familiar tickles in the back of my mind as I really look at Sam. “Do I know you?” Now that he’s not cloaked in darkness like last night, there’s something familiar about him. Then there’s the fact that he seems fairly comfortable for a first meeting—almost too comfortable, like there's an air of familiarity between us. Daring a step toward the circle of chairs, I squint to scan his features, this time not focused on his beautiful face but searching for any hint to tell me who this man is. “You seem—”

“Familiar?” He tugs the cuff of his pants toward his ankle. “I wondered if you'd recognize me.”

“Should I?” Hell, I've met so many people over the past couple years, there’s no telling how I know him.