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“Not cleaning toilets,” I mutter, ignoring Sam’s confused head tilt.

Okay, surely after UT Austin and Harvard, I would've caught something that drastic. But all those months were a blur. All I heard was “out of debt” and didn't consider the long-term effects of signing on with the Birmingham family.

Now I do. I'd like to say I regret it, but I'm the vice president of the United States, so… I don't. Sure, earlier this year when Kyle was trying to take away the voting rights for the lower class, I regretted my decision to be his running mate, which in turn aided in him winning the White House. But now that we stopped that bill, I'm glad to be in this role. On a daily basis, my team and I help thousands across the states.

Currently we're fighting for a different way to support low-income families who fall just above the food stamp cutoff. What these fuckers in DC haven't wrapped their brains around is that they’re punishing people who are trying to make a better life for themselves and their families. The second they get a job and push out of the poverty status, thousands of dollars in benefits are ripped away from them, making it impossible to take care of their family and work. Where's the incentive? Why try to find a job, to work hard, if nothing will be better?

And don't even get me started on low-income housing and what happens if someone gets a bonus or higher-paying job.

This is why I'm here. This is why I was voted in. To be their voice. To show these asshats the right way to take care ofallthe citizens.

“Randi?”

“Asshats,” I grumble.

“Excuse me?” he says with a chuckle.

I wave a hand, dismissing him. “Sorry, wrong conversation.” Damn, I forgot what it's like to be around someone who doesn't understand my level of crazy. Ugh, if he's going to stick around, I'll have to train him in all the “Randi-isms.” Which could be fun. Teacher, student… plaid skirts—on me, not him. Lots of possibilities.

I bolt out of the chair, slamming the tops of my thighs under the desk.

Fuck, what is wrong with me? I love Trey. Trey loves me.Stop thinking dirty thoughts about the attractive-as-sin lawyer who keeps getting too close, Randi.

Just because he's sexy. And smells good. And is smart as hell. And has this arrogant authority thing going on. Oh, and don't forget the tattoos I want to investigate further….

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I'm in deep shit.

“You okay? You're all flushed.” I swear there's a hint of humor in his tone. The bastard knows I'm flustered.

Crap, what if he knows I was thinking about him naked?

Wait, was I thinking about him naked?

Well, hell, now I am.

Ugh, I'm a lost cause.

“Fine, just hot flashes.”

Fucking hell, Randi. Now this guy thinks you have the uterus of a fifty-year-old.

“Right.” Glancing over, he straightens from the desk and slides both hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “We need help, inside help, to gain proof that this is all going on. We need to know who his partners are inside, who he's funneling money to.”

I shake my head.

“You heard what that idiot said this morning. If we don't prove that the cost of rising gas prices is due to his dealings, not others’, we’ll go to war. A war where men and women will lose their lives on a lie. Is that what you want, Madam VP?”

I swallow the bile rising up my throat. Choosing me is selfish. But still, I can't risk it. I can't risk everything I've built, who I've become, for his wild-goose chase.

Old Randi, sure. She would've jumped in the ring without a second thought.

But new Randi, well, she's a little more cautious. More is riding on each decision. I have to look at the big picture nowadays. New Randi has more to lose.