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“Technically it is.”

“No it's not. I hate that fucking place.”

Silence falls around the kitchen.

“So, what did the AAG have to say?” Tank asks, clearly doing his best to ease the awkwardness that’s settled between Randi and me. “You're free to talk here. No bugs, no cameras. Just us.”

Nibbling on the corner of her thumbnail—how the woman has any nails left, I’ll never know—she steps to the knife block and grabs her own. Her shoulder pressing against my bicep helps ease a bit of the indignation she’d somehow riled up with her words.

Slicing the avocado in half, she remains silent for several moments.

“They're investigating Kyle,” Randi finally says. The slow thump of the knife meeting the cutting board echoes through the kitchen. “And I'm a fool. That’s a good way to summarize it.”

Setting a slice of bread in the hot pan, butter side down, I begin layering the cheeses and toppings. With a spatula, I shift it around, though it’s more to have something to keep me busy than the fact that it needs any attention.

“It would seem all the anger from the OPEC summit was warranted,” she adds. Moving to the sink, she rinses the knife and rests it in the strainer. Turning so she can face Tank and me, she hops up on the counter, her grasp on the edge white-knuckled. She hangs her head, her dark hair cascading down and creating a barrier. “I was so focused on the bill, stopping that and going to the summits, I didn't see the signs.”

“Probably his doing,” I say, flipping the sandwich. The butter sizzles, crackling and popping in the pan.

“What do you mean?” Tank asks.

“I mean I bet that was his plan from the start. I would even bet my left nut that the bill was just a distraction, something to keep her focus—hell, maybe everyone’s—away from what he's doing behind the scenes.”

“Please don't bet your nuts,” Randi says with a huff. “They're lovely nuts.”

“Thanks,” I reply with a wide smile. “I've always thought so.”

“Can we stop talking about Trey's balls, please?” Tank groans. “What do you mean about the OPEC summit, Randi?”

“The DOJ believes Kyle is the cause of this oil issue. They suspect he's utilizing federal land for drilling for his own gain. Not only that but selecting companies which are tied to large campaign supporters while putting tighter restrictions on other private drilling companies.”

“How in the hell…?” I say, trailing off as I slide the first sandwich on to a plate. Slicing it in half with the warm spatula, I slide it down the counter to Randi. “Order up.”

A slight tilt of her head parts her curtain of hair, allowing our eyes to meet. “Thanks, Trouble.”

I nod and start the second sandwich. If I know Tank, he's teetering between the line of happy and hangry.

“That's what they want to know.” A crunch of crispy bread draws my attention from the pan to where Randi is taking her first bite. Slowly, her eyes close, and my heart splits open with joy.

“You're a keeper,” she says, locking eyes with me.

“It's all I know,” I say, trying to keep it light even though I want to fall on my knees and propose to her right here in the kitchen. But fucking hell, I can't because I'm already engaged.

Fuck my life.

“It's all I need,” she replies with a wide smile before she raises her hand to take another bite. “And they don't know how, just suspect,” she continues around a mouthful of sandwich. “He asked me for help.”

Is there any sexier sight than the woman you love devouring the food you cooked for her? I think not. Well, unless she was naked. And spread-eagle on the marble. With me feeding her the food with one hand while the other played between her legs.

“Help?” I cringe at the huskiness in my voice, giving away the lust riding through my veins. “In convicting Birmingham? As in teaming up with DOJ?”

She shakes her head. “No not as an attorney but in gaining evidence.” Attention on me, she says, “Proof. No matter if you’re the president or a sexy-ass secret service agent, anyone needs proof for a case to even be considered to be taken to court.”

“Um, have you seen the last few years in DC?” Tank says with a laugh. “Pretty sure fast allegations get blasted across every news channel and social media daily. Proof isn't needed in today’s trial by Twitter.”

“I agree, but the public opinion of guilt is different than actual guilt. To have both the House and Senate agree to proceed with impeachment, there has to be substantial evidence or they're risking their own careers. Kyle has material on them, don't forget. So they’ll have to know 100 percent that there will be a guilty verdict to even consider moving forward.”

Nodding to an unheard beat, I flip the bread as I process her words. “He needs inside help.”