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Or a boyfriend?

Groaning, I wrap the tissue around my thumb in a makeshift bandage and press the heels of both palms to my forehead. I really didn't think it through last week when Kyle stopped by unannounced. He threw me off my game. Well, he would've if I had any. Let’s be honest, I’ve winged everything since the day we stepped on the campaign trail.

Maybe it's a good thing he stopped by. It pushed me into action. Sure, the direction I chose isn't the best route, but at least I'm doing something now instead of sitting on my ass trying to come up with the perfect plan.

Even if I have zero clue where I'll go from here, where I am now is better than where I was last week. Kyle's somewhat off my back, which means the attempts on my life will stop—hopefully. Now all I have to do is figure out what's next in my master plan to take down Kyle.

But that's what's adding to my nerves.

If we gain the information to impeach Kyle, if I help dethrone the asshole, then that will leave the president spot available.

For me to fulfill.

A wave of nausea churns my stomach and heat builds in my veins, making my skin hot. I can't run a country. Hell, I'm barely doing my part as the second-in-command. To be the main person, the head honcho? That’s a hard pass.

No.

Just no.

But I've kind of backed myself into a corner with my whole “Kyle and Shawn need to go down” plan. Because if Kyle steps down, then I have zero choice in the matter. I’ll be sworn in as Randi Sawyer, President of the United States of America.

Shit.

I swallow down the light lunch I ate earlier with a senator across town that's trying to make a reappearance. Shaking my head, I lean back and take a deep breath, hoping the nausea spell will pass.

“You're feeling sick again,” Trey states somewhere behind me.

Eyes closed, I inhale through my nose and nod, not daring to respond.

“I'll call the doctor.”

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes tighter to fight the wave of dizziness.

“It's been three weeks, Randi.” This time, it's T who's voicing his concern from across the room. “She didn't say anything about the side effects lasting this long.”

“I'm fine,” I rasp. “Can one of you get me some water?”

Within seconds, a cool plastic bottle is pressed against my hot cheek. Forcing a tight smile, I grab the bottle with a shaky hand.

“Thanks,” I say around the lip as I take a small sip. The cool water soothes the unease churning in my stomach, dispelling the urgent need to puke. “I don't think it's from that.”

“You're pregnant,” T says as a joke.

“Not funny,” Trey snaps.

“Not funny at all.” After another few sips, I set the bottle down on the polished wooden side table. “No, not pregnant. The doctors at Quantico verified that. I'm just nervous, I guess. All of this is taking its toll.”

Peeking my eyes open, I find the two staring at each other, a nonverbal conversation going on from across the room.

“Randi,” T says in a tone that makes me brace myself for something I know I won't like. “What if you put aside the idea of helping the DOJ, buried your plan to stand up to Birmingham and Whit? Your health is priority, not them.”

“I disagree.”

“We don’t.”

I shift in the seat to look over my shoulder where Trey leans against the built-in bookshelf. He's been standoffish since Kyle left that day. Since I randomly made up the cover story that Sam and I are a couple.

“I'll be fine,” I mumble.