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“It's fifty degrees,” he says, now all-out laughing at me.

“Exactly. It could start snowing any minute.”

“You're ridiculous.” He steps closer, wrapping an arm around my waist and tugging me close. “What is it with you?” he mutters. “Why can't I stay away?”

Lowering my shoulder, I wiggle out of his embrace, putting some distance between us.

Ah, hell, was Taeler right? Does Sam want more than a business relationship?

“I'm Team Randi,” I say like he should know what the hell that means.

One dark brow rises up his forehead while he shakes his head. “You're a strange one, Randi Sawyer.”

“Not the first or last to make that observation, my friend,” I grumble. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The sun sparkles through the glass, making the day seem beautiful and warm out. “I'll go get my jacket. Then we talk. There's a lot we need to cover.”

I don't wait for his response. As quickly as my rubber soles can carry me, I hustle out of the room. At the corner, I dip out of sight and lean against the hall wall.

“Give me a second,” I beg to the agent hovering too close for me to think straight. He doesn’t move. “Please. I won’t move from this spot.”

With a reluctant grunt, he steps around the corner, giving me some semblance of privacy.

A deep breath fills my lungs, tightening my chest. I hold it for three seconds before slowly letting it loose through my nose.

When did my life become one big game of political Twister?

Hand on fixing the bill.

Foot on setting up your love with another woman for political gain.

Head on creating a fake relationship with a guy you're physically attracted to, all while trying to not be attracted to him because you're in love with someone else.

Other hand on treason and trying to take down the president because he’s a narcissistic twit.

Ass on the fucking ground because you're out.

I cringe and scan the long hall. If I'm out, that could be detrimental not only to the part of life I enjoy the most—living—but the American people as well. Without me, Shawn would step up to the plate as the VP. That could trigger the end of the world.

Dramatic, yes, but that doesn't make it any less of a possibility.

The wall pops behind my back as I push off with my shoulder to stand tall. Nope, this clusterfuck is one I've created and one I'll see through.

“Team Randi,” I whisper to myself and raise my fist high.

“Trailer.”

Ah, fuck.

Maybe if I don't acknowledge his presence, he won't notice me. Acting like the gleaming hardwood floor is the most intriguing thing I’ve ever seen, I shuffle down the hall, desperate to get away from evil personified. The last thing I need on my plate is to be dead. That would really hinder my “save the world” plans.

A viselike grip wraps around my upper arm and yanks me to a halt. Every muscle contracts and icy fear races through my veins, causing my heart to thunder in my chest.

“What do you want, Shawn?” I somehow manage to get out even though my tongue feels too thick and my mouth too dry.

“We need to talk.”

“Contact my secretary and get on my calendar,” I snap. Indignation surges at his hold cutting off the blood supply to the lower half of my arm, shooting a rush of confidence to my system. Gathering leverage, I step back, trying to yank my arm out of his grip. I wince as his fingers dig deeper, trying to keep his hold, but in the end I win, slipping out of his grasp.

Stumbling backward, I retreat two steps, putting me out of his reach.