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Now here I sit shocked beyond belief, staring at information anyone in this city would kill to obtain. Hundreds of pictures, several audio files with transcripts, and thousands of incriminating emails. It's been almost an hour since the information was dropped in our laps, and even with the three of us reviewing each document, we're only halfway through. But it’s already enough to make Kyle step down.

Which should make me beyond ecstatic, right? This is what I’ve been waiting for, what I’ve worked toward for many, many months. But now that it’s here, and the evidence is literally in my hands, my emotions are the complete opposite of happy.

I'm fucking terrified. As in my knees are knocking under the massive desk I'm cowering behind at the moment. Palms-sweating, heart-racing, gut-churning fear.

“This is so bad,” I whisper, my rising terror and horror cracking my hushed voice. “Guys….”

Maybe if I run right now. Maybe if I hide under the desk, take the way of the ostrich, I can avoid what's coming my way. Not the best solution to this problem, but it’s way better than the alternative—me compiling the information into a more organized and concise format, marching over to the White House, and giving Kyle the option of stepping down on his own or me going through with the true impeachment.

Either option leaves me as president.

President of the United States of America.

Holy fuckballs.

I press the heel of my hand to my sternum in an attempt to keep my heart from beating out of my chest. Up and down my hand falls with each rapid breath.

“I can't do this,” I state to myself, but the way the two men's heads snap to attention, focus going from the papers in their hands to me, tells me they heard it. “I'm not fit to be the president. Hell, I'm not fit to be the vice president.” My voice shakes, giving away my rising panic. “I put my underwear on backward this morning.Backward,” I shout to no one in particular. “And didn't realize it until way later. Yesterday, I thought someone was talking about a certain type of coffee, but nope, they were referring to a country. I thought a country was a fucking brew they serve at Starbucks. I can't do this.”

Not waiting for a reply to my very random rant, even for me, I push off the desk, my sweaty palms sliding forward on the shiny surface as I stand. Before I can take a single step, T moves to one side of the desk and Trey to the other, officially blocking me in. Feeling like a cornered wild animal, I crane my neck behind me, searching for another exit.

There isn't one.

“Randi, you've known the whole time this would be the result.”

Fuck T and his solid reasoning. I don't want reasoning. I want to leave and never look back. Maybe Switzerland will let me stay for a bit.

“Mess, calm down. Take a deep breath—”

I point a ragged nail at Trey's chest. “I know I'm freaking out, okay? Stop it with the reasoning and deep-breathing calming treatments. Just let me freak the fuck out for a second!” The soft leather of the chair molds under my tightening fingers as I lean forward, gripping the top while the other hand rubs circles along my breastbone. “It's not you two who will be asked to lead a country. To lead the most powerful country in the world. It's me. Not saying Kyle is any better, but do you two really think I should have the authority to nuke a country?” I arch a brow at them. Shaking my head, I close my eyes and tilt my face to the ceiling. “Tell me there's another option.”

Silence meets my question, confirming what I already knew.

“Mess, look at me.” A hand wraps around mine, tugging it around a lean waist. The comforting heat and the faint spicy and citrus scent wrap around my frazzled mind, soothing the panic. Forcing my lids open, I tilt my head back to find his worried gaze scanning my face. “I know you're scared. But you can do this. You see what Birmingham has brought on our country in just a year and a half in the role. Imagine what will happen over the next two and a half. I'm not saying it’ll be easy, but you can do it. And we'll be there with you every step of the way.”

“He's right, Randi,” T says somewhere behind me, tightness in his words proving his worry for me, or hell, maybe America. “We won't leave your side. I don't know shit about running the country either, but we'll figure it out.”

“I'm a nobody, remember?” Needing to steal a bit of Trey's strength, I wrap the other arm around his waist and squeeze. “Why in the hell would anyone follow me? Other leaders will know I'm just a poor man's excuse for a president.”

“You listen to me, Randi Sawyer. You're no poor man's anything. You think money makes a person more capable of running this country? Just look at Kyle, at my parents, at this whole city. They're selfish pricks who only focus on one thing—themselves. You're a better fit for this role than anyone I know because for the first time in a very, very long time, the American people will have someone who’s looking out for them. Who knows their struggles and actually cares. Don't you ever think you're less than these fucking pricks again.”

A part of me wants to believe him, but the realistic side knows he's just saying it because he has to. Like he'd tell his girlfriend that she's in over her head.

The comforting strokes up and down my spine relax me further.

“We'll get through this together, Mess.”

“What's this?”

The rough starched material of Trey's dress shirt slides along my cheek as I shift to see what T is referring to. Brows furrowed, he stares at a small flash drive between two of his massive fingers. Flicking it this way and that, he inspects every inch before looking to Trey.

“It looks different than the others that held the pictures and voice recordings.”

I take a step out of Trey's tight embrace. “I didn't open that one yet. It wasn't labeled.”

“Could be malware of some kind.”

I shake my head at T's guess. “No. He wouldn't go through all this just to plant some kind of listening software on my computer.”