Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76846 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
As a campaign manager, Elizabeth knows how to navigate the murky waters of politics. But when she overhears the senator she’s working for is in bed with the Russian mafia, her world is turned upside down. The next thing she knows, she’s running for her life, and the only person who can help her is the mysterious stranger who saved her from certain death.
With the Russians closing in and the senator’s dark secrets threatening to unravel, Elizabeth turns to Elian for protection. As they delve deeper into the conspiracy, the stakes grow higher—and so does the heat between them. But with danger lurking at every turn as Elizabeth tries to bring a powerful man to justice, the only way to survive is to stay one step ahead… or risk losing everything…
* each book in this series can be read as a standalone *
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER ONE
Elizabeth
The storm outside raged, the wind howling like a feral beast, rattling the windows and making my heartbeat thrum wildly against my ribcage. Lightning flashed, lighting up the corners of my darkened office.
A migraine was a vice grip on my temples, squeezing tighter with each clap of thunder. I leaned back in my chair, eyes squeezed shut as I rubbed my forehead in slow, deliberate circles in a futile attempt to dull the pain.
The screen of my computer was blinding to my overly sensitive eyes, piercing into my brain anytime I tried to look at it as the rain pelted rhythmically and relentlessly on the glass behind me.
Every ounce of me wanted to power down and finally head home for the night.
The neon clock at the corner of the screen taunted me. Midnight. The witching hour. Yet another day that passed me by while I spent every waking moment in this office that was steadily starting to feel more like a prison with each passing day.
Was it any wonder the stress had brought on yet another migraine? The third this week alone.
The storm outside and the one inside were fighting for dominance as I reached into my drawer for painkillers, set right there next to my trusty bottle of antacids that I was eating like candy most days.
I downed the pills with a swig of my long-cold coffee, the bitter taste a small price to pay if it would actually ease some of the pain, so I could get back to work.
My desk was a disaster, piles of folders and loose papers evidence of how behind I still was, despite pulling sixteen-hour days.
What can I say?
The reelection campaign wasn’t going well.
Polls were leaning out of our favor ever since a very motivated blue-collar worker from a bad area started her grassroots effort to take down the incumbent.
My boss.
A man who had held his position in the Senate almost as long as I’ve been alive.
Someone who, according to the aforementioned polls, was out of touch with the common man, who was in this for the money and the cushy government benefits, not to actually help the common man.
The thing was, the constituents weren’t even wrong.
That was the hardest part of this job. Running a campaign for a man you didn’t personally even respect, let alone like.
Michael Westmoore was the very definition of a slimy politician. Full of smiles for everyone he shit-talked behind their backs. Making speeches about the plight of the common man while wearing shoes that cost more than the average person made in a month. Preaching the importance of a strong middle class and unions while actively voting against anything that would actually help his people.
He’d also taken up a pretty severe filler addiction lately, on top of one too many facelifts, making his face look pulled too tight and emotionless.
The scandal of the week was him trying to give a moving speech, but his face had been so frozen that he looked like a robot.
The memes, God, the memes.
Hilarious, truly.
But really damning to the campaign.
And, man, the senator had been enraged. The whole office paid for that one. Even if, realistically, the only person to blame was his injectionist.
I was still trying to clean up that mess. Meanwhile the senator was already caught by some random member of the press saying something horrifically misogynistic about the young woman running against him.
If I didn’t need this job so much, I would jump ship and go work for her.
Alas, I’d been here for a while. The pay was good. The benefits… enough to keep me out of complete financial ruin if I found myself in the hospital for any reason.
It was a bad time to try to leave.
I just had to stick this out.
And silently vote for his challenger when the time came.
I clicked on my keypad, lowering the light on the computer in the hopes that I could just power through and get these new social media posts and newsletters drafted before I finally caught some sleep.
I willed the medicine to work faster, to bring me some peace amidst the turmoil.
Outside, the rain showed no signs of letting up.
A crash of thunder had me shooting up out of my chair, my nerves frazzled as I took myself into the bathroom in my office, leaving the light off as I wet some paper towels to press to the back of my neck, the pain making me sweaty and overheated.
I was still standing there when I heard the elevator ping, a sound I probably shouldn’t have been able to hear from so far away, but the migraine was making my hearing almost as sensitive as my sight and sense of smell that had me tossing out my dinner and throwing the bag down the chute before I even got to eat any.