"It's about drive, it's about power
We stay hungry, we devour
Put in the work, put in the hours
And take what's ours"

- Dwayne Johnson, "Face Off", a truly iconic song

Chapter One

I was never scared of heights.

How could I? My entire life was a climb.

It might not always seem like it, but there's more to show for being the middle child than simply being forgotten. I was the boldest, the bravest, and the most likely to get stuck in a tree, because I'd needed to be the highest.

My competitive edge was my sword, my path to recognition; I'd been honed by hunger. It was a craving for a spotlight that'd been taken as soon as the next sibling came, as soon as the oldest hit a new first, as soon as there was a shiny new bauble packaged in the shape of one of my sisters. I wasn't the first to walk my path, and I wasn't the last.

Where does my journey get written down?

I love my family. They love me. But scholars say if you want to make an impression, you should go first or last; no one remembers what came in-between. So I was like every other simmering, middle child—I'd find another way to make my mark.

That feeling of need hadn't faded as I'd gotten older, either. It'd just changed shape. It wasn't satiated by team sports, or debate club, or family game night. It'd festered and was fed in entirely different ways, and believe me, I'd always given it enough to feast. I'd sharpened my teeth on academic degrees and promotions. I'd flossed with accolades and recognition. I'd consumed praise from each of my bosses. From my very first supervisor at Munch's Candy Shop to my most recent mentor, the Attorney General of the state of California, I was a shining star. I played politics like a dinner bell.

No, I was never scared of heights—I climbed too fast to fear the fall.

"We're going to miss you around here."

The words were grim, but I smiled at the speaker, leaning on the lobby's desk counter with a shake of my head. "You say that as if you're rid of me forever," I teased.

"It feels like it," Christina griped.

My smile widened. Here, in the belly of a government building newer than most, was someone I was really going to miss.

Though a gorgeous sunset filtered through the tall glass windows, staining the open floors, Christina looked displeased. Irritation dipped her brow and twisted her mouth into a grumbly grimace. Still, I knew the root was affection. A dwindling afternoon and a broad view of the city were peering in to marvel at meandering workers, but it wouldn't get a view of me for much longer.

"Give the newbies a chance, will you? They'll get the hang of it eventually," I promised. My political grin was broad, but Christina scoffed. She knew the game as well as I did, perhaps even better. She'd been here a long time.

"It feels like just yesterday you were starting with us. Now you're leaving." She shook her head, straightening the already perfect Mickey figurine by her keyboard. "I have little hope for your replacements, Avery. They all seem a little too eager if you ask me—not that anyone ever does."

No one ever needed to. She was never shy to tell us.

Christina ruled this domain with an iron fist. Her perches were scattered throughout the halls, but her throne was here in the lobby. She radiated no-nonsense authority and extreme, precise organization. She was the type of grandmother to offer you candy and tell you to fix your collar, all in the same breath.

"They'll get the hang of it eventually," I echoed. "I was just as eager when I started."

Christina harrumphed, once again straightening Mickey—right back to his original perfect position. Her desk was heavily decorated with memorabilia and pictures. Pictures of her young grandchildren, her golden-doodle Poppy, her husband, Gene, in the garden. However, something was different than usual. I could see a few items carefully packed in a box, half-tucked under the desk. Her space was in an unheard of state of disarray; a strange contrast to the usually carefully curated state of her longtime watchtower.

"They'll be fine," I continued. I knew my words would do little to assuage her stony impressions. "The transition's almost over. This is a fresh start, for all of us. You get a new office, a new team. A bigger desk."

"And you get a one-way ticket to Capitol Hill," she added. There was that root of affection; it blossomed to a proud gleam in her eye.

I had never smiled so much in these halls.

Our boss, Attorney General Derek Cruz, was ending his final term. After eight extremely successful years leading justice in the state of California, he was set to leave office in more ways than one. As he discarded politics altogether, he would transition to be a full-time CEO and cofounder of a company I expected to see in Forbes soon. His new team would consist of overly eager business graduates, not us power-hungry political hyenas who'd previously made up his ranks.

It wasn't surprising Cruz was refusing to entirely retire. No, even despite his escalating age and well-lined pockets, no one was surprised. I'd expected nothing less. His wife Amanda had complained privately before she wasn't sure he would ever retire—and I always thought she was right. Cruz had the political drive and hunger that included decades of stepping on fingers, of making firm handshakes to fortify bridges. It wasn't easy to relinquish.

I couldn't ever imagine a finish line for people like us, let alone consider crossing it. Political careers may be over, but they're never finished.

"When are you expected in D.C.?" Christina asked. Her eyes flicked to her screen, presumably as some new notification popped up; her scowl scraped her smile flat until she refocused on me.

"By the end of next week. The movers are coming Monday, and I have a road trip with my name on it first thing Tuesday."

Christina was following Cruz. Though she was loyal to her job, having worked for the state attorney general for over thirty years, she'd fallen for Cruz's persuasive skills. He was fair and honest; it was an unlikely trait around here, the kind that encouraged new kinds of loyalty. It'd taken a while to accept there wasn't a hoax behind the curtain—he really was eager for good. Cruz had gone to Christina as soon as his service had started to taper, and he'd worn her down, offering her the job until she'd walked away with a good deal—but I think she would've accepted it anyway. She got the best of both worlds now; she'd get more benefits and a higher salary than the government's treasury could ever hope to afford for someone like us. Soon, Christina would be re-nesting in a modern high rise further downtown, already teeming with business deals and MBAs.

Cruz and Christina weren't the only ones leaving.

I was, too. It was my last day.

"Don't tell me you're going to miss the party on Friday," Christina warned. Her expression was razor-sharp, already accusatory. "We would never forgive you for that transgression!"

"Of course not. Most of the state's politicians will be there from both sides. I wouldn't miss the networking opportunity," I assured, tapping lightly on the counter. "Besides, Amanda said the same thing."

Christina nodded, knowing our leading lady was as much of a mother hen as she was. They were night and day in every way but one; they both had such motherly affection for the team.

Amanda had demanded I attend her husband's political retirement party; it wasn't an option to miss it.  When our leading lady gave an order, it was followed faster than her husband could blink. She just held that kind of respect.

"Cruz already headed home for the day, so I'm heading out as well," I informed, hoisting my bag higher on my shoulder. Christina sighed and nodded.

I couldn't help pausing. I gave her a tiny smile, my chest a little warm as I admitted, "It's... it's a little hard to leave."

Whatever came next for Cruz, for Christina, whatever would happen in this building tomorrow—I wouldn't be a part of it. I was moving on from my role here.

I was leaving by my own choice, finally getting one step closer to my real goal. With Cruz leaving politics to enter business, I had known it was the best time to make a jump for the next rung in my career ladder. But realizing that, knowing there wouldn't be another time I walked through those glass doors as part of the team, was like unwrapping a bottomless present. It was bittersweet to lose the anticipation, no matter how excited I was. The next time I saw my coworkers would be as I made my final goodbyes to the group I'd worked closely with for four years. I had grown a lot in this building.

Christina nodded, her face sympathetic and disappointed. "I know, honey. See you Friday. Drive safe."

I said my goodbye and took a deep breath. Letting go, I walked through the doors toward the parking lot.

I wondered how many times Christina had said farewell to political interns, assistants, and team members only passing through as they used this as a stepping stone. How many young and hungry faces had come and gone as fast as they could, constantly clawing and grabbing for the next rung in their career. I was one of many, I knew that. Soon, I would be replaced by fresh, unmarked canvases with no idea the full scope of political battles waged for years in that building. They would prepare to fight their own skirmishes as the new attorney general took over; they would wage wars fought for decades before them, participating in clashes fought and lost before they even began. They would know of our victories, of course—but our losses and stalled ceasefires would also remain in these walls. Their names would be introduced in the ranks to continue the fight.

The Wednesday California sky was rippled with purples and pinks as I got into my car. It looked like a painter had spilled paint on a canvas, a sunset blissfully forming out of the various swirls, dripping off the horizon. It cast the palm trees lining the parking lot in a range of fading warm light and purple shadows.

God, I would miss this state.

The food alone was enough to urge a homesick longing in my chest, and I hadn't even left yet. I was thankful I had a few days left to celebrate and mourn my waning time. To mourn the food—the lumpia, California burritos, fish tacos, fresh tortillas from just over the border. I doubted D.C. would have anything able to ease my physical hunger the way this state did. But, I reminded myself D.C. had something else worth the homesickness, the transcontinental move, the changes.

D.C. had diplomats—and diplomats offered opportunities my other hunger craved.

It was only Wednesday. If I'd had my way I would've worked until the very end of my time here, but Cruz had informed me I needed time to prepare. He'd insisted I take time to get my affairs in order. I could not, he said, work until the last minute when making such a drastic change. I'd disagreed, but he'd stood firm. He knew I would work without complaint until the very second I got in my car to go. So I was following orders. The movers would come on Monday, and by the end of next week I planned to be in a shiny city of marble and political influence.

My car had only just slid out of the parking lot when the screen lit up with an incoming call. Pressing the button on my steering wheel, I accepted it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, are you on the way home?" Kennedy's voice filled the car, loud and bright.

"I just left. Why? Did we have plans tonight?" I asked, voice rising in slight panic. I thrived on schedules and order; I would be mortified if my tightly run schedule had allowed plans with my best friend to slip through the cracks.

"No, but I figured you could use some help packing."

Oh, thank God.

"The movers are going to be moving the furniture on Monday, but I'll accept help with packing the rest." I glanced at the time on the dashboard. "Are you sure it's not too late to come over?"

"Of course not. Oliver is working late anyway, so I figured I'd call and offer my services."

Her fiancé, Oliver, worked late nights at the restaurant as needed. As manager, he wasn't often far from the dim lighting of the expensive eatery.

"I'll be there in twenty if I don't hit traffic," I said, knowing I would. She knew I would, too. "Want to order in?"

Kennedy agreed and hung up as I eased into the traffic I'd hoped to avoid.

When I arrived home, realizing I somehow still beat Kennedy there, Rolo greeted me at my door with a full run and a leap. With his tail thumping against the entryway door, he scooped up a toy and held it like a trophy as I entered. I covered him in the obligatory attention, quickly took him out, and ordered an impressive assortment of Chinese food. I was all too eager to change from the business pants and blouse I'd sported that day.

Just as the pajama shirt slipped past my head, Rolo's ears perked, his head swiveling from his position on the bed. With a sudden leap he disappeared to the front door and into the arms of my best friend.

"Cujo! Oh, pretty boy, hi baby! Down. Down. Down." Kennedy's voice drifted to the bedroom.

"His name is not Cujo, and you know it!" I shouted back, almost tripping as I put on pajama pants.

"I know, she's always listening to us!" Kennedy kept on, ignoring me. "Your mom is a helicopter parent, did you know that?"

I was grinning when I exited the bedroom. Kennedy looked up from her squat next to my melted, belly-up mutt. As soon as she stopped the scratching, Rolo was back on his feet, nudging her with his nose for more.

"His name is whatever comes to mind. Isn't that right, bubba?" she cooed, looking down at my drooling rescue. Rolo had become a part of my life at a difficult time of adjustment. As sappily cliche as it was, he was the light of my existence. Unsurprisingly, he'd quickly won over my best friend's heart as well.

I led my posse to the kitchen and pulled out two wine glasses. "The Chinese food won't be here for a while, but I do have wine."

"If you didn't get crab rangoons, I'm leaving, and I'm taking Rolo with me."

"I wasn't aware your presence was conditional." I snorted, handing her a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. She laughed before taking her usual spot on my couch. Her ass was permanently imprinted on the cushions at this point.

I sat down with my own glass while Rolo plopped down at our feet with a huff, his brown eyes sad at the lack of attention. Knowing his huffs would continuously get louder and his pouting more dramatic, I put one foot on Rolo to mindlessly rub his belly as he lay sprawled. He was a professional drama queen. 

"What time is Oliver supposed to get home?"

Kennedy glanced up from her glass. "Probably not until they close. The head chef's still being a pain in the ass. And if Oliver can tell there's an issue, then it must be bad. You know him—he's oblivious."

She smiled fondly, but I snorted at the crack at her fiancé. She was right. Oliver was not known for being aware of tension or drama in a room.

"With the sous chef, right?" I recalled. "What even happened?"

I propped my feet on the coffee table as I settled in for the story. Rolo gave me an 'are you serious?' look when my foot stopped petting him.

Kennedy's eyes were bright and animated. She scootched a little closer. "I think the chefs slept together, but Oliver says they didn't because they're professionals. Ave, I swear I almost laughed when he said that. I know for a fact there are at least two other chefs in that kitchen who have dated."

"I don't want to know how you know that if Oliver doesn't."

"Oblivious, remember?"

Agreeing, I laughed, and relaxed further into the couch.

Conversation bounced and flowed after that, pleasant and fun, until Kennedy shifted it. Her gaze darted to me as she took her last sip. "So, how was your last day?"

"Good. I'll see everyone on Friday, so it wasn't a real goodbye. Honestly, I didn't even get a lot of time to think about it until the end," I admitted. "It was really busy. Now that Cruz isn't a politician anymore, he doesn't get the same protection, so he hired a security team on Monday. We've all had to brief them."

"Why does he need a security team if he's no longer Attorney General? I get having a security guard or two for his office, but a team seems like a lot," Kennedy questioned. I shrugged.

"When politicians leave office, they're still vulnerable. Their knowledge doesn't fall out their head on their last day," I teased. Ken rolled her eyes but nodded, listening. I shrugged. "You're right, though, they don't have as much direct influence. But they still have connections, their experience. Indirectly... well, between his time as AG and his new business deals he's just being cautious. If nothing happens, he'll probably lower the security a bit."

Kennedy squinted, thoughtful. "What are they like? I always think of security teams as either mall security, or secret service, there's no in-between."

I thought back to my first encounter with the team on Monday. Quentin Romano, the head of the team, was a formidable man with salt and pepper hair and an immaculate suit. The whole team had been dressed to the nines as well, looking more secret service than mall cop.

"More secret service, I guess. It's not as high stakes, but they're definitely on top of things. I met a couple team members briefly, but I know there's even more starting tomorrow I won't get to meet."

"Well, maybe you'll get to take one home after the party."

"Yeah, no, not likely." I laughed. "Besides, I'm moving on Monday. I don't have time for anything like that."

"Not even a one-night stand," I added as she opened her mouth to reply.

"Just a suggestion," she said, raising her empty hand in surrender. "I mean, I respect the whole badass woman-in-power thing you got going on, but I also want to make sure you aren't missing out."

The wine in my hand was suddenly not enough. This was a perilous path. It could quickly turn uncomfortable and stir thoughts I tried very hard not to think about—like the fact she was potentially right.

"Ken, if I wanted to be in a relationship I'd be out there looking. But I'm not. I'm heading to Washington. I'm finally on my way to where I want to be, and I don't have time for homemaking or dates."

With a gulp my wine was gone, and so was my already limited patience.

Too many people had opinions on my life. I was an independent, ambitious woman and I did not need a goddamn man or child in my life to make me whole. I had Rolo. I had my job. I had myself.

It's not a 'never', it's a 'not right now'.

"I'm sorry if I push you too much, but I don't want you to be alone. You're moving thousands of miles away." Kennedy hid her face behind her wine glass, tone guilty and soft. "I was just saying maybe you could have a 'goodbye-men-of-California' night or something."

Kennedy had been in a relationship with Oliver since her junior year of college, and it'd never been a question of if they would marry, but when. Her biggest dream was children, and that was okay. I was no better than her because I didn't want that yet, and vice versa. We were just on different paths—even if I knew both of us struggled to see the reasoning behind the other. But just like she would never sacrifice her life for a career, I would never sacrifice my career for one. It'd been no easy feat to get to where I was today, and a lot of sacrifices had been made. Hell, there was still more to make.

"I suppose I don't see you enough in the first place, so maybe it won't be all that different. And to think, I always thought Oliver was a workaholic," she joked weakly, uncomfortable in my silence.

"I won't be alone. Rolo is the perfect gentleman, and he's the only boy I need." I smiled. She gave a faint smile in return, and the moment healed like a scab we picked at too often.

"You know, Rolo can't be my plus one for Friday's retirement party. Want to join me as I talk to some old ass politicians?" I offered, forcing my tone back up, eager to regain my easy footing with her. Kennedy lit up.

"Absolutely! I actually bought this red dress the other day that needs to be worn." She tilted her head with a wink. "Maybe I'll get some old hearts pumping again, breathe some life into them or something. "

Laughing at how she flicked her hair, I relaxed.

But as I sat on the couch, laughing and drinking with my best friend, I was painfully reminded of another reason I would miss California. I may not have seen Kennedy as much as we'd like, but she was wrong. Things would be very, very different.

The doorbell rang. Kennedy stood with a stretch, placing her empty wine glass on the coffee table and heading to the door.

"I'm serious about the rangoons! I'll leave and take the dog," she shot over her shoulder.

Our night of very little packing was in full swing.

Hello!

I will keep author's notes to a minimum, so I don't disrupt the flow of the story (unless otherwise requested). [October '22 edit: Author's notes were not kept to a minimum. I will get overly excited and share behind the scenes details.]

The start may be a little slow, but stick around for a few more chapters and I promise we'll get to the ACTION of this action romance...

Please vote, comment, and share! Thank you for giving this book a chance. It takes a lot of bravery to give a book with very little reads a chance, and it means a lot.

- H

[October '22 edit: I'm curious. Where are readers finding this book? Reading list? Wattpad recommending it? I know finished books get read more, but I can't help but wonder where people are finding the book now that it isn't being actively written! I was worried the book would falter in reads, but they keep growing. Thank you!]

Look at this amazing cover by L0ves1ckGurl  !

Current cover by Lueur_laVespine !