by EJ Whitmer
POWER SHIFT
Anna Jennings Super Novel – Book Two
E.J. WHITMER
POWER SHIFT Copyright © 2015 by E.J. Whitmer.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information visit : www.ejwhit.com
Book and cover design by EJWhitmer Design
ISBN: 978-1515341727
First Edition: August 2015
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For the little man kicking and wiggling in my tummy.
I loved every moment of writing this book while feeling you practice your karate moves. I’m not even upset about you trying to kick my iPad off of my belly or nudging my arm when I’d been sitting for too long, staring at a blank page on my computer screen. You are a miracle and the best thing I’ve ever created.
My hope for you is that you’ll be strong like Emmett, clever like Blake, and brave like Carl.
P.S. You’re not allowed to read Mommy’s books for at least thirty years. No arguments, mister.
INTRODUCTION
If you would have asked a five-year-old me which super power she would choose to possess, she would have told you the ability to fly. I have no doubt that the sum of the medical bills throughout my childhood ended up being more than my college tuition. No amount of broken bones, skinned knees or stitches could deter me from tying a towel around my neck and jumping off any and everything available. I remember pumping my legs as hard as I could on the swing set, trying to reach the highest high before letting go and jumping off. That half second of weightlessness was worth every bruise and scrape. Nothing could be cooler than flying, right?
If you would have asked a thirteen-year-old me the same question, she would have told you nothing could be cooler than invisibility. You'd think growing up as the only daughter of the male-infested Jennings clan would give me more insight into the male anatomy than other girls. You'd be wrong. I didn't know there was anything more than a wiener until I was 13 and asked my brother Nate why people say they're going to kick boys in the balls. He made fun of me for weeks. I'm pretty sure that was the exact moment that I switched from wanting to fly to wanting to be invisible. I hated not knowing extremely important information. (Like the existence of testicles.) Shouldn't a girl know that stuff? I’ve always wondered why Harry Potter didn't use his Invisibility Cloak to sneak into the girls dormitories. Had I been given the gift of invisibility, my first stop would have been the boys’ locker room. It's completely unfair that when girls go through puberty, their boobs pretty much announce it to the world. Boys' voices may change, but physically they’re at a serious advantage. I'd even the playing field with my invisibility, reporting back to my friends on whose dingy was bigger than whose and whether Bobby Meyers really was a fire crotch.
If you asked me now, at age 28, which super power I would choose, I would most definitely tell you that I'd give my left ovary to be able to turn back time. I'm wise enough to realize that the decisions I've made, both good and bad, have shaped me into the woman I am today. I'd like to think I would be mature enough to not go back in time and redo the defining moments in my life. If I wouldn't have ditched my car back in high school, I wouldn't know how dangerous icy roads can be. If I wouldn't have given Grant Miller my virginity in the back seat of his father's Bronco, I wouldn't know the importance of activating the e-break when you're parked on a steep incline. And, perhaps most importantly, if I wouldn't have used my boss's keys to grant me entrance to the 29th floor of Vance Publishing, I wouldn't have discovered that six of my coworkers possess actual super powers. I wouldn’t have made an unlikely friend out of Carl, the courier. And chances are, I probably wouldn’t have ended up shagging the CFO.
Of course, every coin has two sides. Sure, I landed a pretty amazing new boyfriend in Emmett Vance, but I was kidnapped and did nearly die. Multiple times, I might add. I also learned that my boss, Eric Blake, can read minds and had heard every angry and perverted thought I’d had during the three years I’d been working for him. I refuse to even attempt to remember some of the things that have gone through my mind in front of him. It’s not constructive.
Yet even through all of the chaos and danger, I wouldn't go back in time to change anything related to my first adventure with my new superhero friends. (Except maybe the time I was forced to wear a spandex super suit. I'm choosing to block that from my memory. Emotional scarring and all that.)
So what would I do with my time control powers? Little things. Like allowing myself to binge on pizza and pina coladas just long enough to really savor the taste before turning back time and choosing a salad instead. Or days like last Thursday when I fell asleep at my desk with my cheek on a notepad and didn't realize the ink had bled onto my face. I walked around work for the rest of the day with a grocery list on my cheek that included necessities like super plus tampons and condoms.
I'm still deciding if I would go back to three weeks ago when I nearly died. Again. At this point in time, I'd say yes. However, I have a feeling that in a few months I will realize that this latest fiasco was another one of those "turning points" or "learning experiences" that I really am better off having gone through. I'm just not there quite yet. Maybe when I get this hideous cast off of my arm or when my Mini is back from the body shop. Until then, I shall pout.
1
My name is Anna Jennings. I'm twenty-eight, clumsy, slightly obsessed with my cat, able to get drunk off two beers, stubborn, and fiercely protective of those I love. I live in Chicago in a loft I spent way too much money on that overlooks The Loop. I am a typical Midwestern girl in that I love red meat, potatoes, processed cheese and my mother. I have four older brothers whose torture tactics during the first eighteen years of my life have forged me into who I am today. I’m not sure if that’s good or not. I suppose it depends who you ask.
When I'm not fighting evil super villains with my superhero friends, I'm the Creative Director for Tuff Enuff Magazine, the number one men's magazine in the United States. My office is located on the twenty-eighth floor of an office building in downtown Chicago. Tuff Enuff is one of several magazines published by Vance Publishing, and yes, my boyfriend Emmett Vance is a large shareholder in the company. Emmett’s father, Lloyd Vance, owns the company and serves as its CEO.
Two months ago, I (kind of) accidentally walked in on a situation that would change my life forever. I discovered that six senior level managers at Vance Publishing were honest to goodness, real life superheroes. I stumbled across this situation with a courier named Carl who has quickly become a cross between best friend and annoying little brother. (Or maybe an ultra-hyper rat terrier.)
Somehow Carl and I wound up in the clutches of a super villain with the power to conduct and control electricity. His evil alias was Captain Zinger. No, I’m not kidding. His real name was Ian Watts and he was my friend. Ian was a trainer at Vance Publishing’s employee gym and somehow snuck under the super team’s radar and nearly took over the city.
Once that situation was taken care of, things were relatively quiet. It was my impression that the team was taking a breather and regrouping after a very close call. There were no more late night senior management meetings. Emmett didn’t disappear when we went out on dates.
Everything seemed pretty calm. Looking back now, I should have known it wouldn’t last. Perhaps the superhero world is like any other world. Chaos comes in waves. It’s best to enjoy the downtime and not dwell on the next surge that will inevitably come crashing down. And this latest wave … let’s just say it was more of a tsunami.
The wave started building three weeks from last Monday. It was late March in Chicago and everything was finally beginning to thaw. In fact, that Monday I had even considered walking to work instead of taking my Mini Cooper. That plan was shot when I hit the snooze button one too many times and set a world record for least amount of time spent getting ready for work. After feeding my cat, Figaro, and watering my fern, LaFern, I grabbed my work clothes and a protein bar and bolted out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I pulled my Mini into Vance Publishing’s parking garage and raced to the employee gym. I am not one of those people who have been blessed with a fast metabolism. Never have been. I work extremely hard to fit into my size six jeans. Missing one day at the gym pushes me to an eight. Missing three days pushes me into double digits. My hips grow exponentially from that point on. Thankfully, I arrived at the gym that morning with five minutes to spare. Mondays are cardio days, so I dropped my bag off in the locker room and high-tailed it to spin class.
I hustled into the room and snagged one of the few remaining stationary bikes before taking a moment to look around. The class was pretty packed and I recognized most of the faces as the normal group fitness bunnies. However, one face and its two ginormous ears stood out from the crowd. Carl, my new friend and self-appointed sidekick, sat two rows ahead of me, completely decked out in every piece of cycling equipment imaginable. He had on black and lime green biking shorts, a lime green racing jersey, what appeared to be a black weighted vest, black wrap-around sunglasses and several tufts of his messy blonde hair were sticking out of a shiny, lime green helmet.
I immediately sunk low on my bike and kept my face down, praying to Baby Jesus and Oprah that Carl wouldn’t turn around and notice me. I only had four more minutes until class started. Surely I could make it that long. I watched the clock click tick at an agonizingly slow pace. Two minutes left. The instructor walked in and situated herself on the bike at the front of the class, smiling at pupils along the way. At the one minute mark I inhaled a deep, calming breath and promptly let it out in a whoosh as the classroom door crashed open.
“Sorry!” cried a young woman I didn’t recognize. “I’m late! Ignore me!”
The woman rushed to the back of the classroom and hopped on the bike next to me. Of course this meant everyone’s attention was directed to the back of the classroom, including Carl’s for a brief moment before he caught my eye.
“Anna! Hi!” he shouted, waving emphatically and nearly toppling over his stationary bike.
My face burned with embarrassment as I sent a mini-wave back in his direction and turned my attention to the new girl in class. She was beautiful; long blonde hair pulled in a high pony, an adorable little nose, green eyes and a perfect body that screamed good genetics. I wanted to hate her from the get-go. I’m shallow like that. Instead, I smiled politely and stretched my neck and shoulders as class began.
An hour later, I forced my wobbly legs off the pedals and reminded myself for the fiftieth time to wear biking shorts to spin class. The seats on those damn bikes are made for small children, not adults. It always takes my ass until at least Wednesday to stop hurting. I grabbed my water bottle and glanced over at the blonde next to me. Even though she’d kept up with my pace for the entire class, she looked perfect. She didn’t even sweat. If anything, I’d say she had a nice sparkly sheen to her. So not fair. After making sure Carl’s attention was elsewhere, I smiled politely at Blondie and bolted out of the room.
I raced through my morning routine in the locker room and attempted to do the hair and makeup thing. Apparently my hair knew it was a Monday because I suddenly had ten new cowlicks and some serious frizz going on. I normally keep my long auburn hair straight and behind my shoulders. The usual hairstyle was definitely not happening that morning. I did what I could and rolled a hair tie onto my wrist for when I reached my hair breaking point.
In an attempt to offset my unruly locks, I added extra eyeliner and mascara and threw on a navy suit to help my blue eyes pop. I stood in front of the full length mirror and sighed. It was as good as it was going to get. Once my gear was stuffed back into my locker, I grabbed my briefcase and headed for my office on the twenty-eighth floor.
Most office buildings are relatively quiet before seven in the morning. Not in publishing. Definitely not in magazine publishing. It was nothing short of a miracle that I made it across the floor and all the way to my office that morning without being bombarded with questions. I quickly shut my office door and breathed a giant sigh of relief. I really don’t like to deal with people before I’ve had a chance to indulge in a cup of coffee and gather my thoughts. I call it my “moment” and it is extremely important to me. Most of my employees know this. They respect it. Others like to think that because we are close, that makes them exceptions to my moment rule. This is not true. My moment is my moment, damn it. But I digress …
I had just sat down and booted up my computer when a rapid knock sounded on my door and my assistant, Mae, bustled in. Mae is one of my favorite people in the world. She is in her late sixties and, quite honestly, way overqualified for being an assistant. However, her husband passed away ten years ago and left her with a hefty insurance settlement, so she is financially set for life. I think she just enjoys mothering people and that’s fine by me.
That day Mae was wearing her customary cardigan and homemade calf-length skirt. Not a hair was out of place in her short gray bob as she shuffled in with a cup of coffee and a box of granola clusters.
“Good morning, Anna! How was your weekend?” she asked as she set my breakfast on the desk.
“It was great,” I replied. “Emmett and I went to the Shedd Aquarium and hit up a beer tasting event. How was yours?”
Mae grinned as she reached into her back pocket to pull her phone out. “I spent the whole weekend trolling for honeys!” she exclaimed. “Connor set me up on this app called Tinder. It’s amazing! I had no idea so many hunks lived in Chicago!”
Connor is Mae’s teenage grandson and probably the worst influence ever. Half of Mae’s vocabulary now consists of acronyms and slang terms. A few months ago she would purposely make mistakes on things like paperwork or lunch orders, just so she could shout, “Hashtag. YOLO!” I don’t think she quite grasped the meaning of it.
“So far I’ve had fourteen matches,” Mae continued on. “I’m being pretty picky about who I right-swipe and who I left-swipe. I don’t mean to be shallow, but I’m looking for Sean Connery, not Don Knotts. Anyway, if I right-swipe somebody and they right-swipe me back, it tells me we have a match!”
I chewed on my lip and absorbed this information overload. On one hand, Mae could really use a good man in her life. On the other hand, she is one of the most trusting and naïve people I’d ever met. Any sort of online dating could spell disaster for my sweet friend.
“That’s great, Mae!” I exclaimed as I rose to give her a quick hug. “Just be careful, please. Get to know these guys before you agree to meet them and always make sure someone knows where you are if you do choose to meet someone in person.”
Mae fluttered her wrist at me, dismissing my worry. “I’ll be fine, dear. Ooooo! Look at this hottie!”
I stared down at the phone being shoved in my face and had to admit, the man was handsome for being retirement age. “Yeah, he’s a looker,” I agreed. “So do you right-swipe or left-swipe?”
“Definitely right-swipe. I’d right-swipe him all night long, sista friend!” Mae did a little jig and giggled on her way out the door.
I shook my head and chuckled as I sat down and prepared for my moment. As soon as my emails were sorted and I’d had a chance to finish my coffee and granola, I opened my d
oor and braced myself for the onslaught of questions and assignments. Thirty minutes later, the chaos died down just in time for Carl to swing by with the mail.
“Hey Anna! Great class today, huh?” Carl plopped my mail onto my desk and stretched his skinny body across one of my guest chairs.
I nodded in agreement and sorted through my mail. “Carl, it’s great that you’re getting into exercising, but do you mind me asking why? What sparked this new interest?”
Carl straightened in his chair and regarded me seriously. “Well after everything that happened last month, I really felt like I needed to get in shape. I’d like to build muscle and endurance if I’m going to be an asset to the team.”
I squelched the need to roll my eyes. “The team? Carl, they don’t want us anywhere near their exploits. And do I need to remind you, you don’t have super powers?”
Carl stared at his shoes and shrugged. “Well, I just want to get stronger. Just in case.”
The poor guy looked so dejected. I sighed and walked around my desk to squeeze his shoulders. “Well, getting stronger won’t hurt anything. Plus, we got dragged into their drama last month. Who’s to say it won’t happen again? If it does, I bet you’ll be extra glad you’ve spent time at the gym.”
