Читать книгу The Boss And His Cowgirl - Silver James - Страница 11

Four

Clay smoothed his features into a neutral expression. He had heard his name on her lips several times, and the little smooching noises and puckering of her lips was both cute and...arousing. While he’d surely like to know the details, there would be a time and place to discover what Georgie dreamed about—and specifically his role in those dreams—but this wasn’t it.

“Do you make a habit of talking in your sleep?” He snapped his mouth shut, shocked he’d pursued the subject.

Georgie pushed her glasses up her nose and stared at him. Her forehead crinkled and her lips pursed as she gave the question serious thought. “I...don’t know, seeing as I’m usually asleep. Would you like me to set up a recorder to find out?”

She looked so serious, Clay hesitated a few seconds before laughing. He opened his mouth to say the first thing that popped into his head, but stopped as innate political instincts kicked in. Offering to watch her sleep at night was not a smart move. He relayed a stern warning to all interested body parts. Georgie was an employee and off-limits. Period.

“Would you?” He wanted to head-slap himself. And shut up. Yes, keeping his mouth shut would be a good thing right about now.

“Ah, Clay?”

Boone. Thank goodness. His cousin could always be counted on to pull his butt out of the fire. Clay turned away from Georgie and focused on his chief of staff. “What’s up?”

Boone had to clear his throat before speaking and he wouldn’t quite meet Clay’s gaze. The words that came out were strained as he tried to stifle his laughter. “Transport is waiting at the airport. We’ll head straight to the office. And you have an email from your sister-in-law.”

“Cassidy?”

“Only sister-in-law I’m aware of.”

“What about?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving?”

“Yes. As in, are we coming home for the holidays? A question also being asked repeatedly by my mother.”

“I don’t have time.”

Boone glanced toward Georgie. “Take Georgie home with you. Make it a long working weekend. And give her time to slide home to see her dad.”

“My dad?” Georgie sounded surprised. “Thanksgiving? He and his buddies go hunting in Montana every year.”

Studying her for a long moment, Clay considered his next comment. “Sounds like your Thanksgivings are a lot like mine. Boone, email Cassie and tell her I’ll be in touch for the details.”

After Boone returned to his seat and buckled up, Clay noticed Georgie’s hands were a little white-knuckled as she gripped the table. “Problem?”

“I don’t like landings. Takeoffs? Not thrilled but I’m fine. Landings?” She blinked at him a few times and her bangs brushed the tops of her glasses as she wrinkled her forehead. “Yeah, not so much.”

Prying one hand free, he laced his fingers through hers. “Good to know I’m not the only one.” He squeezed gently. “Hold my hand to make me feel better? Boone gets all weird when I ask him to do it.”

An odd little noise that was a cross between a giggle and snort burst from her and she tucked her teeth between her pressed lips to hold back the full laugh. “I can imagine.”

Her green eyes flashed in the sunlight streaming through the plane window as the pilot banked to line up on the runway. “Don’t tell my constituents.”

She gestured with her free hand, miming zipping her lips, pressing them closed. “Mmm nnnllps er hhed.”

“Your lips are sealed?”

Georgie nodded vigorously. “We wouldn’t want the voters to know their favorite senator is a ’fraidy cat.”

“Good to know I can trust you.” It struck him then. He could trust Georgie. She’d become an integral part of his inner cadre but he’d never considered the trust he bestowed on her as she moved into her current position. He reflected on what he knew of her. While usually on the quiet side, she didn’t back down easily when she believed herself to be right. And she had a wicked sense of humor, most often directed at Boone.

A flash of jealousy zinged through him. Was there something between Boone and Georgie? Boone called her sugar. All the time. Damn it. But if there was something going on, why should Clay care?

The plane touched down and the engines whined as the pilot applied brakes, diverting him from his thoughts.

Leaving the ground crew to deal with luggage, Clay, Boone and Georgie headed toward his senate offices, driven by Glen with Hunter riding shotgun. The SUV forged through the typically heavy Washington traffic, bullying its way from Dulles to the Russell Senate Office Building in a drive that took almost forty-five minutes. Turning left onto Delaware, the vehicle rolled to a smooth stop just past the main entrance on the southwest corner of the building.

Hunt was out of the front seat and opening doors even as his eyes roved the surroundings in a threat assessment. As Boone stepped out first, his brother tilted his head. “Shark at three o’clock.”

Boone snorted as he helped Georgie and then Clay out. “Parker Grace is headed this way.”

“Senator! Senator Barron!”

Georgie schooled her features to keep her thoughts from leaking into her expression. A reporter for a local television station, Parker Grace scurried toward them, her four-inch heels clattering against the concrete sidewalk. With her perfectly coiffed platinum hair and inch-long eyelashes fluttering over blue eyes, the woman was always the epitome of feminine perfection. And Georgie hated her for it.

Parker’s gaze flicked over her and then focused on Clay. “Senator, do you care to make a comment about your affair with a staff member?”

Sugar would have melted on the woman’s tongue, but the vinegar beneath her words soured Georgie’s stomach. She stepped up beside Clay, prepared to do her job, but Boone cut her off.

“Really, Parker? You get demoted to the gossip beat or something?”

The woman flushed but kept her microphone waving toward Clay. “Those pictures from Scottsdale are fairly explicit, Senator, and word has leaked out that Ms...” The reporter’s gaze once again washed over Georgie and dismissed her. “Your...assistant was seen leaving your suite after spending the night there. Care to comment?”

Once again, Boone cut Georgie off and she fumed at being usurped. “Parker, Parker, Parker. Did your sources also say that I was staying in the same suite, in my capacity as the senator’s chief of staff, along with his security chief, other security personnel and Ms. Dreyfus, the senator’s communications director?”

Georgie couldn’t remain silent any longer. “Seriously, Grace? You want to go there?”

“Most people would, Dreyfus. How wonderfully Fifty Shades. The mousy press secretary and the handsome, powerful senator.”

Georgie laughed. “Oh, apple pie, my eye. What have you been smoking?” Georgie gripped the woman’s arm and tugged her away from the others, though the cameraman followed. Lowering her voice, she fluttered her lashes in perfect imitation of Parker. “Ooh, Senator, I’d love to get my gold-digging claws into your trust fund.”

The guy with the camera huffed out a snort and rolled his eyes as Georgie stepped even closer to the reporter, her palm covering the microphone. “You want to get up and personal with me, Grace, bring it. But this vendetta you have because you threw yourself at the senator and he had the good taste to ignore you needs to stop. Don’t make me go to your producers.”

Arching a brow, Georgie waited. She had information Parker didn’t—mainly that Barron Entertainment owned the majority shares in the station the reporter worked for. And she was fairly positive that a word to Boone would result in a phone call to Chase Barron, Barron Entertainment CEO.

“Don’t threaten me, Georgeanne Dreyfus,” the other woman hissed. When Georgie just continued to stare, Parker blanched. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Let’s get everything out in the open, Parker. When it comes to the senator, there’s very little I wouldn’t dare. I’m telling you unequivocally there is not, nor has there ever been anything of a romantic nature between Senator Barron and me. If you want to go fishing in that pond, be careful what bait you use. You never know what you might catch on the end of your line. Some things out there in the water bite. Hard.”

Parker assessed her with a questioning eye but Georgie didn’t flinch. “When did you get so tough, little girl?”

“Honey, I’m an Oklahoma cowgirl. We’re born tough. And don’t you forget it.” Georgie offered the cameraman a sympathetic look as Parker stormed away, her ridiculous heels tap-tap-tapping on the pavement. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

He snorted again and with a resigned slump of his shoulders, followed the retreating talent.

“I am still capable of speaking for myself, Georgie.”

Startled by the voice in her ear, she whirled and almost tipped over when she bumped into Clay—who was standing inordinately close. Heat crept up her cheeks and she settled her glasses more firmly on her nose. “The last time I checked, talking to reporters is still in my job description.”

“So...Parker had a thing for me, huh?”

Her mouth dropped open and she closed it, only to gape again as Boone chuckled and nudged Clay’s shoulder with his. “I told you so.” He held out his hand. “Pay up, cuz.”

Georgie snapped her mouth shut again. “Wait...you made a bet? On what?”

While Boone tried to look innocent, she didn’t fall for it. “Please don’t tell me you were betting on me confronting her.”

A wickedly sinful grin spread across Clay’s face. “Okay. We won’t tell you.” He snagged her arm and headed toward the building’s entrance. “But I would appreciate knowing the next time a sexy woman finds me desirable. Men need to know these things.”

Sputtering, Georgie allowed Clay to tow her along beside him. Jealousy flared hot as a sparkler on the 4th of July and she stuffed it deep. As they entered the Russell’s rotunda, Clay leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“And for your information, I find nothing mousy about you.”

* * *

Three weeks later Clay sprawled in the desk chair in the study at the Barron family compound in Oklahoma City, feet propped on the scarred desktop. Despite his busy schedule, he’d caved to his sister-in-law’s demand for a family Thanksgiving gathering. He’d insisted it was a working break and brought Georgie with him. They were currently dealing with his upcoming schedule. Georgie, all business, stood at the whiteboard ticking off a list when his nephew plowed into the room. “Uncle Clay! Aunt Cassie says time to eat. You gots to come now, ’kay?” The boy was all but bouncing out of his cowboy boots and Clay wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Cord, his next younger brother, had almost died earlier in the fall. During his recovery, he’d reconnected—sort of—with his ex-girlfriend, only to discover he had a son. CJ looked like a Barron and Clay remembered when Cord and Chance had been filled with the same energy.

He’d been their caretaker during their mother’s final illness and death from cancer. Their father hadn’t wanted to deal with the domestic situation so he didn’t. Cyrus Barron had done what he did best: abandoned his parental responsibilities. And after the accidental death of his first stepmother, Clay had also taken on the twins, Chase and Cash, when Cyrus pulled his disappearing act.

Dropping his feet to the floor, Clay pushed out of the chair and joined CJ at the door. “You heard the little man, Georgie. Aunt Cassie says it’s time to eat.” He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Has your dad explained about the wishbone?”

CJ’s eyes widened and he nodded like a bobblehead dog on the dash of a car driving down a rough road. “Yup. Uncle Cash ’n’ me get to break it an’ I get something cool when I win. C’mon! There’s pie and hot rolls and sweet taters.”

Holding the door, Clay gestured for Georgie to precede him, a part of him oddly gratified she’d agreed to come home with him for the weekend. Granted, they’d mostly been closeted in this small study since their arrival the previous day so he hadn’t had much interaction with anyone besides her, but wasn’t that the point? She was a buffer between him and his brothers, in much the same way that she stood between him and the press.

The meal went as family gatherings usually did in the Barron household, at least when Cyrus was absent—lots of teasing, gooey glances between Chance and his not-so-new bride as Miz Beth and Big John presided over the festivities like the surrogate parents they’d been since coming into the brothers’ lives. When the time came for the wishbone pull, Cash—as the youngest brother—made a halfhearted attempt at the tradition with CJ. When the boy won, Cash pushed away from the table and strode out, angry over something.

Clay considered following his baby brother but CJ’s sly wish about getting his mom and dad back together kept him in his seat as Cord stammered his way through an explanation of why that wouldn’t happen. With the cleanup underway and football-watching to follow, Clay took the opportunity to slip back into the study.

Almost two hours later his father strode in. Clay glanced up at the intrusion, surprised since Chance had assured everyone that Cyrus was in Las Vegas for the duration. He sat up straighter, recognizing the set of the man’s shoulders and the expression on his face.

“We need to talk.” The old man glowered, anticipating he’d vacate the chair behind the desk. Clay didn’t indulge him.

Irritated now more than when he’d walked in, his old man lowered himself into a less comfortable chair and didn’t wait to fire the opening volley. “Get your brothers. We have family business.”

Clay didn’t like the derisive tone in his father’s voice. “What sort of family business?”

“Cord and my grandson and that woman who wants to ruin them both. Now get the hell out of my chair. We’ll talk more after I deal with your thickheaded brother.”

Doing as he was told but dragging his feet, he went in search of his brothers. He found Cash first and received a curt nod and sneer for his trouble. “I’ll round up everyone and then text Cord to meet us in the conference room,” Cash informed him.

Cash’s reaction and obvious previous knowledge of the situation left a bitter taste in Clay’s mouth. His youngest brother had once been the most easygoing of them all—rivaling even Cord for being laid-back. He wondered what had happened to turn Cash into the man he currently was.

With reluctance, Clay headed to the conference room and sank into the chair at one end of the table. During the “family intervention” his father demanded Cord sue for full custody of CJ, and made other more personal demands about CJ’s mother, Jolie. It left Clay slightly angered—at his father, at his baby brother, but proud of Cord and Chance for standing up to the old man. He should probably do the same, though a heavy sense of dread hung over him as he followed his father back into the study.

“What are your plans?”

“My plans for what?”

“The election.”

“As you well know, I’m forming an exploratory committee.”

“You need to declare early. Scare off the competition.”

“This may not be the right cycle to run.”

“Bull. You will campaign, get the party’s nomination, and we’ll make a successful run at the presidency.”

“We,” Clay said in a clipped tone, letting the pronoun hang in the emotionally charged atmosphere.

“I can’t trust you not to mess it up. I’ll be there every step of the way. I have some things to deal with here but I’ll be in Washington next week. We’ll get things started.”

Despite the urge, and a certain need to do so, Clay didn’t argue. A smart man picked his battles with the old man. This wasn’t the time or the place.