by Silver James
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.
Five
Even now, late on a snowy December day when his colleagues were preparing to flee Washington for their home districts, Clay glared at the files highlighted in the pool of stark white LED light shining on his desk. He pretended he was too busy to make it home for the holidays but in reality, he didn’t want to deal with the family drama happening back in Oklahoma. The intervention at Thanksgiving involving Cord, the mother of his child and the boy himself soured Clay’s stomach. As much as he’d enjoyed meeting his nephew and reconnecting with his brothers, overall, succumbing to his new sister-in-law’s plea to appear for the family gathering had been an unmitigated disaster. And he still had his old man all up in his political business.
A peal of laughter floated through his half-opened office door. Georgie. She’d been the one high point in the Thanksgiving travesty. He’d all but begged her to accompany him, his excuse that she was the best speechwriter on the Hill and he had precampaign stops to make on the way back to Washington. In truth, he’d needed her there to insulate him from the dysfunction surrounding his family. Her presence and clear head kept him centered.
A male voice rumbled in the background and Georgie laughed again. A streak of jealousy twisted through him before he clamped down on his emotions. Georgie was an employee. He didn’t fish in the office pond. Ever. Unlike many of his associates. He closed the file he’d been studying—the oil and gas production bill wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon—and wondered who was in the reception area with her. He kept a skeleton staff during December. While Congress didn’t officially break for Christmas recess until December twenty-first, the Hill effectively ground to a stop in anticipation of the holiday weeks before.
A few moments later Boone rapped on the door and stuck his head in. “Dude, enough. We need steaks. And beer.”
The Tate brothers belonged to Clay’s aunt Katherine, his father’s sister. While all of them carried the trademark Barron dark hair, they’d inherited their father’s blue eyes, and Boone’s twinkled with good humor. He stepped fully into the office and glanced over his shoulder. “I bet I can convince Georgie to come with us, since we three are the only ones still here.” He waggled his brows and Clay couldn’t help but chuckle at his cousin’s antics.
When his stomach grumbled in agreement, Clay surrendered. As long as Boone was there to chaperone, he could keep his mind on business and not on the woman whose presence had inexplicably begun to make his breath catch and his thoughts wander to places they had no business visiting. “Are you buyin’?”
A snort of laughter was quickly followed by a shake of Boone’s head. “Hell no, cuz. You’re the one who makes the big bucks. We have reservations at Max’s Steakhouse and we’re going to miss them. Now, get your butt in gear.”
The woman under discussion breezed into the room, a quiet smile on her face. She pushed the heavy black frames of her glasses up on her nose. “Did you convince him he needs beef?”
Georgie’s voice did funny things to Clay—most of them centered below the belt buckle. She interacted with the press often and he’d overheard one male journalist comment that Georgie had the voice of a phone sex operator, but the rest of her didn’t follow through. He’d studied Georgie following that crack and came to his own conclusion. Who knew girls in glasses looked so sexy? Thank goodness no one saw her the same way he did. He’d hate to start a fistfight. Which was so outside the realm of his normal behavior he now second-guessed every word, thought and action where Georgie was concerned.
She’d been a fixture in his office almost since the beginning, recruited by Boone first as a campaign assistant and then as a deputy press secretary after her graduation from the University of Oklahoma’s journalism school. Since that time, she’d worked her way through the ranks. After her comments regarding her own Thanksgiving and family, Clay had done a little covert checking. Her mother had been a Tulsa socialite who met and married Georgie’s father in college. They’d divorced when Georgie was thirteen, after living apart most of her life. Marlena Dreyfus had hated life on the ranch. After the divorce she had moved to Dallas, and effectively ignored her daughter. George Dreyfus had raised his daughter to be a cowgirl until Georgie departed for college and then joined Clay’s staff.
Putting Hunt on the trail, he learned Georgie had had one semiserious boyfriend in college, and seldom dated anyone more than a few times since coming to Washington. The idea she didn’t have many men in her past pleased Clay, and he was man enough to admit that was his ego talking because he had a whole string of women peppering his past. Clay was also honest enough to admit his sudden interest was closer to stalking than infatuation. But he didn’t care. Georgie was an important and trusted member of his staff. He should know these things. And finding out about her had nothing to do with the vivid dreams in which she starred, leaving him hard and wanting upon awaking. No, those dreams had nothing at all to do with his current curiosity.
“Who’s driving?” Boone was shrugging into his sheepskin coat as he glared out the window into the Russell Building’s inner courtyard. Snow fell thick and fast.
“Not you,” Georgie teased. “I called Hunt earlier. He’s sending an SUV for us. Four-wheel drive. And he promised a driver who knows how to navigate in this stuff.”
“Well, that certainly makes me feel safer.” Clay jingled the keys in his coat pocket. He’d much rather drive—not that he was a control freak. Much. Georgie was smart to get a ride for them. Washingtonians and winter driving didn’t mix when it came to maneuvering the streets of DC. He grabbed his topcoat from the old-fashioned coat rack in the corner while Georgie ducked out to her office to grab her own coat.
They nodded to the guard as they left the building and strode straight to the black Suburban idling next to the curb. Georgie ended up sandwiched between him and Boone in the backseat. Clay’s thigh pressed against hers and he heard her breath hitch. Glancing at her, he caught the flushing of her creamy skin, obvious even in the darkness of the winter night. Interesting.
Hunt twisted around in the front to look at them. “Jeez. Did I forget my deodorant or something? Nobody fighting over who gets to ride shotgun?”
“What are you doing here?” Clay was surprised to see his chief of security in the driver’s seat.
“Georgie said you were buying. At Max’s. That means good beef. Hell yeah, I’m driving.”
Boone laughed and jumped out, ducking into the front passenger seat a moment later. “I’ll sit up here, bro, since you’re such a big baby about riding all by your lonesome.”
The brothers argued good-naturedly during the drive to the restaurant. Clay breathed shallowly because Georgie had barely moved into the seat vacated by Boone. She was close enough their shoulders brushed each time Hunt turned a corner. And that was so not good. Boundaries. Clay needed them. Not to mention he had plans of the romantic variety over the holiday break. A Broadway star was anticipating his presence as her escort at a variety of glittering parties in New York and Boston. Parties where the rich and powerful would be. Parties where he would make contacts to further his political aspirations and allow him to test the waters surrounding his run for the party’s presidenti
al nomination.
When they were seated in a round booth inside Max’s a few minutes later, the brotherly banter continued. Clay envied his cousins. Aunt Katherine could be a domineering matriarch but she also baked cookies, was a staunch supporter of her children and loved them fiercely. He remembered his own mother as being weak and subservient to the old man. She’d loved him and his brothers in her own way, and they’d loved her. When Cyrus had married his stepmother Helen, she’d done her best to mother him, Cord and Chance, but she’d become pregnant fairly soon after the wedding and the twins kept her crazy busy. Until that fateful rainy day when a drunk driver and a blind curve had changed everything.
Georgie nudged him with her shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts?”
He scowled at her for a moment. “They aren’t worth that much.” Which was true. Introspection never did him any good. He tuned back in to the conversation. Boone and Hunt were going at it again, claiming each was their mother’s favorite.
“My Christmas present will be the biggest.” Folding his arms across his chest, Hunt smirked at Boone.
“Nuh-uh. Mine will be. Mom loves me best because I’m cutest.”
Hunt snickered. “You know that’s not true! That claim belongs to Deacon. Mom has always thought he was the cutest.”
“That’s because he’s a star.” Boone rolled his eyes as he made air quotes around the last word. “She just wants to go to the Country Music Association Awards with him.”
Clay snorted, getting into the conversation. “Deke taking Aunt Katherine to the CMAs? Riiight. Not gonna happen. That boy has girls draped around him like his momma’s mink stole.”
Boone reached across Georgie and punched Clay’s shoulder with a loose fist. “Just like someone else I know. When are you headed up to New York to see Giselle?”
After checking the calendar on his phone, Clay shrugged. “We’re scheduled for a charity reception at the Plaza on the eighteenth. I’ll probably fly up that morning.”
