by Silver James
He was a realist. He’d watched this damn disease ravage his mother. He’d watched her hair fall out, seen her lose weight until her skin hung off her bones, her lethargy. He’d listened to his father’s cruel remarks. He was not that boy anymore. He was a man—a man who would take care of his woman. No matter what.
She’d crept into his life. He’d barely noticed her that day when she appeared in the storefront campaign headquarters during his first House run. Boone knew who she was, recognized her potential. She’d been a sweet college kid with stars in her eyes. She’d worked grueling hours with no compensation. Her smile had turned shy whenever Clay spoke to her. But he’d started to notice her. She was good at what she did. And got better with experience. She worked as his state office liaison in Oklahoma City. When Boone suggested recruiting her for the DC office, he agreed immediately.
And then she was just...there. Her smile still shy when turned his way, she always managed to fit in. She had become the little sister the Tate boys never had. Except he’d never looked at her like that. He wasn’t sure when he first noticed she was definitely not a little sister, but a woman with curves and green eyes that twinkled with mischief and humor. Over the years she worked in his office, he’d come to admire her talents—as a speechwriter and in the deft way she handled the media. He also realized she hid behind her black glasses, boxy suits and messy buns.
He appreciated her talents, and as he’d reminded Boone that long-ago morning in Scottsdale, he didn’t paddle in his own work pool. Until Georgie had taken the brunt of the attack by those protesters. Until she’d curled into his arms as he carried her up to his suite. Until she’d laughed and cried in the dark, sharing her fears with him.
Yeah, Georgie was his now and he would not let her go.
She moved beside him, murmuring his name.
“Shhh, darlin’. Go back to sleep.”
“S’everything okay?”
“I have you in my arms, sweet pea. We’re good.”
He felt her smile against his chest as he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Sleep, Georgie. We’ll deal with tomorrow when it comes. Sweet dreams.”
“Love you,” she mumbled, unaware of what she said.
He lay awake, thinking about her words, before finally falling asleep just as the sun rose.
* * *
Boone and Hunt were sitting at the breakfast bar drinking coffee, a laptop open between them, when Clay shuffled in. He’d left Georgie sleeping, her lashes not hiding the deep shadows under her eyes. How had he not noticed how worn out and worried she’d been? Yes, she’d hidden her concern from him, but he should have realized something was more wrong than she let on. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. He poured a cup of coffee and settled on a stool across the bar from his cousins.
Boone opened the conversation, but he didn’t quite meet Clay’s gaze. “The office knows we won’t be in today.”
“What now?”
Boone swiveled the computer, but before he could hit the play button, Clay’s cell phone rang, the words Chase calling flashing on the screen.
“You’re up early,” he stated with no preamble as he stabbed the speaker icon.
“Haven’t been to bed yet.” His younger brother was constantly in the tabloids. Head of Barron Entertainment, he flitted from Las Vegas to LA to Nashville. “But I’m not calling about me.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, I’m calling to say thanks. For once you’re the headline in the grocery checkout instead of me.”
Cold anger washed through him. “What are you talking about, Chase?”
“You haven’t even announced yet and the media is all over you like cheese and jalapeños on nachos. But seriously, Clay, why did you break up with Giselle? She was perfect for you. I know you like strays, but Georgeanne? Though I guess it makes sense, since she works for you. You and Boone need to come up with a strategy.”
Before he could respond, Boone snatched the phone. “Chase, you need to shut up.”
“Boone?”
“I’m tellin’ ya, cuz, shut it. Now.”
Silence filled the kitchen. They heard Chase take a deep breath. “Damn. Are they really a thing?”
Boone stared at Clay. An angry tic beneath one eye and the grim line of his lips conveyed his feelings so perfectly that Boone added, “You idiot. You’re damn lucky you aren’t standing here where Clay can put hands on you.”
“The old man is gonna blow a gasket.”
“He already has.”
“No, Boone. He hasn’t called for an intervention. He might be pissed, but his brain hasn’t exploded.” A ping sounded from Chase’s end and then silence. Another quick breath and then a string of cuss words dribbled from Clay’s phone. “Not yet, but any minute now. Have y’all seen the latest news report?”
“Hunt and I have, but Clay hasn’t.”
Clay stared at Boone, his gaze shifting to Hunt before dropping to the laptop. “What?”
Boone hit Play and a video featuring a perky blonde reporter flickered on the screen, the words Political Ploy or Play for Pity? on a screen behind her.
“Oklahoma Senator Clayton Barron has long been Capitol Hill’s most eligible bachelor. In recent months he’s taken himself off the dating carousel, and his communications director, Georgeanne Dreyfus, is his constant companion. The senator broke off his long-term affair with Broadway star and fellow Oklahoman, Giselle Richards. Within days Senator Barron was seen about town with the bespectacled Dreyfus on his arm. One wonders why a man of the senator’s...stature—” the female reporter stopped to waggle her brows and smirk into the camera “—would lower his standards to date his mousy employee. While known for her political savvy and ability to divert the media, Dreyfus is not the senator’s typical type. We’ve learned from an unnamed source that Dreyfus is moving into the senator’s Georgetown house. Rumors have also surfaced of numerous visits to Washington ob-gyn Dr. Mike Lane, which makes one speculate as to the reason. Another unnamed source suggests it isn’t a pregnancy scare, but a medical diagnosis. Senator Barron and his party have been accused of being soft on women’s issues. Is this a ploy on the part of a smart politician about to announce his campaign for the presidency? Or is a desperate woman hoping the handsome senator will take pity on her as she attempts to hitch her star to his?”
The reporter turned wide eyes to the camera, but Clay didn’t listen to the rest of her drivel. He slammed the laptop shut and launched his coffee cup simultaneously. The ceramic mug hit the expensive glass-tile backsplash above the double stainless-steel sink and shattered.
Chase, voice soft and chastised, reclaimed Clay’s attention. “Talk to me, Clay.”
“She has breast cancer, Chase. Stage three. We’re coming home next week for my announcement. I’ll run my campaign from there while she undergoes treatment.”
More cuss words streamed from the phone before Chase inhaled. “I’m sorry, Clay. Truly. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone but especially not someone close to you.”
“I care about her, Chase.”
“Call Cord and Chance. They need to know. All of it. And I’m sorry for being a smart-ass.”
Clay caught the relieved glance his cousins exchanged. His phone buzzed, indicating another incoming call. “Thanks, Chase. Will do.” He swiped his finger to end the call and checked to see who else was on the line. Cord.
“Hey, little bro.”
“Jeez, Clay, are you okay?”
“No.”
“How’s Georgie?”
“Scared.”
“What’s going on?”
Clay inhaled and then said the hateful words. “She has breast cancer.”
“Ah, hell, ol’ son. What’s the plan?”
And this was when Clay truly appreciated his brothers. At least the next two in l
ine. The twins sometimes swam in the jerk pool but Cord and Chance always had his back. “We’re coming home next week.”
“The announcement still on for Friday?”
“Yes. Boone wrangled the Peake. Deke is on board.”
“We’ll be there to show the colors, bud. Listen, Chance is here with me. Cassie and Jolie, too. We want to know what you need, what we can do to help.”
Clay’s throat clogged and his eyes burned. “You just did it, Cord. All of you.”
Cord and Jolie, the mother of Cord’s child, had recently married. She was an ER nurse and spoke up. “If Georgie has any questions, Clay, or needs anything at all, tell her to call me. I’ll be there with her each step of the way. Tell her that, ’kay?”
“Thanks, hon. I will.”
“Clay?”
He swiveled on the stool to find a disheveled Georgie standing in the doorway. Her hair was mussed, one strap of her tank hovered on the point of her shoulder ready to fall off and her cotton sleep pants rode low on her curvy hips. She blinked at Hunt and Boone, her expression confused. Her cell phone rested in the palm she stretched toward him. “Why are there movers at my apartment?”
Fifteen
Clay exchanged looks with Boone while Hunt glanced out the window.
“Clay?” Georgie’s voice sounded small and a little lost.
“C’mere, sweet pea.” He reached out and she moved into his arms. Glancing at her phone, he realized the call was still live. “Who’re ya talking to?”
She gazed up at him, looking sleepy and confused. “Jen. She says people are in my apartment.”
Hunt snatched the phone and moved away, speaking softly to Georgie’s best friend. Clay kissed her forehead. “I figured you didn’t want to hassle with closing down your apartment, sweetheart. Hunt arranged to have some of his crew pack up your things. We’ll put your furniture in storage. Most of your personal items will get shipped to your dad. The things you need every day will come here.”
Her body stiffened. “Here?”
The legs of a bar stool grated against the tile floor and Boone vacated the area, snagging his brother as he walked past.
“Yeah, baby. Here. With me. I wasn’t kidding, Georgie. I’m here for the long haul. You’ll stay with me when we’re in DC. If I’m traveling and you don’t feel up to it, you can stay with your dad in Oklahoma. I’ve decided to move campaign headquarters to Oklahoma City. I’ll work from there while you have your treatments.”
“Clay—”
“Shhh, sweet pea. We’ll deal with this together.”
“We will?”
“Yes.” He knew she loved him and warmth spread through his chest before a chill edged in. He wished he could return her love. “C’mere.” He guided her to a stool then poured coffee, nudging the mug, creamer and sugar bowl toward her, along with a spoon. He splashed more coffee in his cup while she doctored her coffee.
“What’s wrong, Clay?”
He studied her face. She was awake now, and coherent. Her chin rose in a stubborn tilt. She’d survived the first blow. She’d survive what he said next. He nodded, a small acknowledgment of her strength. “Hunt will be talking to your doctor’s office. Someone leaked.”
Color drained from her face and she swayed on the stool. He pressed the mug into her hands. “Drink, Georgie.”
“There’s more.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah. Drink your coffee.”
Her eyes snapped and flashed in the morning light. “I don’t think I want to.”
He offered a wry smile. “I know you, darlin’. The caffeine will help.” He breathed easier. Georgie was back. She was still emotionally bruised and he was afraid that what he was about to share would eviscerate her, but it had to be done. Then they’d take steps to stop the bleeding.
She chugged the contents of the mug, set it down on the granite counter with a sharp tink of ceramic on stone. Squaring her shoulders, she nodded. “Okay. I’m ready. Show me.”
He opened the laptop and hit Play. Her hand groped for his, clung, squeezed. She took her glasses off and set them aside, still listening, head bowed. His gut roiled as anger surged. When the report ended, he closed the laptop. He didn’t move, unsure of how to comfort Georgie, and that left him frustrated. His instincts urged him to take her into his arms, but something held him in place. After an agonizingly long time, which was only moments according to the clock, she raised her head and put her glasses back on so she could focus on his face.
“We need to draft a statement.”
“Boone will do that.”
“No. We need to do it. And call a press conference.” She slipped off the stool, headed to the coffeemaker and poured another cup. She returned to her seat, her expression resolute.
“You are not breaking up with me, Georgie.”
A soft smile teased the corner of her mouth. “No, I’m not breaking up with you.”
Clay leaned in and kissed her. Her knees spread to make room for him and her arms circled his chest. “Good.” He whispered the word against her lips.
Georgie’s cell phone rang in the other room. Boone peeked around the corner. “Not sure you want to take this one, sugar. It’s CNN.”
She sighed. “Let it go to voice mail. They all can.” She glanced back at Clay. “When’s the announcement?”
“A week from today, in Oklahoma City at The Peake.”
Her lips pursed and Clay wanted to kiss them again. He could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Damn, but she turned him inside out like getting hit with a bucket of ice water followed by blazing sunshine.
Georgie pushed her glasses up. “Okay. I’ll coordinate with Chase’s people. We need to lock down the office here in DC. No information out, not even a no comment, unless it comes from you, Boone or me. Anonymous sources get cut off at the knees. For today Ev needs to put out a memo that we’ll be holding a press conference Monday. There will be requests for appearances on the Tuesday morning shows. We’ll see who calls after the presser. We want to answer their questions but control the supply of information.”
Boone let out a soft snort followed by a chuckle. “Dang, sugar, but you make me proud.”
“She’s pure awesome once she gets wound up,” Hunt added.
Color returned to her cheeks and a real smile curved her lips. Warmth flooded Clay and he didn’t resist the urge to kiss her this time. “Have I mentioned how much you mean to me?” He leaned back, caught the glitter of tears on her lashes. “Ah, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
Shocked, he stared at her. “For what?”
Her hand fluttered in an absentminded gesture. “For all of this.”
He gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “I’m not. Not sorry for a bit of it.” That got a shocked look and a gulp. “Don’t get me wrong, Georgie. What you’re facing? It’s killing me. I’d take it away in a heartbeat if I had the power. You’ll get through this. I’ll help. We’ll all help.”
* * *
Midday on Monday Georgie and Clay stood near the brick pad of the “Swamp Site,” a spot located on the grass across the drive from the east Senate steps. A podium covered with microphones awaited them. Clay held her hand and she inhaled through her nose, exhaling through her mouth. He figured the technique was to keep her from hyperventilating. They’d worked on their statements. They were as ready as they’d ever be.
Clay gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it and stepping to the podium. “Thank you—” The high-pitched squeal of microphone feedback filled the air and people winced at the piercing noise. A sound tech ducked to the podium, fiddled with one of the microphones and slunk back into the pack of reporters and cameramen.
“Ground rules,” Clay stated without preamble. “We appreciate you coming, but here’
s the deal. We will answer questions but until both Ms. Dreyfus and I have made our statements, I don’t want any interruptions. We clear on that?”
Murmurs ran through the group, but no one spoke out.
“Good. First, there’s been a lot of speculation about my decisions concerning a presidential campaign. That speculation will be laid to rest this Friday, when I make an announcement in my hometown, Oklahoma City. You can check with my press office on the availability of credentials. The event will be held at Chesapeake Energy Arena. Since the OKC Thunder plays basketball there, I’m pretty sure there will be room for everyone.” This elicited chuckles from the pack of reporters.
“Second, I’m here to confirm that I do have a relationship with my communications director, Georgeanne Dreyfus. We’ve been seeing each other exclusively for several months and haven’t attempted to hide this fact. However, considering my position, innuendos and speculations have been aired freely. Now you know the truth. Yes, our relationship is serious. And that relationship is no one’s business but our own.”
He stretched his hand toward Georgie and she stepped closer to take it. Reeling her to his side with utmost care, he continued, “Friday morning we awoke to a report that my entire staff found offensive. That my colleagues found offensive. That my constituents found offensive.” He searched the throng, found a certain reporter and met her gaze with a hard glare. He didn’t smile when the people nearest her moved away, leaving her isolated. He squeezed Georgie’s hand and shifted to the side, opening the microphones to her.
“As most of you know, I’m Georgeanne Dreyfus and I’ve been Senator Barron’s communications director for the last three years. Before that I worked as his state office manager before coming to DC as his assistant press secretary and then press secretary. Most of you know me. We’ve talked on the phone, exchanged emails, visited in the halls of the Russell Building, at the back of Senate committee rooms and in the halls of the Capitol.”
Her voice broke and Clay steeled himself to let her continue instead of taking over the microphone. All he could do was squeeze her hand to show his support. He’d wanted to be the only one speaking at this thing, but Georgie insisted she speak for herself. This was Georgie’s story and she deserved to tell it.
