The Boss and His Cowgirl (9 page)

Ten

T
hey'd been ambushed by Parker Grace. With a catty smile, the reporter drawled, “Fancy meeting the two of you coming out of the senator's home the morning after you appear together at a state dinner. Lovely sweats you have on, Georgeanne, but then you've never been known for your fashion sense.”

Georgie needed to remember to be careful what she wished for. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. Caught red-handed by the one woman who could create a maelstrom in the press and more problems for Clay's upcoming presidential bid than Georgie could shake a stick at. Her mind spun like slick tires in a mud pit. She had no response, no story spin to give the nosy reporter to make this look like something other than it was. Before her brain could engage, Clay squeezed her arm.

“Reduced to skulking now, Parker?”

The woman glared at him, a portrait of righteous indignation. “No. I just happened to be walking past.”

Her excuse was flimsy and they all knew it. Georgie opened her mouth to explain away her presence, but Clay's hand gripped her shoulder. “Well, I'll make it easy for you, Parker. Georgie and I are headed to the Daily Grind for coffee and muffins. No, you aren't invited to join us. But if you hurry, you might be able to get a cameraman over there to catch two colleagues sipping coffee and stuffing blueberry muffins into our mouths.”

Without waiting for a reply, Clay urged Georgie away, hand now on her back. At the end of the block, Georgie glanced over her shoulder. Parker, cell phone glued to her ear, stared after them.

“You shouldn't encourage her.”

“Probably not.” Clay pulled her to a stop and gazed at her. She blinked up at him owlishly. “Where are your glasses?”

She shrugged and dug the toe of her boot into the sidewalk. “I didn't have room for them in this.” She pulled out the ridiculously small beaded bag Jen had loaned her.

“Can you see anything?”

“Sure.” Her gaze shifted sideways. “Well, sort of. Up close anyway.”

“Good. You'll have to rely on me.” He didn't even try to hide the pleased grin. “Now, about Parker. It's rather fun to jerk her chain.”

“She's a shark, Clay.”

“Not even close. A barracuda maybe. A small one.” He started walking and tugged Georgie along with him. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Now it was her turn to stop and tug him back. “Are you serious? I'd think it was the other way around!”

He arched a brow, daring her to continue. She sputtered for a moment, flustered.

“I am serious, Georgie. I thought I'd made myself clear on this point. I want to date you.”

Her face blanched and she gulped in air.

“Breathe, Georgie. I don't have a paper bag.”

“Will. Not. Hyperventilate.”

“Good. Look, I don't want to stress you out, but you know me. Once I make up my mind, I don't do things halfway.” Her snorting giggle brought him up short.

“Clay, other than Giselle, you've never dated the same woman longer than a month.”

“Well, that's true. But none of them were you.”

He wanted to laugh when she sucked in a breath, beyond flustered now. Instead, he pulled her against his chest and rubbed his hands down her back. “As far as you and I are concerned, my name is officially out of the dating pool, Georgie. At least while we are committed to this relationship. We'll take things a day at a time.”

“But...the campaign. And...and...”

“And what? You are an intelligent, articulate and very sexy woman.” That statement got another giggle and snort as she pushed away and glanced down at her baggy sweats.
His
baggy sweats, and didn't it just turn him on that she was wearing his clothes? Maybe he should call to have food delivered so he could take Georgie back to bed. Then his stomach rumbled. He would ensure his fridge and cabinets were stocked from now on, though, so every morning they woke up at his place, they could have breakfast in bed.

They continued walking for a couple of blocks, neither speaking. On the sidewalk outside the coffee shop, Clay halted and faced Georgie. “We'll work around things if someone discovers we have a relationship beyond work. Okay?”

Her eyes glittered as she nodded slowly. “Are you sure? I mean, plausible deniability—”

Clay silenced her with a finger over her lips. “Stop. Right there. If this leaks, I don't want to hide you, Georgie. That's not who I am.” He dropped his hand and waited. This was make-or-break for him. If their relationship became common knowledge, he refused to skulk in shadows. In his position, hiding anything from the press or the public was a bad idea. Part of him wanted to throw caution to the wind, but the practical, political side counseled discretion. As Georgie had said, “Plausible deniability.”

“Are you with me, Georgie?”

A smile struggled to form on her face as she squared her shoulders. “Yes, Clay.”

“Good. Now I'm starved and if my brain doesn't get caffeine soon, it's going on strike.” He pulled the heavy glass door open and ushered her into the softly lit shop.

Once they were seated at a table for two near the front windows, Clay studied her, noting how she fidgeted and looked everywhere but at him. If he had less ego, he might be worried, but he had two advantages. He was a Barron and he knew Georgie. She edged toward reticence but she wasn't afraid to speak up in defense of an idea. They'd had some passionate debates over the years and to see her flustered was a real treat. This meant he'd gotten to her. He still had some reservations, despite Boone's pushing, yet sitting here with Georgie felt right.

As a rule, he considered the consequences before making a move, and this whole thing felt reckless. Yet after spending the night with Georgie, he wondered why it had taken him so long to realize what Boone had known all along. Georgie was perfect for him. Smart, politically savvy, sweet in a charmingly real way and fantastic in bed. Oh, yes, they were definitely compatible in that regard. He should have guessed given her fire when they discussed the issues.

As he watched, she pulled out her phone and read the screen. Her thumbs flew as she texted back. A stab of jealousy twisted in his gut. The ping of his own phone distracted him. He tapped the accept call button and put the phone to his ear.

“Where are you?”

“Good morning, Boone. Nice of you to call.”

“Yeah, whatever. Where are you? And where's Georgie?”

“We're at the Daily Grind.”

“We'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Ah, no you won't.”

“Hunt and I will pick you up. Please tell me Georgie isn't still wearing her gown.”

“She's not. She's wearing a set of my sweats.”

“Your...oh.”

Silence stretched a little longer than Clay would have liked.

“So, last night...”

“Why are you calling, Boone?”

“Something's up. Besides you, I mean.”

Clay groaned at his cousin's bad pun, but Boone rushed on before Clay could reply.

“Trust me. We need face time. After we pick y'all up, we'll swing by Georgie's apartment so she can change.”

“What's up?”

“This is an all-hands-on-deck situation. I promise.”

“Fine. See you in a few.”

Clay asked the barista to change their order to go and grabbed the drink carrier and bag when she passed it over. At the table, Georgie was still madly texting. He cleared his throat to get her attention and she glanced up, looking guilty.

“Boone and Hunt are picking us up out front.”

“Oh.” Her head jerked, and her gaze latched onto his. “Wait. What?”

“Something's come up. C'mon.”

She pushed back from the table, stood and followed him out the door. The black SUV slid to a stop at the curb about a minute later. Boone jumped out to open the back passenger door. Georgie slid in. Then Clay handed her the drinks and bag containing their muffins and climbed in. A moment later, Boone was in the front seat and Hunt pulled smoothly into traffic, despite the honking behind them.

Georgie turned to look and laughed. “Well, that was close. Parker took your advice. That was a camera crew from WTDC honking at us.”

She swiveled to face the front, but the humor in her expression died as Boone stared back, worry etched on his face. Clay glanced from his cousin to Georgie and back. “Okay, cuz. We're face-to-face. What's up?”

“Cyrus.”

His father's name dropped into a pool of silence and Clay's stomach clenched. “What's he done now?”

“He filed the paperwork for a PAC.”

Clay wasn't too surprised, given the conversation the old man had forced on him at both Thanksgiving and Christmas. “So? It's not exactly a secret that I'll be seeking the party's nomination.”

“He's hired you a—” Boone coughed into his hand. “Dream team.”

Georgie leaned forward, her lips pursed and brow furrowed. “He hired handlers?”

“Yup.”

Not waiting for the other shoe to drop, Clay pushed. “What else, Boone? You wouldn't be wasting your Sunday morning if there wasn't more.”

“Cyrus wants to fire me and Georgie. And announce your engagement.”

Georgie squeaked, her eyes wide and shocked as she pivoted in her seat to nail Clay with a look. “Our
engagement
? But...last night was our fir—”

Boone cut her off. “To Giselle.”

* * *

Hunt dropped them off in front of Georgie's apartment and went in search of a parking space. Boone followed them up the stairs, which irritated Clay no end. “We don't need a chaperone.”

“Yeah, I'd say that horse is already out of the barn, cuz. This isn't chaperoning, this is strategizing.”

Inside her apartment, Georgie left the men in the living room while she ducked into her bedroom to change clothes. First, though, she settled her familiar black-framed glasses on her nose. Being able to see clearly was a gift. Too bad it was only her eyesight that was fixed and not her heart and brain.

Her cheeks heated at the thought of her gaffe earlier. How could she have thought Clay would jump from a one-night stand into an engagement with her, her girlish fantasies notwithstanding?

Gathering her wits and a huge helping of intestinal fortitude, Georgie emerged to face the three men waiting for her return. Boone lounged on her couch, as if he planned to take an afternoon nap. Hunt had snagged a chair from her kitchen table and sat straddling it, his arms crossed over the back. Clay occupied her reading chair, feet propped on her ottoman. She grabbed another chair but Clay moved his feet and patted the ottoman.

“Sit here, sweet pea.”

Just as she sat, her front door burst open and Jen stood there, her gaze flicking over all of them as she processed the scene. “Georgie? The senator's in your chair.”

Hunt pushed up from his chair and ducked behind her best friend to shut the door, twisting the dead bolt this time.

“Jen! What are you doing here?”

“You didn't come home last night,” the other woman accused. “I came down to get the juicy details.” She waggled her brows.

Georgie wanted to pretend this wasn't happening. Instead, she watched Hunt extend his hand.

“Hunter Tate, Clay's director of security.”

Jen glanced at Hunt, and then Georgie watched her friend's whole body react. She looked him up and down as she offered her hand. “Jennifer Antonelli. Georgie's best friend.”

Her eyes cut to Boone. “Wait. Tate? Are you and Boone related?”

“Brothers.”

“Holy cannoli. Are there more of you at home?”

Georgie giggled, unable to hide her amusement. “Honey, the Barrons and Tates are known for throwing sons.”

“I have no clue what that means, but I think I've died and gone to that big romancelandia buffet in the sky.” She sank onto the chair Hunt had vacated, a dreamy look suffusing her face.

“It means there are five Barron brothers and...” Georgie counted on her fingers.

“Seven Tates,” Boone finished for her.

Jen's mouth gaped before she screeched, “Wait. Wait! OMG! Is Deacon Tate your brother?”

Georgie pressed her lips together to keep from laughing at the look of disgust Boone and Hunt exchanged over the top of Jen's head.

“Never heard of him,” Boone muttered.

She sensed Clay's silent laughter as his palm skimmed down her back. The practical angel on one shoulder cautioned her about diving into water over her head. The devil on the other side insisted she needed to take a running jump into the deep end.

Clay continued to surreptitiously pet her as he spoke up. “So what are we going to do about Cyrus?”

Eleven

M
onday morning Clay arrived early at the office. He and Georgie had dodged any mention in the news cycles for Saturday and Sunday, despite Parker nosing around. He didn't expect to find his father sitting in his office.

“Who is this?” Cyrus stabbed at a blurry photo on the front page of a tabloid more likely to feature a Photoshopped picture of a Hollywood starlet and Bigfoot above the fold.

The corners of Clay's mouth curled down in a perplexed frown. “Good question.”

The old man rattled the paper. “You know who it is, Clayton. You broke up with Giselle for this woman?”

“No, I can't tell who that is or when that photo was taken. And get out of my chair, Dad.” When his father didn't move, Clay shrugged. “Fine. Sit there all damn day. I have work to do.”

Snagging some files from his in-box, Clay pivoted and headed for the exit.

“Don't turn your back on me, Clayton.”

When the desk chair squeaked, Clay turned around. “Don't order me around, especially in my own office.” He pointed to one of the leather armchairs arranged in front of his antique mahogany desk. Very little occupied the desk's surface—his in-box, a telephone console, his nameplate and an antique bankers lamp with a green shade and patina-dark brass base.

Clay waited until Cyrus settled into the guest chair before he rounded his desk to sink into the worn leather seat. The files landed on the desktop. “First, I stopped seeing Giselle before Christmas, though to be precise, she broke off things with me. I won't call it a breakup as no actual relationship existed between us. She was convenient. That worked both ways.”

“You need to fix it, boy. You're declaring for the presidency in a few weeks. You need a woman next to you who looks good. Giselle will make a fine first lady.”

“What part of
I'm not seeing Giselle any longer
do you not understand, old man? I'm done with her.”

“And I'm saying you aren't. Nobody is going to vote for a bachelor for president. Time you got with the program, boy. That doesn't include this woman.” He glowered at Clay. “I know she writes your speeches. Women like her are a dime a dozen. Get her out of your system, fire her ass and then get back with Giselle.”

Cyrus surged to his feet and went to the door. “I've rented space for the election team, but you need to clear out space here in your office so they can work closely with you. That woman is going to be trouble. I could see it when you brought her home. Get shed of her. My people will be ready to move into her space by the end of the week.”

The door closed behind his father's back but Clay didn't move. When the door opened again, he glanced up, angry and ready to let his father know. Boone stood there, arms folded across his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb.

“So Plan A didn't work.”

Clay huffed out a frustrated breath then chuckled. “Actually, it went exactly according to plan.”

* * *

Friday morning dawned gray and rainy. Thursday night Clay and Boone had flown to New York for a meeting with some campaign finance bundlers. For the first time in a week, Georgie spent the night in her own bed. Alone. And she discovered she didn't like it, not one little bit. How could she have gotten so used to sleeping with Clay—she who never spent the night with anyone, not even as a kid on a sleepover?

His gentle snore, the warm solidity of his body curled around hers, the kiss he greeted her with in the morning, and if they had time, some wake-up sex. Georgie now had a whole new appreciation for wake-up sex. And shared showers. And drinking coffee sitting at the breakfast bar in Clay's kitchen.

“We are in sooo much trouble,” she told her reflection in the mirror.

Racing through her morning routine, she was out the door, travel cup in her hand, and headed for the Metro well before her normal time. With fewer commuters to contend with, she arrived at the office almost an hour early. The security guard at the door greeted her with a smile as she folded her umbrella. With a wink, she passed him a vanilla chai from the coffee shop next to the Metro station, where she'd gotten a refill before walking to the building.

The door to Clay's office wasn't locked and she wondered if Evelyn, his secretary, had also come in early. None of the other staff had keys.

“Ev, it's just me.”

No one answered her greeting. Moving cautiously, she headed deeper into the warren of offices. Maybe the “boys” had come back early. Ev's desk, situated just outside Clay's office, was empty and showed no signs of being recently occupied. His door was closed and locked, with no light showing beneath it. The hair on the back of her neck prickled as she crept down the hallway. Boone's office, next to Clay's, was also devoid of life. She heard a loud thump and muttered curse. The sounds came from her office, through the partially opened door.
Her
office should have been locked, too.

Georgie pulled out her phone and scrolled to the number for the senate security office. Her thumb hovered over the call button as she peeked through the door.

A man in a well-tailored business suit was pulling things off the shelves in her bookcase. He was in his midthirties and nice-looking in a slick, Madison Avenue way. A woman, a bit older, also in an expensive black power suit, stood behind her desk emptying every personal item on her credenza into a box.

Georgie hit Call, her presence announced when she spoke into her phone. “This is Georgeanne Dreyfus. There are intruders in Senator Barron's office. I need security code red.”

The couple paused and exchanged a look. Then they looked her up and down. The man's expression turned speculative while the woman dismissed her out of hand with a curled lip and a sniff.

“Why are
you
here?” the woman asked, obviously the one in charge.

“This is my office. I'll ask the questions.”

“No, this is my office. You've been fired. You were supposed to be cleared out by now so I could move in.”

“Fired?”

“Yes, fired. As in your services are no longer required, what with the senator running for president and all. Mr. Barron assured us that we'd have access starting today.”

“
Mr.
Barron? The senator's father?”

“Is there another Mr. Barron?” The woman looked at Georgie as if she was a total idiot.

“I don't work for Mr. Barron. I work for the senator.”

A male voice called from the reception area, “Miss Dreyfus?”

“Back here, officer.”

Her friend from the front door and another guard appeared. “You got a problem, ma'am?”

“I do, yes. I am Sylvia Camden.” The woman spoke before Georgie could. “I'm in charge of the senator's campaign. This woman has been fired. We are packing up her personal items to make sure she takes nothing of a proprietary nature with her. You will stand by until we are done so you can escort her from the premises.”

Georgie felt her mouth drop open and her eyes widen at the woman's audacity.

“Ms. Dreyfus?” The guard looked uncertain now.

Punching her phone again, she called Boone, making sure the call was on speaker.

“Hey, sugar. What's up?”

“Boone, is the senator nearby?”

“Sittin' across the table from me havin' breakfast. Why?”

“Would you put me on speaker? You both need to hear this.”

“Georgie?” Clay's voice washed over her and she had to remember to breathe.

“Sorry to interrupt your meal, sir, but we have a situation at the office.”

“What's wrong?” His voice sharpened.

The woman strode up next to Georgie and in a strident voice announced, “Senator Barron, I'm Sylvia Camden, your campaign adviser. This woman has been fired and we're clearing out her office.”

“Georgie, do you have security there?”

“Yes, two officers.”

“Good. Then they can hear me. Ms. Camden does not work for me. She is to be escorted from the building and banned.”

Georgie heard the anger seething in Clay's voice as he continued. “I'll say this one time, Ms. Camden. Georgie works for me. My entire staff works for me. Not my father. You, on the other hand, do work for my father. Not me. Now get out of my office and do not come back.”

“Senator—” Camden attempted to cut him off, but he didn't allow it.

“Georgie, have security escort her out. I want a report made to the capitol police for trespassing, breaking and entering, and vandalism.”

Boone's voice followed on the heels of Clay's. “How'd they get in and not set off alarms?”

“The door was unlocked.” Georgie eyed the woman. “How did you get a key?”

“I told you. I'm the senator's campaign advi—”

Clay's irritated voice blasted from Georgie's phone. “I don't
have
a campaign adviser, Ms. Camden. Therefore, you do not work for me.”

“Sir, I work for your father.”

“Georgie, make sure security retrieves any keys. And find out who gave them access.”

“Yes, sir!” She shouldn't feel so gleeful but Georgie wanted to do a little Snoopy dance standing right there in the hall.

“I'll be back in Washington by early afternoon. We'll discuss this situation then.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take your phone off speaker, Georgie.” Clay's voice warmed and she hastened to follow his order, holding the phone to her ear and backing away from the door so the two guards could get inside.

“Yes, sir?”

“I'm sorry, sweet pea. My old man is a piece of work, as you are well aware. I'll deal with him. Inventory everything they touched. If there's so much as a smudge, he'll pay for it.”

“Okay.”

“Call for reservations at Max's. I'll buy you a steak then take you home and make it up to you for having to deal with the old man's crap.”

“Okay.”

“Bring an overnight bag, sweet pea. In fact, we need to talk about you leaving some things at my house so you don't have to run back and forth to your place when you're staying with me.”

Her strangled voice choked on the word so it came out breathless. “Okay.”

“I'll see you around one.”

“Okay.”

She hung up, dazed and feeling like an idiot. Okay? That's all she could get out of her mouth when the man she had such intense feelings for informed her that he wanted her to move some of her things into his house?

“Georgie!”

She jumped and stared at the petite woman who ruled Clay's office, his long-time secretary and administrative assistant.

“Ev?”

“Hon, I've been saying your name for nearly five minutes. You wanna tell me why security hustled those two people out of here?”

The warm, glowy feeling generated by Clay's words faded beneath the harsh reality of the past thirty minutes. “That woman and her assistant came from Mr. Barron.”

“Oh, Lordy, hon. Say no more. When's the senator coming back to town?”

“This afternoon.”

“Yup. Figured he'd be cutting this trip short. Did she tell you that you were fired?”

“Yes.”

“That old jackass is up to his tricks again.” Ev patted her shoulder. “Don't you worry, Georgie. The old coot has fired me more times than I can remember. I'll find out how they got clearance and keys.”

The phone on Georgie's desk rang. “That's my cue to get to work.”

* * *

Clay lathered shaving cream on his cheeks, watching Georgie through the mirror. She lay sprawled on her stomach in his bed—their bed now. He hadn't convinced her to actually move in with him, but over the last few weeks, some of her things were slowly migrating into his closet and onto the counters of the vanity in the bathroom. He
liked
having her in his house. A lot. And that was like taking a kick from a mule. There was no getting used to things, no need to make concessions to having her underfoot all the time. He preferred her with him. The nights she spent at her own place left him restless and pissed off.

He continued to feel off balance though he had a better understanding of his brothers' predicaments now. Cord and Chance both found the women who completed them. He'd never considered finding his own. Was Georgie the one? Or was this some idiotic infatuation that would cause him to crash and burn—personally and politically?

“Okay, how's this sound?” Georgie cleared her throat as he turned to face her, offering her his entire focus. “My name is Clayton Barron. Some of you are familiar with my name. By the time this election is over, the entire country will know who I am.” She glanced up from her notes. “A little too arrogant?”

“Keep going.”

“Okay.” She coughed into her hand and pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. “The Office of the President of the United States should be held by an individual who has actual solutions to change America for the better. We need to fix the things that are broken. We need to remember the principles upon which America was founded. This country needs a drastic new approach before it's too late. Change is never easy, but if we do things as they've always been done, America will stagnate even more.

“If you're sitting here tonight, it means you have questions and want answers. You're here because you care, because you want to know what I plan to do. You want to make sure I have real solutions to the problems that matter—the economy, national security, the ability of future generations to fully embrace the freedoms past generations have fought and died for. No one can truly be free without economic security. No one can truly be free when our enemies threaten our very existence.”

Georgie pushed up, shifting her body so she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Ugh. It sucks. Totally and completely.”

“It doesn't totally and completely suck.”

“But it sucks.” She sighed loudly, grabbed her hair and twisted it on top of her head. Jabbing her pen into the messy bun, she made a show of ripping up the top sheet of the yellow legal pad. “Maybe your father is right. Maybe you do need that team he keeps trying to shove down your throat.”