by Silver James
“No, sir. I’m good.”
He patted her on the shoulder. “Get some rest, Ms. Dreyfus. That’s the best thing for you.”
The doctor opened the door and Glen almost fell through. Her guard was taking his duties seriously. He ushered Dr. Bruce out, shutting the door behind him. Georgie looked at the envelope and debated the pros and cons. She hated taking medicine but suspected the doctor was right. She’d replay the day’s events—especially Clay’s actions—on an endless loop guaranteed to keep her tossing and turning all night. Clay. She had to stop thinking of him by his first name. The senator. Her boss. The unattainable symbol of every feminine fantasy she’d had since the day she’d first walked into his campaign headquarters ten years before.
“Argh!” If her head wasn’t already pounding, she might beat it against the wall. “Georgeanne Ruth Dreyfus, you are a complete and utter idiot.” In self-defense, she shook two pills into her palm, twisted the top off the Diet Coke and took her medicine. Settling in bed, she snuggled into a world-class pillow.
* * *
The song “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” invaded her dream. Over and over. Georgie fumbled for her cell phone but it wasn’t on the bedside table. The song stopped and she snuggled back under the covers, her brain as foggy as San Francisco Bay. She’d barely closed her eyes when the song played again. This time she threw off the covers and went hunting. She found the blasted phone in the side pocket of her messenger bag—the bag with the strap that broke yesterday when she tumbled off the loading dock, but was now perfect.
The hair prickled on the back of her neck. She didn’t remember bringing it from the car last night and there was no way it could have been repaired. The phone stopped ringing, again, and she noticed the price tag still attached to the intact shoulder strap. This wasn’t her bag, even though it was full of her stuff. Hers was a cheap knockoff. This one was the real deal, according to the amount listed on the tag.
Before her brain could cycle through the implications, the phone sang a third time. She answered with a snarled, “What!”
“OMG, Georgie! Are you okay? I’ve been so worried and then you didn’t answer and where are you and are you all right, what happened—” Jennifer Antonelli, her best friend, paused to inhale.
“Slow down, Jen. How did you know something happened?”
“How did I know?” Jen’s voice rose in pitch. “How did I know? Georgeanne, you’re all over the morning news!”
Her stomach dropped. She found the remote control for the television and thumbed it to life. Scrolling through, she found an all-news channel. And sank to the edge of the bed, her legs no longer steady. “Oh, no. The cameras. I’m screwed.”
“Georgie! What the heck happened yesterday? And were you really rescued by the senator?”
She had to put her head between her knees and breathe to keep from hyperventilating and passing out. “Dang, dang, dang,” was all she could manage.
Jennifer had no such handicap. “What did it feel like? Is he as strong as he looks? I mean, gracious! He scooped you up and carried you away like...like...I don’t know who! Holy cannoli, girl. Clay Barron was like Kevin Costner in that movie where he rescued Whitney Houston. Georgie? Georgie, are you listening to me?”
“Shush, Jen. I’m trying to hear the commentary on TV.”
Voices droned in the background as footage played of the Tate brothers hustling her—clothes torn, knees bloody—into the rear seat of the senator’s SUV. Clay looked shocked and angry as he ducked back inside to make room for her. The scene changed to their arrival at the hotel. The guards jogged up and opened the back door. Clay emerged holding her hand. Holding her hand? Georgie couldn’t breathe for a minute and then, moments later when she stumbled and he swept her into his arms, she choked.
“Oh, God.” Panting, she resumed her head-between-knees position.
“Georgie? Georgeanne! Speak to me. Are you okay?”
“No. I need to die. Like right now. No. I would have been better off dying last night. Oh, Mother Goose, Jen. I am so screwed.”
“You keep saying that! What happened? Have you been holding out on me?”
“No. Oh, dang it, dang it, dang it.” Georgie needed coffee. Stat. There was still liquid left in her Diet Coke bottle. She gulped it down and glanced at the clock. Five-fifteen. Arizona didn’t do Daylight Savings Time so it was just after 7:00 a.m. in Washington. She rubbed her face and eyes. This was bad. Really bad. How many times had she dreamed of a romantic interlude with the senator? Way too often, but never played out in front of cameras. And reporters. On the national news.
Memories crowded in and she swayed. “He saw me, Jen,” she whispered into the phone.
“Saw you? What do you mean?”
“In my bra and panties. I...I panicked. He... I think he held me in his lap.” In full panic mode, she fled her bedroom, praying there would be a coffeemaker in the kitchen. And stationery. So she could write out her resignation letter. How in the world was she going to face Clay this morning? Sprinting through the living area, she barely noticed the bodyguard jumping to his feet. She sort of waved him back to his chair with a vague motion of her hand.
“Oh, thank you, thank you,” she murmured when she spotted a Keurig machine and a display of K-Cups. “Coffee, Jen. Coffee first.”
“You okay, Miss Dreyfus?” The guard watched her warily from just beyond the granite bar separating the kitchen from the dining area.
“Yeah. Yes. Coffee. I just need coffee. Sorry to have disturbed you. Um...carry on.” She wanted to head-slap herself. Carry on? Seriously? Her foot tapped a jittery rhythm as the machine performed its magic. Once she had a fresh-brewed latte in her hands she could breathe again. Almost. She drained the cup in a few gulps and brewed another.
“Who are you talking to and I’m still waiting for an explanation, missy,” Jen hissed through her phone.
“Shhh. I have to get back to my room.”
“Back to your room? Where are you?”
“I’m in the senator’s suite.”
Ducking her head, she dashed back to her room and shut the door, ignoring the guard’s grin as she ran past him. “Okay. I can think now. Maybe.”
“How in blue blazes did the senator see you in your underwear and please tell me it was the nice stuff and not the ratty granny panties you normally wear!”
“The protesters yesterday. There were smoke bombs. And...they cut the lights, Jen. I was backstage. I fell and banged my head. Tripped on the darn stairs and fell again.”
“Jiminy, girl! Are you okay?”
“I have some wicked bruises.” She touched the back of her head. The lump remained but wasn’t as tender. “And thank goodness, I have a hard head.”
Jen’s voice turned sly. “Did the senator kiss all your owies to make them better?”
“Jennifer Marie Antonelli, he did not!” Casting a worried glance at her closed door, Georgie lowered her voice. “It wasn’t like that. He was holding my hand because he was being nice. And then I tripped getting out of the car because all the camera flashes blinded me. My glasses were smeary and you know how blind I am so—”
“And the man picked you up like you were a fairy-tale princess and carried you off to his castle.”
“Well...sort of. They’re worried about security because of the protesters so I was moved into his suite. There’s lots of room. I mean serious room. Four bedrooms, five baths, all the amenities.”
“You’re stalling, Georgie. I don’t want a travelogue. I want the down and dirty.”
She inhaled and blew her breath out through puffed cheeks and pursed lips. In a resigned voice, Georgie recounted the events, ending with, “Then he left.”
“Wait. You played strip Jeopardy?”
“My boss saw me in my undies and you’re making up games? And what part of
him holding me and...and...” She started to hyperventilate again. “OMG, Jen. I have to resign. I can’t face the man.”
“Breathe, Georgie. Does he have any idea how you feel?”
“You mean have I told him that I love him like crazy and have since the moment I met him? Oh, yeah, right. I definitely confessed that to him last night.”
“Your sarcasm is showing. That’s a good thing. It means you’ll be okay. But you can’t quit, Georgie. You have your dream job. Besides, if the man can’t look beyond your tighty-whities and see what a jewel you are, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Awww, Jen. Loyal to a fault. But they were red.”
“I’m serious. You’re just panicky. How many times have you had to put your head between your knees this morning?”
Laughter burst from Georgie’s mouth. “Too many.”
“See? I know you. Now, grab a shower. I’d tell you to put on something sexy but you don’t own...wait! Red? You own red panties?”
“And a red bra.”
“Are they lacy?”
“Well...um...no.”
“Just as I thought. Now go put on your business suit of armor, get more coffee and do what you do best—work. Okay?”
Georgie nodded then remembered Jen couldn’t see her. “Okay. You’re right.”
“Of course I am. I’m always right. I’m your BFF. Keep me posted. I never want to find out stuff like this from the news ever again. Capisce?”
“Capisce.”
Three
Clay stared at the press briefing folder lying front and center on his desk. He did not want to open it. He’d already seen the news coverage of yesterday’s fiasco. The file would hold hard copies of clippings and photographs from print media and the internet. Georgie would have put together a digital file of clips, too, and emailed it, but she knew his preference for paper. He leaned back in his chair and swiveled so he could look out the window. A few of the more lurid headlines made him roll his eyes.
Senator Protects Aide à la The Bodyguard
Barron Rescues Damsel in Distress
Senator Barron—Hero in Disguise
All the articles led with a photograph of him sweeping Georgie into his arms to carry her. He leaned forward, tapping two fingers on the photo. Georgie must have been up before the Arizona sunrise to cull all the stories from the New York shows and national press and prepare them, though she evidently had gone back to bed. She’d been asleep when he returned from the fund-raising dinner last night. The night guard said she’d taken some prescribed sleeping pills and went right to bed. Her door wasn’t locked so Clay had peeked in first thing this morning and she’d been curled up in a semi-fetal position under a thick pile of bedcovers. Then he’d walked into the suite’s study and found his desk set up just like every other working day.
Boone rapped his knuckles against the door and sauntered in, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. He inclined his head toward the open file. “You’ve seen the headlines.”
Nodding, Clay shuffled through the file, barely glancing at the various photos and clippings. “And the coverage on all the news channels. Your take?”
“You should have a nice bump in the next poll, especially in that all-important women’s vote. They’ll see you as heroic and dashing now. Let’s face it, you’re already the most eligible bachelor inside or outside the Beltway, and we all know you’ve got the Barron good looks.” He chuckled. “Tates are more handsome, but you Barrons aren’t bad.”
Boone reflexively caught the pen Clay tossed at him then sobered. “In all seriousness, now you have that intangible mystique that will draw women. I’m sorry Georgie got caught in the middle, but those protesters did you a huge favor.”
Clay growled under his breath. He, too, hated what had happened to Georgie. Her tears just about undid him. He couldn’t deal with tears. Hadn’t since— He cut off that thought, only to have it replaced by the memory of cradling Georgie in his arms—with very little between them. He’d wanted to take care of her. And maybe a little more. Doing so would have been taking advantage of a bad situation. He was not his father or his younger brothers. He could keep his libido in check.
The curves he discovered when he’d held her had been a surprise, and seeing her in that cute, if rather prim, red lingerie left no doubts. He halted that train of thought and reminded himself that Georgie was...Georgie. She dealt with the press, wrote his speeches and corralled a large portion of his staff. Boone was his right hand and she might as well be his left. Clay kept reminding himself of that. She was his employee, even if thoughts of her made him shift in his desk chair looking for a more comfortable position. Unlike his father, he didn’t dip his pen in company ink.
“Is she still asleep?” Clay needed to see her, talk to her.
“Don’t think so, but she’s not coming out of her room.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“No.”
Was Boone fidgeting? “Spit it out, cuz.”
Boone stepped fully into the study and closed the door before dropping into a side chair. He put on what Clay called his “headmaster” face before asking, “What happened last night?”
“Happened?”
“Yeah. What went on between you and Georgie while I was packing up her stuff and replacing what had been ruined?”
“That’s none of your business, Boone.”
“It is if it affects the operation of your office. The two of you spent a lot of time in the bathroom. Alone. With the door shut.”
Leaning back in the chair, Clay studied the man he trusted maybe even more than his own brothers. He weighed the pros and cons of disclosure and finally told Boone about their encounter in the bathroom.
“Ah...okay. Yeah. I can see why she’s avoiding us this morning, especially given the publicity. Speaking of which, what in the world possessed you to pick her up?”
That was one question Clay hadn’t asked himself. “I was right there. It just seemed...prudent.”
Boone’s face scrunched into a disbelieving scowl. “Prudent? Dude, there’s not enough preplanning and money in the world to pay for that visual so I’m not complaining, but one of the security team could have caught her.” He arched a brow. “Of course, I’m still trying to figure out why you were holding her hand in the first place.”
Why had he continued to hold her hand? Clay questioned his motivation, ignoring the heat flushing his skin—color he hoped Boone didn’t see. He’d held her hand because he wanted to, but he wasn’t about to explain that to his cousin. “It just seemed like...” Like what? Like her hand fit in his? Like he felt protective? Like she needed him? Him. Not Hunt. Not Boone. Not anyone but him. “Like the right thing to do. She was upset. She’s a valued member of my staff.”
“Oh. So you would have done the same for anyone on staff?”
Clay ignored the other man’s smirking grin. “Except you. I’d let you face-plant. What are you getting at?”
“You need to be ready for the media. Georgie needs to be prepared, too. Just sayin’.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to her so we’re on the same page. What time are we scheduled to fly back to DC?”
Boone checked his watch. “You have a meeting there at four.” He appeared to be mentally checking the flight time. “We need to leave the hotel within the hour. I’ll notify Hunt and Georgie.”
Nodding absently, Clay continued to stare out the window. “I’ll sit with Georgie on the plane so we can talk.”
Unless he was in full campaign mode, he traveled light where personnel was concerned. There would be plenty of room to spread out in the jet for the flight back to DC. He could visit with Georgie with less chance of being overheard. Not that he planned to say anything the others couldn’t hear; he just wanted to reassure her. Yes, definitely reassure her. That was what
he wanted to do.
* * *
Georgie dodged the lead SUV while Clay had his back turned and jumped into the one carrying the luggage and extra security guards. Clay—no, she reminded herself. The senator. He was her boss. She never called him by his first name; that was reserved for her fantasies. Or nightmares, as last night had turned out to be. Call her chicken but she did not want to be in a confined space with him.
On the ride to the airport, she did her best not to think about the puzzled, almost hurt look Clay—the senator—had flashed her direction when he realized she wasn’t riding with him. At the hangar, a knot of reporters were waiting on the apron. Georgie grimaced and prepared to do battle with them. This was her job, and she was very good at it, so she needed to just suck it up and get this over with. She was out of the SUV almost before it came to a complete stop. She had her game face on by the time she reached the SUV carrying Clay. One of the security guards jogged in her wake.
“The media will want a statement, Senator. I apologize we didn’t have time to discuss preparing one.” Yeah, because she was too much of a coward to face him even though Boone said they needed to get their story straight.
“I’ll divert the reporters while you go straight to the plane. I’ll have something drafted for your approval before we reach Washington.” Georgie kept her voice and manner brusque. Professional. Just business as usual. Yeah, right. Nerves thrashed like piranha in a feeding frenzy in her stomach, but she asserted steely control.
The pack was already baying their questions as she plastered her patented I-got-this expression on her face and strolled off to wage a war of wits. She sauntered toward the reporters, held back by a line of uniformed police.