The Boss and His Cowgirl

by Silver James

  “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

  Monday 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 de
sk’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?”