Page 13 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Quickly setting down the bag of cookies, I wipe my clammy hands on my dress before reaching out to meet his.

Okay… so he’s a grandpa.

The moment our fingers connect, he pulls me in with a surprising force, drawing me close until we’re nearly chest to chest in a firm embrace.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he whispers, his voice menacing, grip tightening unexpectedly on my fingers, almost knocking me off balance. My eyes widen in shock at the abrupt movement, but I don’t respond, frozen by his intensity and the threat implied by his words.

“You’re not a reporter, are you?” His voice is low and suspicious.

I manage to shake my head no, still too stunned to find my voice. “No, I’ve been a nanny to the Smiths’ two children for the past five years.”

His grip remains firm, his fingers crushing mine in a way that borders on painful. His dark hazel eyes slice into me, and I catch the faintest whiff of coffee and his cologne. An intoxicating and extremely familiar combination. Except last time it was whiskey. And last time, he wasn’t hurting me. He was showing me his dick. Even if it was unintentional.

He’s not shaking my hand anymore—just holding it, squeezing, pulling me closer like he’s afraid I’ll bolt and tell the world we’re meeting for this interview. Broadcast it on the news. The pressure in my hand is unbearable, and all I can think about is how to get him to let go.

I’m familiar with how people in politics operate, always looking over their shoulders, paranoid that someone will expose them or ruin their reputation. I have no idea what this guy has to hide but with that thought, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I understand the need for discretion,” I whisper. “I’d never breathe a word about this interview and protect your grandson’s privacy with the utmost sensitivity. It’ll be like I don’t even know you.”

That seems to snap him out of whatever paranoid spiral he’s in. He releases my hand abruptly, stepping back like he’s been shocked, his eyes widening in sudden recognition.

“What the fuck?!” he exclaims, his voice sharp with disbelief.

Chapter 5 – Georgia

His fists flex, clenching and unclenching on the top of the table, before his hand moves to the back of his neck, tugging at the tension as if he’s wrestling with what to do next. Then, without a word, he leans over and pulls a sheet of paper from his briefcase before slamming it down on the table with a sharp thud.

The noise makes me jump as I glance down to see the words at the top in big, bold letters:

Non-Disclosure Agreement.?

“Okay...” I mutter, my mind racing. Now I’m really curious—what political position is this guy running for? The Smiths never made me sign anything like this when they employed me, but considering Mr. Marshall’s disposition about this interview, I’m guessing it’s something important.

“You understand that everything discussed in this interview is confidential, right? You’re not to mention this meeting, the position you’re interviewing for, me, or anything related to it,regardless of whether or not you get the job.” His tone is sharp, a bit rude and completely demanding of my compliance.

“Okay...” I respond again, unsure what else to say. Do I even want this job anymore?

He narrows his eyes. “Is ’okay’ the only word you know?”

Geez, this guys a real ray of sunshine. “I think I’m in shock,” I admit, blurting it out.

He sighs heavily, clearly irritated. “Why are you in shock?”

“I thought I was meeting with a grandpa... to nanny for his grandson,” I say, trailing off.

Not the man with the gargantuan cock who made my heart race in the steam room a few months ago.

“You are,” he snaps, cutting off my train of thought.

“How old is your grandson?” I press, still trying to wrap my head around the situation and wondering if there’s been some sort of mix up.

“Two.”

“Okay... And his parents?”

“His mom’s not in the picture. His dad is twenty-two.”

My jaw drops open. “And how old are you?”

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