Page 21 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I shake my head because geez, this guy’s like a drill sergeant. My gaze catches on his and holds. The sun is slipping below the horizon now, its last golden rays catching his eyes, turning them into swirling caramel. I want to ask where he’s going on his trip, if he’s happy—because the man sitting in front of me doesn’t look like he is. And life is too damn short to spend it miserable.

But instead, I respond with “Nope. I’ll be ready when Liam arrives.”

He stands, nodding. “If you need anything during the week, try my admin Diane first. She has access to my accounts and can help with anything minor. She also knows my schedule and the best way to get in touch with me, no matter where I am.”

I nod again, wondering if I’ll even get a ‘thank you’ or something that feels a little less robotic and demanding.

He hesitates, his fingers pressing into the edge of the table before pulling away. A breath in, a slow exhale and he blinks slowly. “Okay, well…” His voice drops, quieter than before. “Good luck.”

That’s it. No thanks, no thumbs-up. Just a ’good luck taking care of my grandson.’

I toss him a thumbs-up anyway, which only makes his brows furrow, lips press into a tight line, and head shake in disapproval. Without another word, he turns and heads upstairs probably to rage pack his suitcase and curse me out.

I remain at the kitchen table, my gaze drifting out the large bay windows toward the sparkling ocean. Troy Marshall is going to be a tough nut to crack. But I’m not sure I even want to crack him. There’s an undercurrent of what feels like sadness beneath that rigid exterior, a past I wouldn’t mind unraveling—though I doubt he’ll ever let me close enough or be around enough for me to try.

I can’t blame him for being frustrated. Becoming the guardian of a two-year-old grandson while your son’s halfway across the world, on top of everything else he’s juggling, can’t be easy. But the stormy energy he’s bringing home isn’t going to help Liam learn and thrive. So, if Mr. Marshall’s determined to be a storm cloud, I’ll focus on being the sunshine in Liam’s world.

In that moment, I decide. My job isn’t just to care for Liam—it’s to make sure he laughs, that he feels safe, that he never has to shrink under the weight of someone else’s storm. Because if Troy’s determined to be a thundercloud, then I’ll be the sun Liam needs.

Chapter 7 – Troy

I can never sleep on planes.

Not when my grandson is a thousand miles away. Not when my son’s on a different continent. And not when a maddening, infuriating woman has occupied more space in my mind than I’m willing to admit.

“Good morning, folks, we’ll be landing at the Charlotte-Douglas International Airport in North Carolina, in about thirty minutes. Please return your seats and tray tables to their upright position as we prepare for landing. Local time is 9 a.m. Thank you for flying with Wingship Airlines.”?

If I’m not worrying about whether I’m making the right decisions for Liam, then I’m stressing over where Max is in the world and whether he’s making smart choices—or if I’m about to end up with another surprise grandchild dropped off at my doorstep.

And if it’s not my immediate family, then it’s the Marshall farmstead, the upcoming election, Colt, and nowGeorgia—the woman who crashed into my life and I can’t seem to stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try.

The overhead air jets on the plane switch from cool to warm air as we descend, immediately taking me back to that moment in the hot, steamy room. I had no way of knowing she was the woman from that night months ago. And if I had known, I can’t say I would have done things differently. The steam room had caught me off guard, a rare moment of unpredictability in my carefully curated life.

I rarely indulge in women or alcohol these days, but after my third glass of whiskey while meeting with a difficult client at the club, I’d been savoring the peace and quiet of the sauna, letting the warmth settle in, finally free of the constant hum of work and the weight of a thousand responsibilities that knock at the door to my mind. That brief moment of peace was shattered when she entered the room and sat down on me — naked.

It was completely out of line—unprofessional, inappropriate, borderline harassment allowing her to stay standing in in front of me as long as she did. Yet I couldn’t look away from her intoxicating form.

And neither could she.

There was a tension between us, palpable, like a force neither of us could quite control. Wrapping her in a towel and sending her on her way was the only logical thing to do. The steam was thick enough that I hoped she wouldn’t recognize me, wouldn’t piece together who I was behind the low profile I work so hard to maintain in a city of millions. And I thought that would be the end of it. But when she showed up for the interview, I realized just how wrong I’d been.

She’s qualified, that’s a given, but I didn’thaveto hire her even though I was desperate for a replacement to Eleanor. I hired her mostly because I feel a strong desire to keep her close.

I shake my head, forcing my mind away from Georgia and her persistent need to disregard my instructions. One of the few people in my life who dares to talk back to me, and I admit it’s an infuriating blend of frustrating and... sexy?

My thoughts drift to my younger brothers and sister—the ones I’m about to see for the first time in years. Even though I’m the oldest, the one who left North Carolina for New York City well over a decade ago with a law degree in hand, they never let me forget where I came from. They’ve given me hell for walking away from the farm, for taking Max with me, for choosing a life so far removed from the one we all grew up in together.

Even if they understand why I had to go.

Thirty minutes later, the wheels touch down with a jolt, and I’m already unbuckling my seatbelt before the plane slows on the runway. The urgency settles low in my chest—a familiar, restless pull toward home, though I’m still not sure if it’s comfort or confrontation waiting for me there.

As soon as I clear the terminal, I spot my driver and stride toward the car, eager to put the airport behind me. The moment I settle into the back seat, I pull out my phone and dial my executive assistant, Diane.

“Hi, Mr. Marshall. How was your flight?”

“Fine. Can you check in with Ms. Cameron on Thursday? See how she’s doing with Liam, and if she needs anything. I don’t want to smother her, but I want to make sure we’re available if she needs help—maybe Eleanor can fill in if needed.”

“Of course, sir. Was there anything in particular that you’re worried about?”

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