Page 38 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Ah, yes. James’s parents—fixtures in New York City’s upper crust and close friends of Mayor Meadows. Up close, Craig Whitmore looks like an older version of his son, though his eyes are less trusting and more guarded.

“Good to see you again,” I say, though I have no memory of ever meeting them.

Bray’s smile widens, clearly pleased that I’ve “remembered” them.

“How’s the campaign going for your run in North Carolina?” she asks, sipping her champagne delicately.

“Everything’s on track. My official announcement goes out next week, though it seems the news has already been leaked throughout the political circle in New York City.”

Craig nods knowingly. “Nothing stays quiet in New York.”

I smile thinly, fully aware that the leak was intentional on my part. Better to control the narrative than let the press run wild with it. Something I’ve learned from years of experience. This way, I knew the wealthy elite in New York wouldn’t sell the news down south. Their sense of pride at being ahead of their peers in the South is the only thing that’s kept their mouths shut.

“And how’s your grandson?” Craig asks, shifting the conversation to a more personal topic.

I keep Liam out of the spotlight as much as possible, knowing full well it’s only a matter of time before the press catches wind of his existence. The vultures will circle, spinning their narratives, digging for an angle—twisting him into a pawn for their headlines, a bargaining chip in my campaign.

But I won’t let that happen.

I don’t shield Liam because I have something to hide. I shield him because he’s mine to protect. Because I love him, not for optics, not for sympathy votes, but simply because he’s my family. And that’s the only thing that has ever mattered.

“He’s doing well,” I say, keeping my tone light. “I believe you just met the new nanny I hired.”

Bray raises a thin, penciled brow as she brings her glass back to her lips. “Liam’s nanny is here. Tonight?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Surely their son had mentioned Georgia’s job with my family, but then again, perhaps he’s kept certain things private from his parents. Maybe there’s more to his relationship with them than I know.

Bray glances at her husband, who shrugs, equally in the dark.

“Ms. Cameron. She’s here with your son tonight, correct?”

Bray’s eyes widen in sudden realization. She stammers, clearing her throat and looking completely uncomfortable. “Oh, I see. You’ve hired Georgia.”

“That’s right. Ms. Cameron,” I correct her pointedly. “She’s an incredibly qualified nanny who my grandson has taken to quickly.”

“I see,” Bray responds, still looking like she swallowed something sour.

There’s an awkward pause where neither of us are saying anything before I gesture to the champagne flutes in my hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my date and deliver these.”

They nod politely, and I walk away, wondering if I’d done the right thing by sharing that Georgia is working for me. Why had James kept this from his parents? Is he ashamed of Georgia’s career? Is there more to their relationship?

When I finally spot Minnie, she’s deep in conversation with the wife of a New York senator. I hand her a glass and blend into the conversation seamlessly, knowing this is the perfect opportunity to charm my way into securing this woman’s husband’s continued support for my work. But I can’t bring myself to engage in another painful discussion. Ever since I watched James and Georgia slip away—and discovered that his parents have no idea of her connection to me and Liam—I’ve been itching to find her.

I try to focus on the conversation as the silent auction for some overpriced, hideous artwork begins. The funds raised are going to the city’s humane society, and there’s talk of refreshments, fireworks on the veranda, and dancing later. But my frustrationis growing. Not only because Georgia’s missing, but because I can’t see to focus on anything but her.

She’s your responsibility,that’s why you care. She’s Liam’s nanny.

Yeah, sure, that’s why.

“Excuse me,” I mutter after enduring another painfully stiff slow dance with Minnie, who moves like a cardboard cutout.

Normally, I’m able to compartmentalize my personal feelings from my professional obligations, but tonight it’s becoming impossible, and her perfume is overbearing. I’m craving the fresh, mountain air of North Carolina and the sights and smells of New York no longer have a hold on me. I can’t tell if it’s hiring Georgia, or visiting home this past week that’s shifted something within me.

“I’m going to catch up with a client I’ve been meaning to talk to,” I say.

Minnie nods, accustomed to the social juggling that comes with dating someone in my position. She heads off to mingle with her group of socialite friends, leaving me free to... well, to do whatever the hell stupid thing it is that I’m about to do.

I grab another glass of champagne, using it as an excuse to appear occupied, and slip out of the ballroom out onto the veranda. I scan the pool area, looking for her but come up empty. Annoyed, I head back inside and make my way down the country clubs curved hallway, checking rooms as discreetly as possible.

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