Page 40 of Where the Blacktop Ends

“W-what?”

“The media is here,” I continue, my voice sounding harsh even to my own ears. “And it wouldn’t be a good look for my new nanny to be seen drunk at an event like this.”

I hate the way I sound—like I’m a controlling, image-obsessed politician more concerned with reputation than fun. But at this point, I don’t care. James watches me closely, his expression unreadable but Georgia’s face is all embarrassment and guilt as she scrambles to grab her purse from the floor.

“I’m so sorry,” she mutters, rushing to my side and stumbling a little in her heels. “I didn’t think anyone knew I worked for you let alone noticed me here tonight.”

Didn’t notice her? How could anyonenotnotice her in that dress, with her hair glowing under the ballroom lights, her laughter filling the air? Everyone was staring at her tonight, whispering questions, trying to figure out who she is.

“I’ll call you, James,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks past me, exiting the room.

She’s too nice. Too trusting. Completely naive to the affect she has on the people around her. And I realize I’ll have to protect her from that—which means I need to protect her from me.

I’m about to follow her out to the car when James stops me. “Troy,” he says, his voice firm.

I pause, turning back to face him while I watch Georgia disappear through the doorway of the Bluefish room. “Yes?”

“She’s the only real person in this entire state,” James says, his tone razor-sharp. “She might seem all happy-go-lucky, but she’s deep. She’s real. She’s a damn slice of heaven in this hellhole of a town. And if you so much as put a scratch on her with your politics and rules, I’ll end your career before it even starts. I know you’re familiar with my parents. I don’t use their influence—but for Georgia? I’ll make an exception. She’s too good for you.”

I hear the threat woven into his words, but what he doesn’t realize is just how much power I hold in New York. I stay behind the scenes for a reason—so no one sees the strings I pull or the people in my pocket. If I wanted to, I could dismantle his family, not politically, but reputationally. And that? That would matter far more to Craig and Bray Whitmore.

But I keep my temper in check, swallowing down the urge to remind him who he’s dealing with because I know that would only push Georgia away. Instead, I force gratitude to the surface. Because, at the very least, Georgia has someone willing to fight for her.

A friend. Because that’s what she said he is. Just a friend.

As long as she lives under my roof, James Whitmore will never be more than a friend to her. I don’t care how much he claims he’s looking out for her.

Even if I’m nothing more than her boss.

I nod once before turning to follow Georgia. By the time I reach the valet stand, my car is already pulled around, and she’s settled in the back seat like this is a taxi.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply before yanking her door open. “Front seat,” I say, my tone clipped.

Her eyes go wide at my sharpness, and I force myself to rein it in. Most days, she’s like a happy, eager labrador, but right now? She’s drunk and vulnerable. More like a startled kid who just got scolded.

“I thought… I just thought Minnie—” she hiccups, stumbling over her words drunkenly. The urge to storm back inside and wring James’ neck for getting her drunk flares up, but I try to control myself and soften my tone. It doesn’t work.

“I’ve left a driver to take Minnie home,” I say, cutting her off.

Georgia nods quickly, eager to obey, and, instead of getting out like a normal person through the door that I’m holding open, she crawls over the middle console to the front seat. Her dress hikes up in all the wrong ways, soft silk that’s slipping over her smooth skin and making it impossible not to stare at her bare legs.

I grit my teeth and slam the door shut as she slips into the passenger seat, clicking her seat belt in place. Sliding into the driver’s side, I take off down the road while she sits quietly beside me. The drive to my beach house isn’t long but the silence between us is thick with frustration and the words I want to say—like sorry for being such a raging dick. It’s my default.

When she finally speaks, her voice is shaky, tears clearly not far off which makes me feel even more like shit.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you or hurt your reputation. That was never my intention. I thought I was blending in with thecrowd, but I guess I do stand out. I look nothing like those people...”

I sigh, keeping my eyes on the road. Vulnerable, drunk Georgia is a new personality I’m not prepared to meet.

“You didn’t embarrass me or hurt my reputation.”

She nods again, whispering, “It won’t happen again, sir.”

My grip tightens around the steering wheel. I know I’ve been an ass tonight—controlling, overbearing. But the last thing I can handle is hearing her cry. She doesn’t deserve this.

I don’t want to yell at her. I don’t want to control her. But I can’t stop. It’s what I do to the people I care about—keep them close, keep them safe, even if it means forcing them down the path that I’ve carved out just to make sure they don’t get hurt.

“What is James Whitmore to you?” I blurt out, trying not to show my frustration.

---