Page 46 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Not cool, Georgia. Not demure.

I strip off my clothes, not even bothering to turn on the lights as if I did, he’d come get me.

Fuck, I wish he would.

I slip under the covers, trying to block out the night, trying to forget the mortification I feel over what just happened and trying to forget the way my whole body feels alive.

You kissed your grumpy, older boss!

Tomorrow, I’ll have to face him again. I’ll have to meet those eyes that now hold nothing but pity and regret. But tonight, at least, I can disappear—tuck myself beneath these blankets and pretend, for a little while longer, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself.

And yet, my mind won’t let me rest. The heat of his touch lingers on my skin, simmering beneath the surface, refusing to fade. My fingers drift over my chest, grazing hardened peaks before sliding lower, seeking the release my body aches for.

Just a press of my thumb, a slow, deliberate roll of my clit, and I’m shuddering—coming apart to the thought of how it would feel if it were Troy touching me instead. My orgasm is silent, swallowed by the dark, my breath caught in my throat as if he might hear me through the walls.

And when it’s over, I bury my face in the pillow, too ashamed to move, as if stillness could erase what I’ve just done.

Tomorrow will bring the hangover from hell. But for now, I’ll stay here, hidden in the dark, pretending I didn’t just kiss my infuriatingly hot boss… who did absolutely nothing to stop me.

Chapter 16 – Troy

Beethoven drifts from the alarm clock, pulling me into a morning I’m not ready for. Five AM, and I feel like shit.

I reach over to silence it, but my attention stays on the laptop resting on my lap. I don’t trust phones to wake me up—batteries die, updates restart at the worst times. In my career, there’s no room for error.

But today, I didn’t need the alarm. I barely slept. Tossing, turning, overthinking—it's been the norm lately, especially with the gubernatorial election looming. Sleepless nights are familiar, sleeping pills even more so. But last night? Georgia and that damn kiss sent my already tangled thoughts into a tailspin. Whitewood Creek Farm, consulting obligations, Liam, Max, the expectations I carry—all of it already weighed on me. But her? She cracked something open.

It wasn’t like I told her much about me last night. To her, it was probably nothing. But to me? It was more than I’ve ever shared with anyone outside my family and Diane.

Letting someone in—letting them get close enough to understand why I got into politics or the demons that still clawat my back—has never been an option. And certainly not with someone like Georgia. Someone who won’t be here for long. Someone who isn’t family. But her honesty, her vulnerability, the way she just lays herself bare—it pulled something out of me. And maybe it was the jealousy burning through me when she got drunk with James, or the way she looked at me before she kissed me, but I let my guard slip.

Yes, I froze when she kissed me. Not because I didn’t want it. But because she was drunk. Because it caught me off guard. Because if I had let myself react—if I had threaded my fingers through that wild hair, gripped her hips, pinned her against me the way that I wanted to—I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have taken her upstairs and settled this tension between us in the most reckless way possible.

But it doesn’t matter now. Today changes everything.

By noon, the world will know I’m officially running for governor of North Carolina. And with that, every part of my life that I’ve fought to keep private—my family’s farm, my brother’s prison sentence, Liam’s role in my life—will be dragged into the light.

And Georgia? She’ll never look at me the same way again.

I considered warning her last night when she shared about why she’d become a nanny, but I decided against it. She’d have too many questions, and sometimes, it’s better for people to be blindsided with jarring news. They can decide how to handle the news after the Band-Aid has been ripped off instead of trying to overthink things or talk me out of my plans. Because there’s no way I’m being talked out of this.

My phone vibrates on the end table beside me with a notification. I pick it up and scan the article from theNew York Politics Today—the one where I leaked the announcement of my candidacy but made it seem as though someone else had.

Everything looks factual. Exactly as I drafted it. No surprises. Precisely how I like things in my life. Predictable.

And so, it begins...

Within sixty seconds, the flood of text messages and phone calls start coming in—not from family, they’ve known about this plan for close to a decade now—the one to right the wrongs that have been dealt to my family, turn the entire state of North Carolina government on its head and free my brother from prison, but from colleagues and associates around the country.

They’re all congratulatory, offering support, pledging allegiance and good press. It’s what I expected. I’ve broken my back for them over the years, been nothing but loyal, got them out of some of some of the most damning cases. Now, they’ll support me. Even with the NDAs I keep firmly in place, I hadn’t told most of my New York clients about my run, figuring it best they found out today. Because soon I’ll have to step away from consulting altogether.

I mute my notifications, ignoring the barrage of messages and emails. Diane will begin sending out the canned ′thank you for your support message,′that I approved she use to clean out my inbox and then make a spreadsheet detailing everyone who reached out so that I can personally follow-up.

You never know when you’ll need to call in a favor.

I slip off my reading glasses and set them on the nightstand before crossing the room, tugging on a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. As I step into the hall, I catch a glimpse of Georgia’s closed door. No surprise there—after all the champagne she put away last night, she’ll probably sleep through half the morning.

The house is quiet as I make my way downstairs, the wooden steps cool under my bare feet. Outside, the early morning airbites against my skin, crisp with the first hints of fall. The sky is just beginning to lighten, streaks of pale gold stretching across the horizon as I head down the familiar path to the water.

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