Page 18 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

I find it odd that he doesn’t invite her in any further.

Maybe he thinks Liam’s home. Maybe he just doesn’t like guests, period .

Or maybe—judging by the way Minnie’s gaze drags over him, slow and possessive—he doesn’t trust himself with her in this house.

I don’t know what unsettles me more: the way she looks at him or the growing suspicion that she’s been here before. In this house . In his bed .

“Alright then, see you at the party,” I say, giving them a little awkward wave before grabbing James’s arm and yanking him outside.

When we finally get inside his car, I pounce, “Holy shit, did you see that woman?” I hiss at James who slides into the driver’s side and presses the on button to his fancy car I definitely shouldn’t be trusted sitting in.

“Um… yeah, kind of hard to miss her with the over-the-top dress and fluorescently white teeth. Also, you told her you want to be her when you grow up. Which by the way, she isn’t someone I’d recommend you aspire to become.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Why not? She’s beautiful, glowing, and confident.”

He snickers. “Because that’s Minnie Meadows.”

“Who’s that? Her name sounds like a porn star. Oh my god! Is Troy bringing a porn star to this party? I’m not judging, of course.”

James bursts out laughing as the car begins to automatically reverse out of the driveway. “No. Minnie is the daughter of the mayor of New York City. You know, you’re bad about keeping up with politics for someone who’s been working in it for so long.”

My jaw drops open as I stare at James. “The mayor of New York City?” I manage to squeak out.

He turns his head to find my expression and then bursts into laughter. “Oh, you should see your face right now.”

“But… shouldn’t she have, like, security or something?”

He shrugs. “She’s with Troy. Pretty sure her father trusts him with his entire career, which means he trusts him with his daughter too—especially after everything Troy’s done to help him get where he is.”

I nod, filing that little nugget of information away for later. Another layer of mystery to peel back. Another thread to tug at when it comes to Troy. Just one more reason to wonder about the man I work for—and the powerful people orbiting his world.

“Troy and she must be dating. That, or it’s just for the photo opportunity,” James says nonchalantly as we make the short drive.

I nod because my mind is already elsewhere. If this is the type of woman Troy’s going to be bringing home on the weekend’s while Liam is with Eleanor, I need to make myself scarce. The last thing I need is to run into Minnie in the morning, naked, leaving his bedroom, probably smelling like sex.

Talk about a shot to my confidence.

The rest of the short drive to the clubhouse is filled with playful banter, James catching me up on the latest building that he’s designing in the city, while I tell him about my first week working as Liam’s nanny.

“He sounds like a cool kid,” James says, pulling up to the valet.

“He’s adorable. He was shy at first and didn’t want to talk much. I get the feeling Troy isn’t able to work on his language development as much as he probably needs to. He’s so busy. And I’m pretty sure Eleanor just lets him watch cartoons when they’re together.”

James nods, circling the car to open my door and offer his hand. “Well, that’s where you come in, right? You’ve always had a way with kids—getting them to open up.”

I grin because he’s right. I love kids. And Liam and me? We’ve already formed something special.

My mind drifts to what he’s up to at Eleanor’s right now, and even though it’s only been five days that we’ve spent together, I’m already itching to see him again. I’m even considering asking Eleanor to drop him off early on Sunday instead of Monday so we can spend the day together.

Especially if Troy’s going to be preoccupied with Minnie all weekend.

Living out in the Hamptons can be lonely without friends or family nearby, but the kids I nanny for? They always fill that void. It never feels like a job—it just feels like hanging out with my little best friends.

“Ready?” James asks me with a squeeze of his hand.

I nod in confirmation as James leads me up the stone steps toward the clubhouse, his hand wrapped securely around mine. Around us, a sea of white-clad bodies moves in sync, flowing from the valet area into the grand entrance, the buzz of conversation rising with each step we take.

Usually, I’m long gone by the time this party rolls around—back in Texas, nannying for the Smiths during the political season and the school year for their kids.

But every year, without fail, James begs me to come back so he won’t have to endure the night alone.

This time, I finally said yes. And for once, I’m actually excited to see what all the fuss is about.

The sun is setting now, casting a golden glow over the crowd, making everything shimmer—their tanned skin, their crisp white outfits, the glint of diamonds at their throats and wrists.

A camera flashes somewhere, momentarily blinding me, and I catch glimpses of frozen, Botoxed smiles, mile-long manicures, and shoes that probably cost more than my entire yearly salary.

I feel like I’ve stepped into an episode of Gossip Girl —specifically that episode where Blair and Serena attend the end-of-summer white party in the Hamptons.

Except I’m not Blair. I’m not Serena. I’m Vanessa from Brooklyn, standing on the outskirts, trying to blend in while feeling like I don’t quite belong, despite my friendship and proximity to the people who do.

Sure, I adore the outfit I picked out tonight, but holy shit, there isn’t a stitch of real gold jewelry that would make me feel like I belong. I look down at my dress, examining the silk a little more closely, searching for imperfections.

Fuck it.

I’ve never been overly self-conscious, and I don’t want to start feeling that way tonight.

“You look amazing, stop over thinking it,” James whispers in my ear, reading my mind.

“I know I look hot,” I hiss back with a wink, “but I feel super out of place here. Can’t we just skip this photo op and go straight to the bar?”

“You’re not out of place. You’re exactly where you should be.

And you look incredible. We need a photo to document this night.

Plus, I’m not the only one who thinks you look good tonight,” he lifts his chin, nodding to a car that’s pulled in behind us as we pose for the camera, the bright bulb goes off with a flash, temporarily distorting my vision.

As the glare from the camera clears, I glance in the direction where James nodded and lock eyes with Troy.

He’s standing by the passenger side, helping Minnie out, her lips now painted with a strikingly pale shade of pink. But it’s not her that he’s looking at—his gaze accompanied by a mean scowl is aimed directly at me, and his brow is furrowed in what can only be described as strong annoyance.

“What are you talking about? He looks pissed ,” I whisper to James, who pulls me closer, his arm tightening around my waist as the cameras continue to snap in our direction.

“Pissed that I’m the one escorting you and not him,” James murmurs, sounding amused. “Bet he’s thinking about you in the steam room naked again.”

I force a smile as the camera flashes explode around me, momentarily blinding me. In that split second, I let James’s words sink in. But no—that can't be why Troy looks like he’s ready to murder someone. The idea is ridiculous.

The man is insufferable. Cold. Detached. Impossible to read.

And yet, somehow, still the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I laugh softly, my voice laced with disbelief.

If anything, Troy’s probably furious that his employee, the nanny, is here, daring to show up at this elite event reserved for only the Hamptons most wealthy and posh residents.

Either that, or he’s still angry about me sitting at his kitchen table naked.

James abruptly stops, his hands gripping my shoulders as he spins me to face him, his gaze locking onto mine with intensity. The sudden change in him throws me off, and I blink up at him, totally thrown.

“Georgia,” he says, voice low and serious.

“I know that look. It’s the look of a man who’s jealous—who wants something he knows he shouldn’t have.

Troy Marshall is controlled, calculated, and calm.

He didn’t become New York City’s top political consultant—the one everyone books when they need to win—by being any other way.

He may never say it or show it, but I’m getting the sense that man wants you. Wildly .”

I swallow hard, my heart racing at James’s words. His fingers graze the strap of my dress, slipping off my shoulder, and he gently tucks it back in place. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear.

“He might not ever act on it, but we can have a little fun provoking him, can’t we?

” he whispers, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

He presses a playful kiss to my temple, then shoots a knowing look over his shoulder at who I assume is Troy before guiding me into the ballroom, his hand pressed lightly on my completely exposed back.

Suddenly, I’m wondering if showing up at my first white party in the Hamptons was really such a great idea. And worse, if pushing Troy’s buttons might cost me my job with his grandson.