Page 19 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

I watch as Georgia slips inside, her date’s arm locked tight around her waist, and all I feel is rage.

Guess that’s nothing new. Feels like anger is the only thing I’ve got left these days, but tonight, it’s worse. The glitz grates against me—obnoxious wealth, forced smiles, empty conversations. All I want is to breathe. To be myself for a damn second.

That thought barely has time to settle before she’s gone, swallowed by the doorway, replaced in my line of sight by a stocky, overeager man I’d rather avoid.

“Troy! Good to see you,” Mayor Meadows thrusts out a hand, grinning like we’re old friends and not business acquaintances. “Diane mentioned you needed to reschedule our meeting until next week. I’m eager to sit down and talk about my upcoming reelection plan.”

I shake his hand on autopilot, still standing on the steps of the country club, still fighting the urge to turn around and walk the hell out of here.

And with that, my mask slides into place, the one I’ve perfected over the last decade—polished and practiced for every interaction with clients and other politicians.

You’d think I’d be used to it by now, after climbing from a lowly intern in the city government while clerking at a small law firm to now, the top political consultant in America where politicians from every state bill me thousands of dollars an hour for my time.

But it never gets easier.

I’ve mastered the art of faking it, of pretending to care about the handshakes, the empty promises, the endless schmoozing. But deep down, the disinterest I feel towards it all remains.

I became a lawyer first, to fight the injustices that plagued my family and hometown in North Carolina and to make a living to support my young son and myself. But then Colt got arrested, and my plans changed.

I shifted that law degree into a wildly successful political consulting career, but only as a steppingstone.

I’ve been biding my time—planning, plotting, waiting for the right moment to make my move.

Running for governor of North Carolina has always been the endgame, a way to finally correct the wrongs that have haunted my family’s past.

Diane’s voice echoes in my head, strong with no room for debate: “You can’t afford distractions, Troy.

Not now.” She’s right. Every move I make is scrutinized.

Every handshake, every staged smile, every fucking whisper in the right ear.

And yet, my gaze is still locked on the doorway where Georgia just disappeared, my focus straying from the one thing that should matter most.

I flash a million-dollar smile, all teeth and practiced charm, as sharp as the jawline I got from my father.

By the time I hit my teens, my parents had rebuilt my grandpa’s farm from the ground up, and we could finally afford braces to fix the mess of crooked teeth I’d grown up hiding.

Now, that smile is one of my strongest weapons—persuasive, disarming, and, when necessary, completely deceiving.

I let my grip linger for half a second longer than necessary, holding the mayor’s gaze. “We’ll handle it.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses his expression before he laughs, all politician bravado.

Good . He knows where we stand.

It’s become second nature to sound so confident, commanding, but sometimes, even I barely recognize the words that slip from my mouth on autopilot. As a lawyer, at least my words carried weight. Now, in this world of politics, everything feels... hollow .

He nods, satisfied with my response which gives me the perfect opportunity to make my exit. Seeing a senator that I need to meet with across the room, I turn to my date Minnie and turn up the Marshall charm.

“Minnie, will you excuse me for a moment? I need to speak with Senator Allen.” She smiles back, her lips brushing weakly against my cheek in a kiss.

Our date tonight is all for show, a calculated appearance showing up with Mayor Meadow’s daughter that’ll help me gain more voter’s support.

Diane arranged this evening for us, convinced it was time for me to step out from the shadows I’ve kept myself in for the past decade.

She said being seen with the mayor’s daughter before my big announcement will be good press.

But from the way Minnie’s been eyeing me all night, it’s clear she’s hoping for something more than just a photo op.

And that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now with Georgia here.

I step away, moving toward one of the lavish bars set up in the country club ballroom.

Mayor Meadows isn’t a bad guy, given the circumstances.

When Meadows first ran for office, the city was in shambles—crime spiking, schools in decline, and small businesses, where my passion lies, struggling to survive.

With my guidance, he implemented community initiatives that drastically reduced violent crime in several neighborhoods.

We revamped the public school system, bringing in funding for technology and arts programs, and incentivized new businesses to open, offering tax breaks that revitalized the downtown Manhattan area.

I care about doing the right thing for the people, ensuring the city I’ve lived in for the last decade thrives.

I will never compromise my morals or values for money or recognition, no matter how much power or financial incentive someone offers and it’s not about the accolades for me—none of the good can be traced back to me.

, it’s about results, about fixing what’s broken and giving residents a sense of purpose, safety, community and belonging.

It’s about inclusion and organizing and empowering the good people to do the work.

Sure, I’m direct. Ruthless, even, when necessary.

My job as a political consultant is to cut through the fluff, push my candidates into the positions they desire.

I get results—always. I support the right people, make strategic moves to ensure I have backing when the time comes for my own political career.

With the gubernatorial election in two months, every decision counts. Every move must be calculated.

Which is why Georgia, my new nanny, could be a problem for me.

She’s the antithesis of everything I stand for—carefree, barefoot half the time I’ve been around her, with long, wild, strawberry-blonde hair that seems to shift in color depending on the way that the light hits it, a kaleidoscope of browns, blondes, and reds.

And those big, round brown eyes...

Of course, Liam took to her immediately.

Eleanor wasted no time calling me on Monday, right after I left, gloating about how Georgia is a “ ray of sunshine ,” her voice had oozed with satisfaction.

She couldn’t resist adding, “Of all the women you could’ve hired in New York, you chose one from Texas.

And that’s the only reason why I’m comfortable stepping away from being Liam’s primary caregiver during the week.

That’s the only reason this is going to work. ”

Apparently, Liam agreed.

In just one week, he’s gone from barely speaking to telling full-fledged stories and speaking in complete, short sentences. Eleanor couldn’t help but twist the knife a little deeper, pointing out the progress Georgia’s made with him—progress that I hadn’t been able to give, despite my best efforts.

The guilt hit me harder than I’d expected, mingled with a strange sense of pride and relief that I’ve hired the right person. I needed someone to complete me, to carry the weight where I can no longer manage to balance everything, and Georgia has done just that.

She completes me.

I shake my head, realizing how childish and ridiculous that statement sounds.

I can handle it all on my own, I always have, but it sure is nice to have one thing taken from my very full plate.

But that doesn’t mean she can invade every part of my life, especially not tonight’s white party when I should be working.

I wave at the bartender and order a glass of champagne, sipping it casually while I lean against the bar and watch the crowd.

I was only twenty when I had Max, and those early years passed in a blur. Some days, it feels like I blinked, and his childhood was gone before I even had the chance to hold on to it. But with Liam, I get a second shot—a chance to slow down and savor the moments I missed the first time around.

I just wish Max could see what he’s missing while he’s off in Europe.

He deserves to enjoy his youth, to finish what he started, to build a future for himself and Liam.

I’ve always pushed him to do that, even knowing there might come a day when he looks back with regrets.

Balancing college, a career, and a toddler wasn’t easy for me, but I had my family behind me, steady as the farmland we worked.

The least I can do is give Max that same foundation to stand on.

My gaze sweeps the room, aimless at first—or at least that’s what I tell myself. But I know that’s a lie.

Why is Georgia here? I wasn’t expecting that.

And of course, she shows up to the all-white event on his arm—her so-called "friend." The same guy who was there the day she moved into my home.

The moment James dropped her off, suitcases in tow, I had Diane run a background check on him.

No prior convictions, a few speeding tickets from over five years ago.

He’s an architect in the city, a respectable enough guy from his social media pages.

I was tempted to dig deeper into his relationship with Georgia, but I held myself back.

It isn’t fair to invade her privacy beyond the basics that I need to know.

As long as Liam is safe, and not home when they hang out, I don’t care who she spends her free time with.

I can’t care.

But the way James was touching her tonight...

The way he was holding her close and looking down at her with fucking hearts in his eyes…

It told me all I needed to know and something that felt a lot like jealousy clawed at my ribs.