Page 21 of Where the Blacktop Ends (Whitewood Creek Farm #1)

“My parents are such assholes,” James says on a huff from behind the doorway.

Georgia chuckles good naturedly. “They aren’t so bad. They just want you to be happy and care about your reputation.”

He scoffs . “They care about their reputation. I am, unfortunately, an extension of them in their minds.”

“Maybe they were hoping you’d bring someone you’re serious about because they actually care about your happiness?”

“I am happy. Completely content on my bachelor lifestyle living in New York City. I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy. Plus, you’re one to talk, aren’t your parents eager for you to get married and take over the family ranch?”

Georgia’s silent .

Maybe I read their relationship wrong. Maybe they really are just friends. A flicker of guilt tugs at me for eavesdropping, but I still can’t make myself walk away.

I hear James shifting, the quiet rustle of movement in the dark.

Curiosity gets the best of me, and I inch closer, peering through the doorway and hoping not to get caught.

His shadow barely stands out against the tall glass windows overlooking the party below.

He’s crouched now, down near Georgia, who’s sitting on the floor, her back against the same table where we did the interview over a week ago.

“Georgia, look at me,” James says, his voice low but serious now.

“I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks.

You’ve been the most consistent person in my life, even with us living hundreds of miles apart most of the year.

I’m about to turn thirty-one, and in the five years that I’ve known you, I’ve only had one serious girlfriend.

My family should realize by now you’ve been the most important woman in my life.

” He wraps his arms gently around her neck, pulling her into a hug.

I hear a soft sniff, and something tells me she’s crying.

“I think Mr. Marshall hates me,” she mumbles against James’s shoulder. He pulls back slightly, searching her eyes. I can’t see her face, but her words make me feel terrible. Have I really been that much of an asshole to her?

“Trust me, he doesn’t. I’ve noticed the way he looks at you. I think he hates himself for being attracted to you.”

I shift my stance, and my fists clench. Fuck, am I that obvious?

“…but even if he did hate you, fuck him because I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and his grandson. Love you, Georgia.”

In the dim lighting, I can barely make out Georgia’s expression, but it’s clear from her posture—she’s gazing up at him like he’s her entire world and I feel even worse and completely exposed.

“Love you too, James.”

Okay, that’s enough. Time to break this up before anything more happens.

I clear my throat from the doorway, stepping forward just enough to cast a shadow over them.

Georgia jumps to her feet, clearly startled, while James rises slowly, as if he knew I was stand there all along.

“Mr. Marshall,” she gasps, followed by a hiccup. Yep, she’s definitely drunk.

“Troy,” James says evenly, nodding. “Is there something we can help you with?”

“It’s time to go, Georgia,” I say, my tone clipped, not looking at the guy who’s clearly seen straight through my mask.

“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 anyone not notice 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 the crowd, 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.

She turns from the window, catching my eyes as I speed down the dark road. “He’s my best friend. One of the few people who really understand me.”

I nod, staring straight ahead. “He’s not your boyfriend?”

Her brows furrow as she tries to understand my question. “No. I told you already, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

I flex my jaw, knowing I should stop, but I can’t. I push boundaries in my career, but I shouldn’t with her. She’s my nanny, for God’s sake. But I need to know. I believe her, but it’s not enough. I twist the steering wheel tightly in my grip, feeling the leather crack and then let out a breath.

“Have you two ever slept together?”

She gasps, then slumps back into her seat, throwing an arm over her eyes like that might block me out. “I feel like I’m talking to my dad right now.”

“I’m your employer. I need to know if James is going to be in my house when I’m not home. Around my grandson.”

I hate how I sound—like the world’s biggest asshole who is possessive over her when I know I have no right to be—but the wondering would eat me alive. While I’m out traveling, I’d be stuck picturing him there with her on the weekends. Making her laugh. Kissing her. Touching her.

Her tone sharpens, cutting through my thoughts. “I don’t see how my sexual history is relevant to the job. I’ve already told you—there will be no strangers in your house when Liam is home.”

“That’s not an answer, Georgia,” I snap.

She rolls her eyes, turning back to the window. “Yes,” she says softly. “Once. Five years ago, the summer we first met. It was a one-time thing, and it’s been platonic ever since. Neither of us ever wanted more. He’s my best friend, and he’s slept with plenty of women since then.”

Arms crossed, lips pushing into a pout, she glares at the glass, furious at my intrusive questions.

Good .

I don’t care if she’s mad. Actually, I’m glad she is. That’ll keep her away from me. Maybe she’ll ignore me all weekend because she’s pissed at my prying. Put some distance between the sexual tension that I can’t seem to shake.

I’ll make an effort to tolerate James for Georgia’s sake, but one thing I’ll never allow under my roof again is him sharing her bed. Not while she’s living with me.