“I call BS.”
“Why? She’s beautiful and talented and...everything I’m not.”
“And she’s a total airhead. Have you ever heard her interviewed? I mean, seriously. I don’t know what Senator Barron sees in her.”
Georgie stared at Jen, all but gaping. “You are so not a guy. She walks by and their tongues hang out.”
“Well, you’re smart and funny and...and sweet and...and...”
“And nothing. I invited you over to cheer me up.”
“It’s too early in the morning. And there’s no ice cream.”
“I know. I’m a lousy hostess, which just proves my point.” Georgie curled her upper lip and rolled her eyes, which made Jen laugh, as she’d intended. “At least Christmas is almost here. I’ll go home. Stuff myself on Dad’s turkey and dressing and drown my sorrows in giblet gravy.”
“That’s the spirit!”
* * *
Clay kicked back in the deep leather chair, his feet propped up on the matching ottoman. He negligently held a lead crystal glass with two fingers of scotch in one hand. Boone had decided to stay at the ranch with him while everyone else headed to downtown Oklahoma City to ring in the New Year.
“We didn’t expect you for the holidays, cuz.”
“Yeah. Staying in New York wasn’t really an option.”
“You give Giselle the boot?”
“Nope.”
“She kicked you out?” Boone perked up and leaned forward. “This’ll be good.”
“Yeah, well.” Clay lifted one shoulder in a forcibly nonchalant shrug before sipping the aged whiskey in his glass. “Not smart to forget a woman’s name in the middle of things.”
“You forgot Giselle’s name? Oh, dude. You are a dog. That’s what pet names are for, right?”
“Worse than that, Boone.”
The other man stared at him, eyes crinkling and his mouth curling into a smirk as he figured it out. “Oh, hell, ol’ son. Please don’t tell me you called her by another woman’s name...”
Clay did his best to maintain a poker face, but knew he’d failed the moment Boone burst out laughing. “It’s not funny.”
“Is, too.”
“Is not.”
Boone controlled his laughter but still smirked. “Whose name?” Blinking several times, the full impact hit him. “Oh, crap. Georgie.”
Clay figured he looked as miserable as he felt. “How screwed up am I, Boone?”
“I don’t think you’re screwed up at all, man. Georgie is a gem. Granted, she’s not a supermodel, but she’s got that whole sexy librarian thing, plus no one is smarter and her zingers are worth the price of admission. I mean, seriously. Why are you just now seeing what the rest of us saw from the git-go?”
“I’m a slow learner. However, I am seeing it now so what the hell do I do about it?”
“Simple. Ask her out.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? I mean, seriously, cuz, what’s the problem?”
“I’d have to fire her. Which sucks because she’s the best communications director on the Hill. And there’s no guarantee we’d last longer than a fling. If she’d even go for it. Doesn’t sound like a win-win for anybody.”
“I don’t follow, Clay. Why would you have to fire her? And I’m not even going into fling territory.”
Draining his drink, Clay laid his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. “The old man, Boone. Every bit of fluff he brought into the house came from his office. The side pieces, the step-monsters he dragged in—each one younger than the previous. Well, except for Helen. She wanted to be a mom. The rest? Gold diggers, every last one.”
He rubbed his fingers over his forehead, but the headache brewing behind his eyes didn’t go away. “I swore I would never be him.”
“So you date supermodels and actresses and pretty women who are dumber than stumps because you don’t want to follow in his footsteps? I have four names for you, starting with Tammy.”
Clay groaned. “Lord, that cost us a pretty penny to get rid of her, and she took the foreman with her. Thank goodness Chance made sure she signed the prenup. Besides, I wasn’t referring to the quality of the women I date but where I meet them. I refuse to have an office romance.”
“Then fire Georgie.”
Resisting the urge to throw the now-empty glass at his cousin, Clay heaved out of the chair and went to the bar to pour another, stiffer drink. “I don’t want to lose her, Boone.” He tossed back the drink, barely resisting the urge to slam the glass down on the marble bar top. “I don’t know what to do.”