“I do. Just trust me on this.”
Seven
Georgie blinked rapidly, the seldom-worn contacts irritating her eyes. She longed to take them out and stick her glasses back on. Resisting, she used drops while managing not to smear her makeup. She had to be crazy. When Boone had called with a last-minute request, she thought, why not? That was before she’d dressed up. Now she stood there in panic mode.
Returning to the senate offices after the holiday break had been...interesting. Boone and Hunt intimated that Clay had cut his New York trip short and spent the holidays at the family ranch north of Oklahoma City. She was curious enough to wonder if Clay had broken up with Giselle and she tried very hard to quell any internal squee moments that thought created. He was so far out of Georgie’s league that...
The notes of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” drifted in from her bedroom. She staggered on her high heels, found the impossibly small and expensive evening bag Jen had loaned her and snagged her cell phone.
“Do not have time, Jen. Go away.”
“Breathe, Georgie. Things will be fine.” Her best friend unleashed a sultry chuckle. “In fact, I bet he takes you back to his place for a nightcap.”
“Oh, sure. Right. The man is handsome enough to be a movie star, he’s a gazillionaire and he always dates the most beautiful socialites and supermodels in the world. I, on the other hand, am me. I am so totally average that the political pollsters have my type on speed dial. Men like Senator Barron do not make passes at girls who wear glasses and work in their office. One, it is a huge breach of ethics and two...have you looked at me, Jen? Yes, you’re my best friend in the whole world and you love me, but let’s be real. I won’t ever win a beauty contest.”
The buzzer sounded, alerting her that someone was at the outer door to her building, and she cut off Jen’s reply. “Gotta go.”
Time was up. Smoothing the formal gown, she grabbed a warm wrap and the beaded bag.
Using the same care as a tightrope walker, she managed both the apartment building’s stairs and entryway without tripping on the high heels she normally avoided wearing. Her feet would kill her before the night was over but such was the price of fashion.
Boone waited beside the limo and his eyes lit up when she emerged from the door. “Dang, sugar. You clean up real nice.”
His exaggerated accent made her laugh and relax. Boone always managed to walk the fine line between boss and friend. He kept up a running commentary on the way to the White House, but his words washed over her like a gentle waterfall. Since her first political job, she’d been on staff in one capacity or another. From campaign volunteer all the way up the ranks to communications director, she’d been Boone’s protégé in all things political. She’d attended hometown rallies and national conventions. But this was her first state dinner. And she was slightly terrified. No. She was totally terrified.
Could she remember those long-ago cotillions where she’d learned place settings and greetings? Did she offer her hand or wait for the other person?
“Breathe, Georgie.”
She gulped in air and fought the urge to put her head between her knees. The gown’s tight skirt didn’t leave room for that. “That’s easy for you to say.”
He patted her hands, which she realized were clenched on her lap. “When we arrive, your door will be opened and a military escort will offer his arm. Someone else will make sure your dress is lying correctly, whatever that means.” He winked at her. “You’ll enter with your escort and everything after that will just come naturally. Trust me.”
“Ha. Just goes to show what you know!”
The limo turned onto Pennsylvania Avenue. Her breath caught as she focused again on the evening’s events. Mainly, her escort tonight. Senator Clayton Barron. Panic choked off her breath once again and stars circled her head the way they did in the cartoons. Good thing she was the only one who could see them.
They were stopped by the guards at the gates, who checked their IDs and invitation. Moments later the big vehicle slid to a smooth stop in front of the East Doors. A man in an army dress blue uniform opened her door and handed her out, Boone tight on her heels.
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She whirled to face him. “You picked a fine time to ask me that, Boone Tate.”
The sorry son of a gun laughed. At her. And winked, his devilish grin hinting that he was up to no good. She’d been well and truly set up. Narrowing her eyes, she muttered through pinched lips, “You are so going to pay for this, Boone.”