Boone wasn’t only her boss, he was also a friend. “I’m resigning. Going home to Oklahoma.”
“You can’t.”
“Please don’t make this harder. Clay’s going to be the next president. I can’t stand in his way.”
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”
“My letter. It explains. He’ll understand.” Georgie turned to flee.
Boone stopped her. “No, he won’t, Georgie. He loves you, even if he’s too stubborn to admit it.”
“That’s impossible. We’re impossible.”
“You’ll never know if it would work if you don’t stay and fight for it.”
“I can’t. I’m dying.”
Her words shocked him and he dropped his hand. She ran, tears streaming, heart breaking. It had to be this way.
Reaching the elevators, she stabbed the button repeatedly. Nothing. Fearing Boone would chase her down, she pivoted toward the stairwell. She managed four strides before Boone caught her arm.
“Whoa there, Georgie. You don’t drop a word like dying into the conversation and then take off.” His grip on her biceps remained gentle but firm, and he marched her toward an empty conference room. Once they were alone, he still didn’t release her. “Now, what the hell is going on with you?”
“I told you. I quit.”
“Because you’re dying? You look pretty damn healthy to me, girl.”
Her anger leached away and her shoulders drooped. “I have breast cancer, Boone. I’m going home for treatment.”
Boone released her arm and slumped against the wall. “Ah, hell, sugar. How long have you known?”
“I...”
“Your appointment last week. The one Hunt said upset you.”
She nodded. “I had a biopsy. The doctor called this morning to confirm.”
“Does Clay know?”
She couldn’t meet Boone’s eyes. She was taking the coward’s way out, but she couldn’t face Clay, couldn’t face the pity in his gaze, wouldn’t survive his inevitable rejection. “No.”
“You can’t quit, sugar. You need the insurance.”
“I...” She hadn’t thought of that. Her only thought had been getting away from Clay before he told her to go away.
“And no offense, Georgie, but you’re selling Clay short. You’re important to him.”
The door eased open behind them and the man himself stuck his head in. “Something you two want to tell me?” He wore a wry smile, but the humor did not reach his eyes.
“That’s my cue to skedaddle.” Boone gave her shoulder a squeeze, took the box away from her and as he passed Clay, murmured, “Just listen, then do the right thing.” He slipped through the door, closing it behind him.
“Georgie?”
She forced air into her lungs but couldn’t meet his eye. “I...I quit.”
“I see.” His voice sounded as if it had been flash frozen.
“Boone wouldn’t let me.”
“Ah.”
“I...” She turned away from him and dropped into the nearest chair, bending to cover her face with her hands. “You know I had a checkup a few weeks ago, Clay.”
“And?”
How could one word sound so brittle? “And there was a lump.” She looked up at his quick intake of breath, but he wore an expression she couldn’t decipher. Her gaze dropped again. “The results from the biopsy weren’t...good.” More silence. She continued staring at the floor.
“Prognosis?”
“Stage three. I’m being referred to an oncologist for a lumpectomy and chemo, maybe radiation. I...want to go home, Clay. To Dad’s ranch.”
“Okay. Give me a few days to clear my schedule. We’ll go home. Get the best oncologist in the state.”
Georgie didn’t want to do this, but she had no choice. She couldn’t allow Clay to go with her. She was too aware of what he’d gone through with his mother. That part of his life had been glossed over in his official biography—how she’d died of breast cancer when he was a boy—but Georgie knew him, had overheard his interactions with his brothers and his cousins. He’d been profoundly affected by his mother’s illness and death. She would not put him through it again.
“You have to stay here.”
A guffaw erupted from him. She had no other way to describe the sound that blasted from his mouth. The problem was his eyes held no humor. “No.”
“Clay, don’t make this harder—” She pushed out of the chair.
“What part of no do you not understand, Georgie? You aren’t leaving me.”
She flattened her mouth into what she hoped was a grim line, fisted her hands on her hips and attempted to mimic her mother’s best society maven voice. “Now you listen to me, Clayton Barron. You’re an important man.” Her right hand lifted without her conscious instruction, and her index finger pointed at him, wagging in time with each word she said. “Running for President of the United States. You don’t have time to be hanging around watching me lose my hair.”