Page 14 of Where the Blacktop Ends

He rubs his temples, visibly frustrated by my stream of questions. “Forty-two. Any more numbers you’d like to know? Want me to do the math for you? I had my son when I was twenty and my son had his son when he was also twenty years old.”

I shake my head, feeling my face flush because I’m totally tanking this interview. “No, I think I have it now.”

“Good,” he says, his tone growing more clipped, his hazel eyes full of fire. “This position requires the highest level of discretion. You’ll be responsible for ensuring my family’s privacy always remains intact. It isn’t public knowledge that I have a two-year-old grandson that lives with me, though it’s not something I’m afraid of getting out, I would prefer for the media not to know until I’m ready to release that information. Is that clear?”

I cross my arms, not liking the accusation behind his words. It’s as if he thinks I’m going to break his trust before I’ve even started.

“I nannied for the Smiths for over five years without any issues. They never questioned my discretion, and might I remind you—we’ve met before, yet I never mentioned the full details of our littleencounterto anyone.”

His jaw tightens, a vein pulses at his temple. The beat of it fuels my own temper until I remember the thick vein I noticed on his cock in the steam room. I wonder if it pulses in the same manner. I wonder if it’s pulsing right now.

Hefty! Hefty! Hefty!

“I imagine that’s because you had no idea who I was, considering you didn’t recognize my name when the Smiths gave it to you. And I’d appreciate if you understood that the steam room incident was a rare and completely out of character occurrence—never to be mentioned again.”

I meet his gaze, the tension between us almost as thick as the steam from the sauna downstairs.

“Got it,” I say, my tone sharp, laced with annoyance. I don’t care that I’m acting like a brat now, or that I desperately need this job to stay in the city and not return to absolutely nothing that’s waiting for me in Texas. This guy deserves a misdemeanor forhis poor attitude and if he’s hell bent on not hiring me, I intend on dishing the rudeness right back at him.

"Nothinghappened in the men’s steam room at the clubhouse,” I quip sarcastically, then immediately regret it. This isn’t like me. I’m not overtly rude. I always try to find the best in my circumstances.

I sigh, softening my tone. “Sorry. I’ll drop it.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge my snark or the apology, as if it didn’t register, he just moves forward.

“There will be a thorough background check if I decide to hire you. But before that, I need to know if there’s anything I should be aware of that might not show up on a background check. There’s always a chance that the media will dig upeverythingonce they catch wind that I’ve hired a nanny, and it’ll be better for me to know upfront if there’s anything they could discover and use against me. I’m not saying that this will happen, we’ll do our best to keep you away from the media’s attention, but it’s always a possibility when you work closely with someone in politics.”

My mind races at his words—Something that wouldn’t show up on a background check? This was certainly a discussion that had never come up between me and the Smiths.

I pause, mentally scanning the last twenty-eight years of my life.

I had my rebellious phase as a teenager, sure, and went through a rough patch when I was sixteen. But those are things that I don’t want to rehash. And definitely not with this guy. Plus, I was a minor when all of that went down.

But is any of that relevant? What would the media even be interested in? What skeletons would they look to uncover from a nanny to a political consultant?

After a moment of hesitation, I decide to go with the only thing that I can think of, and I blame him and his sexual energy for it entirely.

“Um… I had a brief… phase in high school.”

Troy shifts in his seat, places his laptop on the table, and levels me with a look. “A phase of what?”

“Um…”

He sighs like my very existence exhausts him. I want to remind him that he wasn’t annoyed four months ago when Iaccidentallysat on top of him in a steam room. If anything, he wasveryinterested stroking that flared cock from soft to rigid, while watching me through the murky steam.

Now? He’s acting like I’m a hassle.

I can’t stop staring at his lips. I wonder how they’d feel on me, and I realize—though I didn’t evenknowwho he was—this man has been plaguing my fantasies for months. And now I’m trying to work for him.

This is such abadidea.

“Spit it out, Georgia. A phase of what? Drugs? Alcohol? Stealing? Vandalism?”

Not quite…

“It was a Vampire phase.”

Troy’s eyes snap up. “What?”

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