The Boss and His Cowgirl Read Online Free Page B

Jen’s voice rose in pitch. “How did I know? Georgeanne, you’re all over the morning news!”
    Her stomach dropped. She found the remote control for the television and thumbed it to life. Scrolling through, she found an all-news channel. And sank to the edge of the bed, her legs no longer steady. “Oh, no. The cameras. I’m screwed.”
    â€œGeorgie! What the heck happened yesterday? And were you really rescued by the senator?”
    She had to put her head between her knees and breathe to keep from hyperventilating and passing out. “Dang, dang, dang,” was all she could manage.
    Jennifer had no such handicap. “What did it feel like? Is he as strong as he looks? I mean, gracious! He scooped you up and carried you away like...like...I don’t know who! Holy cannoli, girl. Clay Barron was like Kevin Costner in that movie where he rescued Whitney Houston. Georgie? Georgie, are you listening to me?”
    â€œShush, Jen. I’m trying to hear the commentary on TV.”
    Voices droned in the background as footage played of the Tate brothers hustling her—clothes torn, knees bloody—into the rear seat of the senator’s SUV. Clay looked shocked and angry as he ducked back inside to make room for her. The scene changed to their arrival at the hotel. The guards jogged up and opened the back door. Clay emerged holding her hand. Holding her hand? Georgie couldn’t breathe for a minute and then, moments later when she stumbled and he swept her into his arms, she choked.
    â€œOh, God.” Panting, she resumed her head-between-knees position.
    â€œGeorgie? Georgeanne! Speak to me. Are you okay?”
    â€œNo. I need to die. Like right now. No. I would have been better off dying last night. Oh, Mother Goose, Jen. I am so screwed.”
    â€œYou keep saying that! What happened? Have you been holding out on me?”
    â€œNo. Oh, dang it, dang it, dang it.” Georgie needed coffee. Stat. There was still liquid left in her Diet Coke bottle. She gulped it down and glanced at the clock. Five-fifteen. Arizona didn’t do Daylight Savings Time so it was just after 7:00 a.m. in Washington. She rubbed her face and eyes. This was bad. Really bad. How many times had she dreamed of a romantic interlude with the senator? Way too often, but never played out in front of cameras. And reporters. On the national news.
    Memories crowded in and she swayed. “He saw me, Jen,” she whispered into the phone.
    â€œSaw you? What do you mean?”
    â€œIn my bra and panties. I...I panicked. He... I think he held me in his lap.” In full panic mode, she fled her bedroom, praying there would be a coffeemaker in the kitchen. And stationery. So she could write out her resignation letter. How in the world was she going to face Clay this morning? Sprinting through the living area, she barely noticed the bodyguard jumping to his feet. She sort of waved him back to his chair with a vague motion of her hand.
    â€œOh, thank you, thank you,” she murmured when she spotted a Keurig machine and a display of K-Cups. “Coffee, Jen. Coffee first.”
    â€œYou okay, Miss Dreyfus?” The guard watched her warily from just beyond the granite bar separating the kitchen from the dining area.
    â€œYeah. Yes. Coffee. I just need coffee. Sorry to have disturbed you. Um...carry on.” She wanted to head-slap herself. Carry on? Seriously? Her foot tapped a jittery rhythm as the machine performed its magic. Once she had a fresh-brewed latte in her hands she could breathe again. Almost. She drained the cup in a few gulps and brewed another.
    â€œWho are you talking to and I’m still waiting for an explanation, missy,” Jen hissed through her phone.
    â€œShhh. I have to get back to my room.”
    â€œBack to your room? Where are you?”
    â€œI’m in the senator’s suite.”
    Ducking her head, she dashed back to her room and shut the door,