Junior’s on it. Hopefully Declan will be too distracted by George’s mood and the tension between me and George to fixate too heavily on Junior.
Ihope.
Corene, our campaign’s PR coordinator, shows up and seeks me out, and I finalize our game plan with her and send her out to schmooze the media.
When my personal phone buzzes me with an alert that the security system was set at George’s, I know they’re inbound, and a mental countdown starts in my head.
Declan hasn’t texted me since the last one he sent early this morning, and I wonder how much George told him about my blowup.
Do I feel guilty about that?
I don’t know how I feel, to be honest.
Confused. Anguished. Angry.
Scared. Resigned.
Vulnerable.
I guess that last encapsulates all the others. I feel like I’m vulnerable to a man who has no clue he could easily destroy me now—again—and I despise that.
But George is not a submissive, and neither am I. Two Dominants in a relationship isn’t going to work. Both of us need to be in charge.
That’s one more reason why what he and Declan want with me can’t work.
Can it?
I finally spot Junior and work my way over to where he and a cluster of other whales are chatting with a Memphis newspaper reporter I recognize. I turn on the charm and have those good ole boys laughing and smiling in short order. Today, I opted to wear a pencil skirt that’s just over my knees and hugs my hips nicely, and under my matching blazer I wear a blouse that’s not too low-cut, but it gives enough hint of cleavage that I catch Junior eyeing me when he thinks I’m not looking. Add my usual tall heels to that combo, and I know I’m rocking it.
Once I’ve made sure I’ve schmoozed all our whales personally at least once, I work my way back to the head of security to get an inbound ETA on George. I want to make sure I’m positioned nearby and ready to step in as soon as he exits the car.
When they arrive, George has his usual winning smile plastered tightly in place, and I’m sure the attendees can’t tell it’s just a mask. Yet I see from the way he seeks me out in the throng and how his gaze locks onto me for a brief moment that he’s not doing well.
Fuck.
This is confirmed from the tight set to Declan’s jaw when he emerges from the car after George. Apparently, George shaved him this morning, back to a neatly shaped goatee and mustache that I can imagine George meticulously taking his time with in the shower.
While George shakes hands and greets people, Declan’s gaze lingers on me, a hint of anger and more than a little reproach in his glare.
I’m guessing maybe George did tell him something about this morning. That, or Declan guessed we had a blowup because of how George is acting.
It only hardens me, allows me to adjust my mask.
If he’s upset with me now, wait’ll he sees who’s sitting with George today.
Can’t be helped, though.
Long game.
At least Declan put together a good outfit for George today. Dress shirt, but no tie under his blazer, and he’s in khakis. The perfect mix of professional and real.
Dec’s wearing a tie and blazer, though. Unless it’s an outdoor event where we’ll sweat our balls off, we both dress up for these things. We’re staff, and we have an image to project.
We don’t have anyone from campaign staff here today except Corene. I did this on purpose, because while this event straddles campaign and official event lines, I don’t want it to overtly appear to be a campaign event. We don’t even have any campaign signs here today for George.
The whales aren’t only donating to George—they’re donating to the FFA. It’sthosedonations that got them seated at the table with George today. But there was an implicit demand to them to donate equally to FFAandto the campaign if they wanted facetime with George.
Yes, I’m sneaky like that. I’ll own it.
