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The blinding sunlight startles me for a second. I blink furiously, trying to regain control of my eyesight. Several things come into focus at once: the giant billboard with Theo’s grinning face on it, hanging over the Flushing Meadows Corona Park, the sound technicians still setting the stage, and the curious people starting to float towards it, waiting for the rally to start.
Unfortunately, none of these are a worthy distraction. And so, I’m left to dwell on the thoughts my brother had provoked, thoughts about Georgina.
I dig my shivering fingers into my pocket. I buried any thought of Georgina over the past few weeks, and for good reason. Every time I thought of her, my head threatened to explode.
It was the only way I could survive this past month.
If I could call my current existence surviving.
I turn around and gaze at the stage, but I’m barely seeing it. Instead, I remember that blasted day back in Georgina’s apartment.
What I’d done in a bid to get her to stop printing articles about my brother.
I admit that I was being a jerk, but I couldn't completely blame myself. Georgina had a way of making me lose all sense of reason. I went to her place with the intention of making her see how disappointed I was that she would publish something about the campaign while we were still trying to build a personal connection.
Looking back, even that had been odd. I had almost forgotten that our relationship was only for show. In truth, I had gone to her apartment hoping to repair a relationship that I had started to believe was genuine.
But somehow, Georgina convinced me that mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. Then she kissed me, and all my thoughts disappeared.
I’d wanted nothing more than to kiss her back and was reminded of the day when we were both trying to silently assert dominion over each other while ignoring our attraction.
Gigi was a maddeningly headstrong woman…except for in the bedroom. And I did enjoy asking her to do things and getting her to obey me.
But I’d taken it a tad too far, and now…
A fresh wave of headache thrums through my head. Even now, I don’t regret asking her to stop writing about Theodore. And as much as I hate to admit it, asking her to drop the article was more about wanting to make sure I accomplished that goal before moving on to letting myself start to enjoy Gigi.
Suddenly, there’s a loud sound on stage, and I look up to see Alex Payne holding a microphone and grinning. The crowd seems to have doubled in the time I mulled over my thoughts.
I step back into the background, scouring around to make sure everything is in order. Since my foul mood had increased over the past few weeks, Theo had relieved me of a number of responsibilities. Right now, all I really had to do was watchand make sure everything was in order.
Which it was.
As Alex begins to welcome the attendees and share some information about Theodore, my attention drifts away. I find myself scanning the crowd, my eyes fixated on a group of the press gathered at the edge of the park. Though my jaw tightens slightly, I notice that none of them appear to be stirring up any commotion. The cameramen are intently focused on Alex, snapping hundreds of photos per minute as he speaks.
I turn around, not wanting to focus on the press any longer. SinceEnchantédecided it was a waste of time to keep publishing inflammatory articles about us, most of them had slunk back under the radar. The few articles that had come out over the past few weeks about Theodore had reported positive things about him.
The era of being terrorized by Georgina Harris appears to be behind us.
Even that realization did not make me feel any better.
“And now,” Alex Payne says, his voice ringing with such authority that even Iam impressed, “I’d like to welcome Theodore Stawarski on stage.”
The crowd erupts in a round of applause. My brother steps up on stage, his politician grin plastered on his face.
Amused, I look away, scanning the crowd again.
But this time, my gaze catches the familiar shape of Georgina. Before I can order myself not to, I’m slipping through the crowd and end up standing in front of her.
“Georgina,” I hear myself say.
She swallows hard, meeting my gaze with hers. “Brandon.”
A pit of emotions flares up in my belly. I want to kiss her and rage at her simultaneously.
I force myself to stay cool. She’s as breathtaking as ever, but I notice that our time apart does not seem to have gone well for her. Her eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, her hair isn’t neatly styled, and her shoulders are hunched in the most un-Georgina like manner.
“Is there a place we can talk?”
