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5.1

Georgina

"God, could this night get any better?" Vi stands in front of me in a private room in the event building with a needle and thread in her hand, sewing the straps back onto my dress. Fortunately for me, Vi has always had a penchant for fashion design and carries a sewing kit in her purse "for fashion emergencies." Her skill with a needle and thread has come in handy on more than one occasion, and the girl can work magic with a little duct tape.

"Are you insane? Better? What on Earth could make this night worse?"

"I don't know. Let's see assassination attempt? Someone chokes on their steak at dinner? Car accident? Poisoning? You lean over a candle and your hair catches fire?"

"That was a rhetorical question. You're a little morbid tonight."

"It's a gift." Vi shrugs. "Oh, here's another one."

"Another cause of death?"

"Of course not. Another thing that could make this night worse."

I exhale heavily. "What?"

"If it hadn't been Nathaniel Ashby that had ripped your dress off and touched your ta-tas. If it had been Senator Richards, that would have been infinitely worse…"

I nearly choke. Senator Richards is approaching eighty and has a reputation for being rather handsy. He's an equal-opportunity groper, too, crossing party lines and earning him the disgust of pretty much every woman on the Hill. "That's disgusting, Vi."

"You had Nathaniel Ashby's hands on your boobs. By default, that makes this the opposite of a bad night."

Heat rushes through me when I think about Nathaniel Ashby's hands. His very large hands, calloused and rough, warm against my skin. The entire thing – my dress tearing, flashing the world, falling against Nathaniel's massive chest… and getting groped by Nathaniel Ashby… was unexpected, to say the least.

So was my physical reaction to his touch, the arousal that coursed through my body like electricity. I tell myself that it was just a physical reaction, pure instinct, and occurring solely because it's been a long time since a man put his hands on my breasts. That’s what I told myself as I watched him take off out of the building after the guy who took the salacious photos, and that’s what I reassured myself again as I walked back to this room, the throbbing between my legs insistent.

It was purely a physical response that had nothing to do with Nathaniel Ashby. The man was unlikeable in every way, a gruff, arrogant caveman who called me “sweetheart” like I needed a pat on the head. He was a stereotypical cocky professional athlete.

Of course, he did donate his ranch to the charity for the summer.

I refuse to cut him any slack for that. Professional athletes are always doing stuff like that just to get good press.

I clear my throat. "Not by choice," I tell her primly.

Vi clucks her tongue. "I'd let him touch my boobs anytime. He's delicious." A look of annoyance must flicker across my face because Vi laughs. "Relax, girl. I'm not going to go after your hot neighbor."

"What?" I ask, confused. "What does my neighbor have to do with Nathaniel Ashby?"

"Nathaniel Ashby is your neighbor! I told you, I looked up who bought the house. It wasn't exactly public record, but I was curious, so I asked this guy that I used to date - anyway, how I found out is beside the point. I tried to tell you before you went over there, but you weren't having any of it. You've already seen him naked and now he's grabbed your boobs. You might as well get it over with and get his throbbing rod inside you already."

I ignore Vi's crude euphemism because I'm preoccupied with the whole neighbor thing. "But I didn't see Nathaniel Ashby naked. He's not my neighbor."

She looks at me skeptically. "Are you sure? You did have wine that night. You know how you get after two glasses of wine. You have the lowest alcohol tolerance of anyone I've ever met."

That much is true. You'd think with all of the dinners and events I've had to attend, I wouldn't be such a lightweight, but that's definitely not the case. In fact, I'd be a terrible spy – three glasses of wine and I'd be spilling state secrets like crazy.

I bring my attention back to Vi. "Yes, I'm sure. I was tipsy, not blind. And the neighbor is definitely not Nathaniel Ashby."

"So you've gotten to second base with Nathaniel Ashby and you got a private nudie show from another hot guy in the last few days? And you're asking how things could get any worse? You should be thanking the universe for dropping two hot guys in your lap – especially after the long drought you've had."

"It was not a nudie show," I correct. "At least, not for me. Blair and David saw more of my neighbor than I did."

Two hot guys. My heart skips a beat thinking about her words. Two hot muscled guys who were shamelessly flirting with me. Well, one of them was, anyway. Nathaniel wasn't flirting. The only reason I was inclined to believe that he wasn’t purposely groping me was that he seemed more irritated about touching my boobs than anything else. That fact alone makes my physical response to him all the more pathetic. My "long drought", as Vi put it, clearly has made me desperate.

Vi's laughter interrupts my thoughts. "Oh wow. You have the hots for both of them."

My brow furrows. "I do not."

"Oh, please. I saw that look on your face. How long have I known you? As if I don't know what that look means."

"It means nothing because there was no look. I spent exactly one minute with Nathaniel Ashby, and I think he’s the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met,” I protest. “He’s almost as bad as my neighbor. Anyway, Nathaniel is just a donor, and I’m going to go out there and thank him for his donation and never see him again. And we’re both going to pretend that he never saw my boobs.”

"Technically, he's only felt them, since you were facing the opposite direction."

"I'm sure he'll see them on the camera, if he can get the photos from the reporter. And if not, he'll see them on the cover of a tabloid, just like everyone else in America. I can already picture the headlines now: "‘First Boobs! President Aschberg's Daughter Bares All! Singlehandedly Destroys Father’s Chances of Re-election!’”

"'Star-Spangled Tits,'" Vi chimes in.

"Oh, God, what if Nathaniel is getting hold of the photos so he can sell them?" I ask, panic rising in my chest.

“Why didn’t you just send Blair and David after the guy?”

“They can’t go take down a reporter. That would make things worse. My Secret Service detail suppressing a reporter’s First Amendment rights in order to get photos of my boobs back? That would make a great article.” The prick of a needle stings my skin. "Ouch! Watch where you're pointing that thing, Vi!"

"Maybe if you'd hold still for a second, I wouldn't be stabbing you with a needle," Vi admonishes, yanking on the strap in her hands for emphasis.

"If you hurry, we can check if I'll end up half-naked on magazine covers nationwide or if my boobs will become locker room jokes before Dad arrives," I remark impatiently.

Vi jests about my dad's potential reaction, suggesting he might have Nathaniel murdered, which I playfully counter with the expectation of his disappointment speech. Vi scoffs at the idea of my dad's concern for family values, implying he'd exploit the situation if it served his campaign.

I grimace at the thought and steer the conversation away from imagining my dad's reaction to the incriminating photos. Vi agrees to accompany me in searching for the photos but jokes about peeking at them herself, teasingly reminding me of her distraction earlier with a tech billionaire.

I playfully chide her for her distraction and emphasize that no one is throwing themselves at anyone, though Vi insists otherwise. As we leave the room, Blair informs us of my father's imminent arrival, prompting me to inquire about the camera's fate.

My father's booming voice interrupts, and he questions why I'm not out soliciting donations. We exchange banter about his priorities, acknowledging his dedication to his re-election campaign. Vi mimics my father, adding to the lightheartedness of the moment.

My mother joins the conversation, critiquing my attire as usual and suggesting I change. Despite my protests, she insists on her traditional role. My father intervenes, defending my choice of dress, leading to a playful exchange about his fashion sense.

Eager to move on, I suggest we head to the event, but my mother suggests connecting with a potential suitor, which I dismiss in favor of focusing on the charity. I mentally cringe at the thought of another matchmaking attempt by my mother, preferring to focus on Nathaniel, which surprises me.

As we make our way to the ballroom, I'm bewildered by my sudden attraction to not just one, but two inappropriate men.

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