She stared down at her hands, watching them tremble. Her breathing grew faster, sharper.
Shit. Shit.
Get yourself under control. You’re a James. You’re not allowed to panic. You’re not allowed to freak out. You have to be strong.
In. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three.
This was humiliating. How could she have let herself become interested in him? Of course she was going to be disappointed. Someone like him, gorgeous, sexy, and strong would never be interested in her.
His assistant was much better suited to him. She was stunning with all that smooth, dark skin, those curves, and that attitude. Sure, she was a bit eccentric, but she had soul. Personality.
She was color and Georgina was gray. She’d had all the life sucked out of her. A caricature, pretending to live when in reality she was stuck doing the same thing over and over again. All she ever did, day after day, was just try to get through life.
And she was so sick of it. So tired. Had she really thought that coming here would help? That she’d walk in, find that he’d been pining after her all this time, pull her into his arms and kiss her again?
He had someone else. For all she knew, he didn’t even remember the kiss. This was so humiliating.
Oh, God. What if he’d been dating the other woman when he’d kissed Georgina?
Shit. Shit. Surely not.
Could this get any worse? Not only was she humiliated, now she had to worry that she’d been a part of him cheating.
Her phone ringing pushed her panic to one side. Grabbing her handbag, she pulled it open. Maybe it was her boss. Maybe he needed her to come back.
>
Disappointment flooded her when she saw that it was her mother calling. Awesome. Just what she needed. Her mother had a sixth sense when it came to her. She seemed to realize when Georgina was at her lowest then she pounced.
She really didn’t want to answer the call. She took in a shuddering breath. But if she didn’t answer then things would get worse.
“Hello, Mother.” Her voice was steady, nothing to betray the fact that she’d been close to a panic attack.
Show no weakness.
No one in the James family was supposed to be weak. But she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t perfect. She was defective.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked sharply.
She straightened up in her seat. Shit. She couldn’t know, right? Surely not. He’d promised her that she wouldn’t find out. If he’d told her . . .
“What do you mean? Nothing is wrong.”
Nothing to see here.
“You sound strange.”
She nearly slumped over in relief. But she was certain that her mother would sense that. How often had she suffered through her lessons on how to sit, on how to present herself, about how a James conducted themselves?
“It might be allergies,” she lied. Then she closed her eyes. Fudge. Why had she said that?
“Allergies? What allergies? You don’t have allergies.”
“I’m not sure. I have a slightly scratchy throat. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
“Nothing? It could be contagious. You must go to the doctor immediately, and get a thorough physical.”
She knew better than to argue. “Yes, Mother.”