Off the Record (Record #1)(44)

“Do I need to bring anything with me?” she asked.

“No. I prefer you in nothing.”

Liz’s entire body heated as she hung up the phone and thought about the last time he had seen her like that. She didn’t want to think about anything else until Sunday. Unfortunately, she had a mountain of work, but at least in this moment, she could daydream about her politician.

Franklin Street was dead as Liz stood in front of the diner. She yawned and tried to wake up. Early mornings were a killer, especially since she couldn’t get to sleep last night. She was too antsy about getting to see Brady. She didn’t even know where they were going, and it didn’t really matter. She just wanted to be with him.

A black town car slowed to a stop directly in front of her. Was this real life? She pulled open the door and sat down on the black interior. She glanced around the car, deflated when she saw that Brady wasn’t already in it. She figured they would be picking him up along the way.

“Morning, Ms. Carmichael,” the driver said, turning around and giving her a smile.

It took her still-drowsy mind a minute to piece together that she was actually Ms. Carmichael. Of course Brady would tell the driver to pick up Sandy Carmichael and not Liz Dougherty. And thus, her secret identity was now a reality.

“Good morning,” she said, stifling a yawn.

The man chuckled. “You can call me, Greg. Buckle up. We have about an hour drive ahead of us,” he said, continuing down the empty street.

“All right. Thank you,” she answered politely. An hour away. Where was he taking her that was an hour away? She could drive pretty much in any direction and hit a major city an hour outside of Chapel Hill. When they had talked on the phone, Brady hadn’t given her any clues, and she didn’t suspect the driver would be any help either. He was paid to get her there and no more.

She wanted to nap on the drive, but despite sleep deprivation she was too excited to rest. Plus, she had actually taken the time to do her hair and put on makeup. The last thing she needed was to show up, wherever they were going, with a print from the car on her face.

Instead, she pulled out her notepad that she always kept tucked away in her purse, right next to her handy-dandy voice recorder, and started flipping through her scribbled notes for her next article on the upcoming election. She had received another B paper from her professor. Professor Mires thought she was getting closer to the target, but she still had a lot of work to do. Liz had never tried so hard in her entire life to meet the expectations of one of her instructors. And she would be damn sure that she excelled.

By the time they pulled off the interstate, she had constructed an outline for the article. She tilted her head to the side as she rearranged some of the words. It didn’t feel exactly right yet. She didn’t know what she was missing and it was frustrating her. Maybe it would be better once she actually sat down and typed it all out.

“Nearly there, Ms. Carmichael,” Greg said, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“Fantastic,” Liz said, dropping her pen into her purse and straightening to inspect her surroundings.

They were rolling down a narrow street where the lines had all but disappeared. Trees lined the craggy-looking road as tall as the eye could see, and they leaned forward, creating a tunnel through which to drive. They could be anywhere in the North Carolina countryside right now.

The road curved around a smooth bend and opened right up to the lakefront. Liz perked up and leaned forward between the front seats to catch the view. She could just see the other edge of the lake from her vantage point. Stunning lake houses dotted the perimeter, some as small as huts and others as large as mansions.

“Wow,” she breathed as the morning light caught the gleam of the blue water. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is indeed,” Greg said, turning to the right and driving around the lake.

Liz wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but a secluded lake an hour outside of the city was not it. She had mistakenly assumed another hotel. They’d had a great time in that hotel, but it couldn’t compare to the lake. Did he have a house here? Would they have the place to themselves?

Her mind wandered off in that direction and a big smile crossed her face. A day at the lake house sounded amazing.

She frowned at the thought of not having a suit to wear. She knew that he had said that he preferred her in nothing, but he had to think that they would actually go out on the lake together. Why else would he bring her there, other than for the privacy?

Greg turned down a side street and pulled into the driveway of a two-story log cabin–style house with a wraparound porch and a small set of stairs leading up to the front door. The second story was almost entirely made of floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Trees and bushes perfectly landscaped the yard, and rows of tulips wrapped around the mailbox. Her favorite.

“Here you are, ma’am,” Greg said, getting out of the car and running around to her side. He opened the door for her, and she stepped out, mesmerized. “Senator Maxwell has asked that I show you inside. He is delayed by business and hopes that you understand the inconvenience.”

Understand? She was at the most gorgeous lake house she had ever seen.

“Follow me,” he said with a smile. He trotted down the stone path to the stairs, retrieved a key from his suit coat, and allowed her access to the house. “He’s taken the liberty of providing breakfast for you, and wanted to be sure to let you know that there should be swimsuits upstairs that fit you.”