Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1)

by Rebecca Gallo

“Yes. This whole thing has been very impersonal and almost…clinical. I want to know that you at least took the time to pick it out. Even if I don’t like it.”

  “Are you going to give me some parameters to work with, at least?”

  “Non-traditional. I wear only ethically-sourced diamonds. And if you proposed in London, then I suspect you would have picked a ring that’s antique.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Georgie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t ever say that I hired you to be my fiancée again.” And then he hung up.

  I stared at the phone, dumbfounded. I felt like a little girl who had just been scolded by her father. I handed the phone back to Lewis and then leaned my forehead against the cool glass of the window. The world looked ominous through the dark, tinted windows, and it was a perfect metaphor for my own life. Murky. Unclear. Bleak.

  “Ms. Washington?” My assigned spin doctor spoke up, his voice a little timid.

  “Yes?” I turned and looked at him, hoping he wasn’t going to admonish me as well.

  “Senator Martin would like you to read over this information.” He held out a folder for me and I took it from him, practically snatching it from his hands. I flipped through the contents and it seemed to contain mostly biographical information about Jameson. I wondered who compiled the dossier on me. What else did Jameson know about me? I closed it without really reading it and held it firmly on my lap. There would be plenty of time to learn about Jameson.

  “Thank you, Lewis.”

  “I’m Jenkins, ma’am.”

  “I knew it!” Both of our faces transformed into silly grins and we both laughed. “Well, then help me study, Jenkins.”

  By the end of the car ride, here was what I knew about Jameson Martin, my new fiancé:

  He was a major in the Army and received the Bronze star for his service.

  He ran frequently and had completed several high-profile marathons.

  He listened almost exclusively to classic rock.

  He was allergic to shellfish.

  His best friend, Sean Wallace, was also his campaign manager.

  Like me, he was also an only child. However, his parents were both still alive and still married.

  Everyone called him James.

  I rolled my eyes, hanging up the phone. Of course Georgie wanted me to pick out the ring. Why didn’t I think of that? And of course, it had to be something non-traditional, antique, and made with ethically-sourced diamonds.

  “Jenkins!” I barked.

  “I’m Lewis, sir.”

  “Whatever.” I didn’t have the time or patience to tell them apart. They looked the same to me. Tall. Thin. Nondescript. Blended well into the crowd. “Take the rings back to the jeweler.”

  “Sir?” The look of sheer terror on his face told me he assumed Georgie was backing out.

  “She wants me to pick out the ring.” I knew exactly where to look for what she described. “And have my car brought to the front.”

  Georgie walked into my hotel suite the next morning, smelling fresh, like a mixture of clean cotton, sunshine, and strawberries; a smell that reminded me of our disastrous interview. She was dressed casually, in a short floral romper with a long, cream cardigan that covered her bare shoulders and skimmed the top of her thighs. Her golden amber-colored hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and those big green eyes that seemed to devour me with every glance darted nervously around the room. Georgie was so fucking gorgeous. In another lifetime, when I wasn’t running to be the ruler of the most powerful country on Earth, I’d spend more time getting lost in her, burying myself in her sweetness. But I couldn’t give the hardening of my cock a second thought. I had an election to win and a presidency to claim.

  “Good morning, Georgie,” I greeted her from the small dining table that had been set up with breakfast. I had already eaten, and now leisurely sipped coffee while reading through a variety of newspapers. Georgie and I were starting to make speculative headlines with the announcement of our sudden engagement.

  “Good morning, Jameson.”

  “James.”

  “Excuse me?” She sat down opposite me, not waiting for an invitation. Then she helped herself to a chocolate chip muffin and poured a cup of coffee, filling it with cream and sugar. I pushed the fruit salad toward her, but she ignored it.

  “I prefer to be called James. Wasn’t that in the folder Jenkins gave you?”

  “It was. I like Jameson better.”

  And I liked the way she said it too. A little too much.

  “It’s a gorgeous day, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “The perfect day to announce our engagement.”

  She swallowed audibly and looked at me, wide-eyed with fear. Then I slid the blue velvet ring box across the table toward her. She looked down and sat back in her chair, a loud exhale passing through her full lips.

  “Open it,” I gently commanded.

  Slowly, Georgie lifted the lid and her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing the cry of shock that threatened to escape. I stood, moving my chair so that I sat next to her. I wasn’t going to kneel and actually propose. But I’d prepared a little speech. I lifted the ring from its velvet cushion and held it out.

  “This ring was made in Great Britain at the turn of the century. The emerald is almost three carats and is surrounded by a halo of old-mine European diamonds. When I saw it, it reminded me of your stunning green eyes.”

  I pried her left hand away from her mouth and slid the ring across the delicate flesh of her finger. What I had said was true. The green gem instantly reminded me of her eyes. It was the first ring I saw, and I knew it was the only one for her. Our gazes landed simultaneously on her finger; it looked perfect, like it truly belonged there.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  I let her enjoy the moment a bit longer. Then it was back to work.

  “Finish your breakfast and then head to the guest room. The stylists will be here soon.” I returned the chair to the opposite side of the table and left the dining room quickly. There was very little room for sentimentality in my campaign. I had to remain focused. But I couldn’t resist stealing one more look at the beautiful woman who agreed to this sham of an engagement.

  I sat there, stunned, looking down at the ring on my finger. It was…well, it was something else. I couldn’t believe that Jameson actually went out and found what could only be described as the perfect engagement ring. It felt warm and strangely familiar, as if it belonged there. When I looked up, Jameson was gone. He ran hot and cold with me. There were moments when I saw the real him and then he was quickly replaced by the calm, cool politician. Jameson had his eyes on the prize and, unfortunately for me, that prize was the presidency.

  I ate the rest of my muffin and then found the guest bedroom of the massive hotel suite where Jameson was currently staying. The stylists hired by the campaign had arrived and were setting up. A large rack of clothes waited for my selection, and an endless sea of makeup and hair products was spread out on the bathroom counter.

  I looked through the display of clothing, filled with sleeveless dresses and flowing chiffon skirts. When my fingers landed on the silky softness of a vintage-inspired dress, I knew I’d found the perfect outfit. The dress was ivory silk with a subtle butterfly print. It had an A-line skirt and button-down, V-necked bodice, with a delicate collar and a metallic gold belt. It would match my ring perfectly. I looked down at the shoes the stylist had brought and selected a pair of red pumps.

  I sat in a chair for what seemed like hours while the two stylists applied makeup and curled my hair. I did, however, draw the line at them helping me into my dress. I was completely capable of doing that myself. When I finished fastening the last of the pearl buttons, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was smooth and perfectly blown out into glossy curtains that framed my face, my lips were the perfect shade of red that d
idn’t look too garish, and the butterflies on the dress were greatly outnumbered by the ones rioting in my stomach.

  There was a soft knock on the door and then it opened. I was anticipating Jameson, but instead came face to face with the spin doctors.

  “We’re ready for you,” Lewis said.

  “That is, if you’re ready,” Jenkins added.

  “I’m ready. Are you two gentlemen going to be my escorts?”

  “Yes. Senator Martin already began the press conference.”

  This information surprised me. I thought we were supposed to hold the press conference together. I also felt disappointed he wasn’t here to escort me himself. I looked good and I wanted to be appreciated. And I wanted him to do the appreciating.

  Lewis and Jenkins walked in front of me as we made our way down to the hotel’s lobby. The hotel’s waterfront location provided an excellent backdrop for our announcement. Perfect location, seemingly perfect couple, what more could America ask for? I slid on a pair of sleek, cat eye sunglasses with dark lenses that hid my fears and doubts from the waiting crowd.

  We walked to the stage and waited behind it. I couldn’t see Jameson from where he stood at the podium, but instead could hear the deep timbre of his voice as he spoke. I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying; instead, I focused on the group of reporters gathered for today’s event. I thought maybe ten would show up, but it seemed like there were at least fifty in attendance. This was too much. I stepped back, away from Lewis and Jenkins, and faced the ocean, letting the cool breeze wash over me. My chest felt tight again, my breath coming in short, shallow spurts. I tried not to think about the life I was giving up—my job, my home, my privacy. And on some level, I was giving up my heart too. I committed myself to this man for potentially eight years. Was that what I wanted? Was it worth five million dollars?

  Then I felt a warm hand on my back. It was firm, yet comforting. And familiar.

  “Are you nervous?” His voice was deep and vibrated across my body.

  “Yes.” I nodded my head but didn’t turn around. Jameson continued to stand behind me, his hand on my back, his voice low and velvety.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “What if I screw up?” I was nervous about saying the wrong thing, or slipping up and telling the entire world about our arrangement.

  “I’ll be there too. I’ll make sure you don’t.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.” I turned to finally face him and nearly gasped. I had seen him in suits, of course; it was all he seemed to wear. But for today’s event, he was dressed almost casually. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt that stretched deliciously across his chest and defined his muscular arms. A pair of slim-fit khakis showed off his trim waist. His dark, inky-black hair was a perfectly disheveled mass, and he wore a pair of aviator sunglasses with dark lenses that covered those artic blue eyes I desperately longed to see.

  Jameson stretched out a hand and led me to a set of temporary stairs. Before we ascended the steps, he turned back and gave me a mischievously crooked smile. “There’s no turning back now, Georgie.”

  Georgina Washington looked adorable when she was terrified. I stared down at her and even though her eyes were covered by dark sunglasses, I knew they were filled with fear. I had been giving a brief press conference, addressing some items on my policy agenda when I saw Lewis and Jenkins leading her to the stage. She looked gorgeous, absolutely stunning. The creamy, silk dress fluttered around her legs as she walked and the slight breeze ruffled her golden hair. The moment I had her in my sight, lyrics flooded my brain. Here comes the sun. She was the sun, and every minute I spent with her, my heart began to thaw.

  With one hand on the railing, I reached the other toward her, almost an invitation. Be my partner, I said silently. Georgie seemed to hesitate a moment before slipping her tiny hand into mine and then I led her up to the stage, toward the sea of reporters waiting to strike, waiting to find her flaw. Our flaw.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, members of the press,” I began once I reached the podium. “I want to thank you for sticking around for just a little bit longer. I know this August sun can be brutal, but honestly, I couldn’t ask for a better day. There have been some questions raised about my personal life, questions that, quite frankly, I don’t appreciate for a number of reasons. Having a family does not necessarily mean that I am not fit to serve this country as its next president. Believe it or not, this country has had a bachelor as a president. But that’s not really why we are here today. I invited you here today to introduce you to the woman who has brought sunshine back into my life.”

  The last line was off-script, but I could see the press was enthralled. Every woman in the audience was on the verge of swooning. I had them eating out of the palm of my hand. I turned toward Georgie, who was standing behind me, and extended my arm toward her. She walked slowly toward the podium, toward me, and when she made it, I gathered her to my side.

  “I am so pleased to announce to you that a few months ago, this gorgeous woman agreed to be my wife and spend the rest of her life with me.” I gave her my best panty-dropping smile and hoped that her rosy cheeks were from blushing and not from the heat. “We have just a few moments to answer the questions that I know you’re dying to ask.”

  The shouting began almost instantly and was deafening. I pointed toward one reporter.

  “Senator, is her name really Georgina Washington? I mean, you’re running for president and you’re marrying someone essentially named George Washington.”

  Everyone laughed and I knew the name would be a big issue. We were going to have to deal with questions and jokes. “Maybe we should let her answer this question.”

  Georgie stepped closer to the microphone. I saw her scan the audience a few times, nervously looking out at everyone who was waiting to hear what she had to say. Admittedly, I was a little concerned about that myself. “My name truly is Georgina Washington. I’m not sure why my parents decided to name their only child after our country’s first president. I’m positive they didn’t think of the teasing I would endure all throughout school. Luckily, my middle name is not Martha, in case any of you were wondering. It’s Marie. Unfortunately, my parents are no longer with us, so they cannot be held accountable for their decision.”

  This prompted a fresh wave of questions about her parents, which Georgie answered with grace. When she finished answering their questions, I stepped back toward the podium. “We have time for one or two more questions.”

  They shouted at us again and I pointed randomly. I knew some of the reporters in attendance, but it was hard to distinguish them from the stage with the sun shining on everyone. “Senator, can you explain Ms. Washington’s absence from virtually your entire campaign until now?”

  I anticipated a question like this and I had been working with Lewis and Jenkins on how to answer it. “Yes, I can. Georgie is a very passionate and dedicated teacher. When I announced my intention to run, I didn’t think it was wise to bring her with me to campaign events. I wanted her to be able to continue her job without being disturbed. She’s not running for president, and neither are her students and colleagues. I didn’t want my campaign to interfere with her career.”

  “Ms. Washington, how do you feel about Senator Martin excluding you from his campaign?”

  There hadn’t been much time to prep Georgie on how to answer questions, so this event was a sort of trial-by-fire. I turned to face her, caging her with my body when she approached the podium. My hand rested firmly on the small of her back, reminding her of my presence. “I wasn’t excluded. I think every woman wants a man who will protect her and that’s what Jameson did. He not only protected me and my privacy, but he also protected my students. Once Jameson received the Democratic nomination for president, we decided together how and when I would officially join his campaign.”

 
; “But that was weeks ago! Why did you wait so long?”

  I wanted this press conference to be over. This dog-and-pony show annoyed me. Georgie was doing great, and she handled their questions perfectly, but I was ready to get back to work.

  “I wanted to enjoy our engagement and focus on that before switching gears. And then I wanted to finalize some policy items and get my campaign running before bringing out my ace-in-the-hole.” It was a bullshit answer and I ended it with a cheeky wink that I knew would distract everyone. They would be talking about how I looked at Georgie, not about my non-answer.

  “We have time for one more question.” I pointed to a reporter who was loyal to our campaign, one who was ready with a question we had planted.

  “Can you show us the ring? Does it have any special meaning?”

  Georgie held out her hand and there was furious click-click-clicking of shutters as photographers snapped picture after picture of her ring. “It’s an antique ring that I found here in Boston. When I saw it, it immediately made me think of Georgie’s big green eyes and I knew it was the one, that she was the one.”

  In a moment that I could only describe as spontaneous, I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed her ring. The gem felt cool against my lips, but the electric jolt that happened the moment I made contact sent a blinding trail of heat through my body. I dared to meet her gaze and found my own shock reflected in her expression. Georgie had felt it too. I smiled tightly before turning back to the podium. “That’s all for today. No more questions. Thank you for coming out.”

  I grabbed Georgie’s hand firmly and ushered her quickly off the stage. Lewis and Jenkins were waiting for us, cold bottles of water in their hands, and we were quickly led to the waiting SUV. I helped Georgie inside before sliding in next to her. One of my aides handed me my phone and I quickly got back into the rhythm of campaigning, desperate to avoid thinking about how I felt the moment my lips connected with her skin.

  I fully expected to discuss the press conference, to be debriefed on the day, and talk about the next steps. I didn’t expect to be ignored. Lewis was in the front seat and Jenkins sat in between me and Jameson. Whatever the two of them were discussing, Jenkins had his back toward me, squishing me and my pretty dress against the door. I guess this was what a fake fiancée should expect, but I felt something more at the press conference. The electric current that surged through me the moment Jameson took my hand and kissed the ring I now wore surprised not only me but based on the way his eyes widened, Jameson too. How could he ignore that?