Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1)

by Rebecca Gallo

  And look pretty, I finished mentally. “Of course.” I smiled tightly and blinked away a few stray tears. I didn’t think my role at these events would be significant, but I felt insulted. I didn’t agree to be Jameson Martin’s arm candy; I agreed to become the next First Lady and it was time to act a little presidential.

  “My mother had breast cancer. I’d like to make a visit to a few hospitals and visit patients and their families. Finding a cure for cancer is just as important to me as fully funding education.”

  “I’ll talk to Sean about it tomorrow. There’s, uh, one other thing we need to discuss.” He sat back, crossing one long leg over the other and stretching out an arm across the back of the couch. “Several media outlets have asked for us to do exclusive interviews. People, US Weekly, even Good Housekeeping. But there’s one that I think we should seriously consider.”

  “Which one?”

  “Vanity Fair.” Was he being serious? Jameson wanted to be in an issue of Vanity Fair? It was almost laughable until I saw his serious expression. “They’ve contracted Sierra Simmons to do an exclusive portrait series.”

  I swallowed hard. Sierra Simmons was pretty much the photographer that celebrities were dying to work with. If Sierra Simmons photographed you, then you were special, and she made all her subjects look breathtaking and surreal. There was such a raw edge to her style that I had always admired. If the magazine wanted Sierra Simmons to photograph us, who was I to turn it down?

  “All right. I’ll agree to that.”

  “You’re being very amenable this evening.” His smile was a little uneven, one corner twisting crookedly. He reached out and caught a lock of my hair between his fingers. He played with it, twisting it around his index finger before he let it go. I held my breath the entire time. The gesture was oddly intimate and the way he looked at me in that split second made my entire body shiver.

  “I’m tired. I’m more agreeable when I’m a little sleepy.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked at me with a sly, wolfish grin and those devilish blue eyes. “Thank you for today, for making it easy.”

  I was taken aback. I made this easy? It seemed like I was making his campaign more difficult, like I was some sort of necessary evil that he needed in order to win. He was hot and cold with me and, right now, he was very, very hot. “You’re welcome.”

  “Go to bed, Georgie.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, his gaze heated.

  “Okay.”

  We stood slowly, together. He took my hand, the one with his ring, and kissed it again. Then he brought his lips to my cheek, lingering there a little too long. I inhaled his clean, spicy scent and closed my eyes. Oh, why couldn’t this be real? Why couldn’t I actually be engaged to this man?

  I turned and disappeared into the room where he had put my suitcase. I was pleased to find my favorite pair of black yoga pants and a soft, oversized gray T-shirt were included in the items that had been packed for me. There were new bottles of shampoo and conditioner, as well as all the other essentials. There were also new clothing items—casual pieces to wear but still maintain an effortless ‘First Lady style’. And my laptop was tucked away in an inside pocket.

  Curiosity tempted this cat, so I quickly booted it up and connected to the secure wireless Internet that had been set up for Jameson’s campaign. I opened a web browser and clicked on one of my favorite gossip sites. My own vanity wanted to see what was being said about my dress and, most importantly, the ring. Everything written was positive. They all gushed over my ring and there were a zillion and a half pictures of Jameson kissing my hand, most of them doctored with hearts and flowers. He was officially a heartthrob, if he hadn’t already been one.

  Then I navigated to a news site I knew would be critical. I had to see the good and the bad together. Jameson’s critics continually took jabs at his bachelor status and his poll numbers reflected skeptical voters. They didn’t trust someone who wasn’t married. And now he suddenly had a fiancée? I could probably guess what they were all saying because it was fishy. Something was rotten in the state of Denmark and it was me.

  I’d be lying if I said I was surprised by how various news outlets were portraying me—as a gold digger. They questioned how someone so powerful and wealthy could meet, fall in love with, and then marry, a poor high school English teacher. They discussed at length my “riches to rags” story. Every news outlet, conservative and liberal and “unbiased”, all questioned my sudden appearance. And I didn’t blame a single one. Democrats had every right to be worried because if our arrangement was revealed, then their candidate was done. Jameson was their best chance at getting back into the White House and I could ruin it.

  I closed my laptop and placed it on the small desk in the bedroom. How was I supposed to sleep now? My mind raced with the headlines I had seen. When I agreed to pose as Jameson Martin’s fiancée, I selfishly thought only of myself. But now, it seemed like the fate of the country rested on my shoulders. That burden could only be eased with two things. Alcohol and chocolate.

  I quietly opened my bedroom door and slipped out into the living area. I had no idea if Jameson was asleep or still awake, but I didn’t want to disturb him. His future was also at stake; everything could be taken away from him in an instant if word got out that our relationship was a sham. That called for raiding whatever I found in the small, but well-stocked, bar in the corner of the suite’s dining area.

  A quick scan of the snacks yielded a seven-dollar bag of peanut M&Ms. I didn’t hesitate in ripping the bag open and devouring the sweet treats. I wasn’t paying for this. I highly doubted that spending an outrageous fortune on candy could be considered a campaign impropriety.

  After a glance at the alcohol, I found my preferred poison, bourbon, and poured myself a glass. It was much more than the normal amount I usually enjoyed. I took my first sip, letting the liquid burn down my throat and warm my insides. A second sip and my head started to feel slightly fuzzy. I reached for my glass to take a third sip, but it was gone. What the hell? Like an idiot, I patted my hands over the countertop, searching for my missing drink. Then I turned and came nose-to-chest with Jameson.

  “I didn’t know you liked bourbon.”

  “What girl doesn’t like bourbon?”

  “A lot of them.” He lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. His normally icy blue eyes were a darker gray-blue that studied me carefully. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “I thought you’d be asleep too. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “You didn’t. I hardly sleep.”

  This was surprising, but informative. I wondered what kept him up at night.

  “Oh. Well, I read one too many Internet articles about myself before bedtime. I needed a little bourbon to chase away the demons.”

  He didn’t look too happy that I admitted to Googling myself. “You shouldn’t read shit like that.”

  “I can’t live in a bubble, Jameson.”

  “I’m not asking you to live in a bubble. I’m just asking you to trust me and my campaign to tell you what you need to know.”

  “I can’t live like that either.”

  Jameson closed his eyes and set the glass tumbler down firmly. A few drops of bourbon splashed out from the force of the impact.

  “What did they say?”

  “Well, all of the gossip and fashion blogs loved my dress and the ring. They went nuts over you kissing my hand.”

  “That’s all you should read. I’ll talk to my IT guys, see if they can block the other news sites from your browser.” He picked up the candy bag on the counter and shook it, a look of disappointment briefly crossing his face when he realized it was empty. I looked at him sheepishly when he turned his questioning gaze on me. He tossed the bag in the trash can and then his gaze darkened to a bit of a smolder. “You did look beautiful today.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “Variations of the same thing. There was a rehash of my
life story. Am I a gold digger? Why would you pick a poor teacher when there are thousands of other, more suitable, women out there? Is this relationship even real?” My voice trailed off because the last part worried me the most.

  “You look concerned. What did they really say?” His eyebrow shot up and his brow wrinkled.

  “I am concerned. Your supporters have every right to be worried about the suddenness of our relationship. If our arrangement leaks, you’re done. I’ll have cost you the election, and them their candidate. They all believe in you so much.”

  “That’s quite the burden you’ve placed on yourself.”

  “That’s why I needed the bourbon.” I took the glass that we had now shared and took my third sip.

  “I’m also responsible for my failure, Georgie. If our arrangement leaks, it’s not just you who’ll have ruined the election. I’ll have ruined it too. This was my arrangement, my idea. You don’t bear this burden alone.” He placed his hands on my shoulders before running them down my arms. He took the glass from my hand and set it next to me on the bar.

  The oversized T-shirt I wore left one of my shoulders exposed. Jameson lowered his head and ran his nose along the ridge of exposed flesh, a whisper of contact that sent delicious tremors of pleasure through my body. I closed my eyes and inhaled his scent, relishing in being close to him again. I felt the warmth of his lips at the base of my neck. He gently kissed his way up to the edge of my jaw, stopping at my cheek. His hands moved to rest on the curve of my hips. I wanted more. More of his touch, his lips, his scent.

  “I have a very important question to ask you.” His voice was low and thick with desire. He placed one more kiss chastely on my cheek.

  My lips were dry and I licked them before finding my voice. “What’s the question?”

  “What’s your favorite Beatles song?” He grinned at me like a Cheshire cat.

  I sighed. “Today, it’s ‘Martha, My Dear’, but tomorrow it will probably change.”

  Jameson picked up the crystal tumbler with the remaining bourbon and swallowed it in one go. He set it back down next to me and winked. “Good answer.” Then he turned and left.

  I remained standing there, propped against the granite bar top, weak-kneed, and in need of a clean pair of panties.

  I was at war with myself. The man who yearned to serve his country, who longed to sit in the Oval Office and serve the people, was currently competing with the man who desired the touch of a woman, who longed to lose himself in the warmth of her flesh. There was no balancing the two. I knew what had to be done because losing meant severe consequences for our country.

  It was also time for me to recognize that this country needed Georgie too. She was passionate about education and about finding a cure for the disease that had afflicted her mother. I’d been foolish to think that the role of the First Lady was marginal. Having a First Lady was more like having a second vice president. I made a mental note to discuss this with Sean and DeWayne in the morning because Georgie would need to learn all my policy proposals.

  I looked at the king-sized bed with despair. I rarely got more than a few hours of sleep, not since I entered the war. The bourbon would help but only slightly. I grabbed my laptop and relaxed on the bed, stretching out my legs. I worked for a few hours, sending and answering emails, making notes about things on which I wanted more information, before I felt my eyes get heavy. I closed my computer, set it on the nightstand, and clicked off the light.

  The alarm woke me from my first restful sleep in years. I only slept for four hours, but it was the best four hours. I was not plagued by an invasion of nightmares. The screams of my brothers didn’t haunt me. The phantom heat of fire burning the Humvee, while I pulled man after man from the blazing inferno, was quenched temporarily. It was only four hours, but I felt like a brand-new man.

  I found a new pleasure in my morning ritual for the first time, taking my time with each task. I ignored the why—why had I gotten a few hours of decent, nightmare-free sleep? The answer was there, I just didn’t want to acknowledge it.

  I chose a light gray suit from the selection that had been brought for me. There was a freshly laundered and starched white shirt hanging in the closet, ready for me as well. I added a dark navy blue tie and my favorite battered Rolex. I looked down at the gold watch, which still shined brightly despite the scratches. My father gave it to me when I graduated West Point and it remained a permanent accessory since that day.

  I emerged from my bedroom at the exact same time Georgie came from hers. She was still in the stretchy black pants that revealed her curves and the loose gray T-shirt that hinted at the swell of her breasts. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she wore a pair of black-framed glasses. She looked bright-eyed and fresh.

  “Good morning. How did you sleep?” I asked, walking toward the dining room table. I picked up the room service menu and scanned it to see what the options were.

  “Pretty good, thank you. How about you?”

  “I managed a few hours. Are you hungry?”

  “I’d kill for some coffee right now.”

  “That can be arranged. The stylists will be here within the hour. You should probably be showered and ready for them. I’ll take care of this.” I waved the menu and gave her a tight smile.

  “I like waffles,” she said, with a childlike grin, before retreating to her room. Of course she liked waffles. She also liked muffins. And dessert. Georgie had a serious sweet tooth.

  I ordered enough food to feed an army because, pretty soon, my own little army would descend upon the suite and my mother raised me to be a good host. Sean arrived first, followed by Lewis and Jenkins.

  “Dude, did you sleep at all?” Sean asked, greeting me with a firm handshake.

  “Four restful hours. Why?”

  “Emails at two a.m.? Really?”

  “I do my best work at night.”

  “Well, one of the aides is bringing over the information you requested for Georgie. I had it all printed and bound for her.”

  “Excellent. Breakfast and coffee will be here soon. I talked to Georgie about some things last night that may need to be added to the schedule.”

  “Like what?”

  “She agreed to the Vanity Fair spread.” He seemed surprised by that bit of information. I too had been stunned by her agreement. I didn’t necessarily want to be featured in Vanity Fair but when they offered up Sierra Simmons, it was hard to turn down. “She also wants to make the rounds at hospitals, visiting with cancer patients and their families.”

  “Good. This is good news for us, buddy!” He smiled gleefully and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, shaking me.

  “What about the poll numbers?”

  “They haven’t come out yet. Give it a few days, though. Let’s get her out to some campaign events, get the public used to her.”

  “Right.” Breakfast was delivered, interrupting my nervous thoughts. I wanted to see the poll numbers. I needed to see them in order to feel confident that this plan was working.

  Everyone started digging in and when Jenkins lifted the dome on the waffles, I snatched it away from him. “Those are Georgie’s. Pick something else.”

  All three men—Jenkins, Lewis, and Sean—looked at me with the same confused expression. “What?”

  “Nothing, man. Nothing. I’m happy to see you in such a good mood.” Sean helped himself to a bagel and coffee, then sat down with Lewis.

  The stylists arrived and I sent them in to Georgie, who still hadn’t reappeared. I followed them because I could only guard her waffle for so long before someone claimed it. She was sitting on a stool in front of a full-length mirror, wrapped in a white, fluffy terry cloth robe.

  “I ordered you a waffle.” I sounded more nervous than I intended. “Do you want me to bring it in here?”

  “Thank you! That would be wonderful.”

  I nodded and left the room to retrieve the plate of food. I also added a side of fresh fruit to her plate and h
ad one of the aides follow me with a carafe of coffee and mugs. I set everything on the desk in her room and before I left, gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek. The stylists didn’t know this relationship wasn’t real.

  I closed the door to her room and returned to my duties. Even though I had already won the official nomination, it felt like the campaign finally started.

  The stylists watched with wide-eyed amusement as Jameson brought me breakfast and then left after a brief kiss. Silently, I savored Jameson’s attention. Since the death of my parents, I didn’t let too many people get close, including men. The affection and attention Jameson showed me awakened something inside of me that I had buried long ago, something I never thought I’d feel again. Desire.

  I sat on the stool, lost in my own thoughts while my hair was blown out and teased into a high ponytail. I was allowed a small reprieve to eat a few bites of the fluffy Belgian waffle and fruit Jameson had ordered for me. I sipped on coffee while my nails were painted and makeup was applied.

  Racks of designer dresses, blouses, and skirts were brought in for my selection. Today’s events were more formal and I wanted to pick something that would last throughout the day. It was also incredibly hot and muggy. In the end, I chose a sleeveless dress that was navy blue with an ivory floral print. The skirt of the dress was pleated with ivory lace inserts and swung beautifully as I walked. The stylists laid out a few accessories for me, but I selected a simple gold chain and pearl earrings. My ring would always be the centerpiece as long as I had it.

  I walked out of the bedroom and all conversation ceased. It was weird to walk into a room full of boisterous men, only to have them stop and stare. It could make a girl feel extremely self-conscious or incredibly confident. The only opinion that mattered, though, was Jameson’s.

  Jameson stepped away from the group and walked toward me. He reached for my hand and I slipped mine easily into his. I held his gaze for a long while, admiring the way he looked in his light gray suit and the perfect way my dress coordinated with his tie.