Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1)

by Rebecca Gallo

  “Jesus, Georgie. What the fuck?” I crouched next to her and the moment I touched her back, she let out a horrific wail. I was terrified. What the fuck happened to her? I kneeled in the sand and slipped my arms under her body, rolling her into my embrace. The wails turned into sobbing.

  “Shh. Shh. It’s okay now.” I tried to soothe her, but her body was wracked by wave after wave of uncontrollable sobs.

  I turned back toward the party just as Sean made his way down to the beach. He spotted us and jogged over.

  “What happened? Is she hurt?” he asked, his eyes scanning her.

  “I have no fucking clue. I just found her like this.” Soon, Lewis and Jenkins approached, and we made a plan to get her out of the party. I tried handing her over to Sean so I could make a final appearance, but she clung tighter the minute I moved.

  “Okay, little darling. Okay.” I walked with her toward a bench at the back of the property. I tried hard to focus, to think of a way to get her out. Then I remembered the emergency kits in the SUVs.

  “Lewis, grab one of the blankets from the emergency kits in the car. We’ll wrap her up and tell everyone she came down suddenly with the flu.” Lewis ran off toward the front of the property.

  “What do you want me to do?” Jenkins asked, his face full of concern.

  “Go with Sean and talk to the host. Make sure he’s happy with all the glad-handing I did. Make my apologies. Promise him whatever he wants.”

  They both nodded and hurried away. Georgie’s sobs quieted down to whimpers. She clung to my shirt, burying her face in the crook of my neck.

  “Don’t worry, little darling. I’ve got you.” I stood, shifting Georgie’s weight in my arms, and made my way toward the valet at the front of the house. Lewis met me halfway and placed the blanket over her. Anyone who saw us would see just the top of Georgie’s head.

  As I passed through the grounds of the estate, there were still clusters of attendees, who occasionally looked our way with curiosity. I didn’t say anything to them. We’d send out a press release tomorrow, canceling all of Georgie’s appearances for the rest of the weekend, with the excuse that she had the flu.

  The SUV was waiting for us when I reached the valet stand and the driver had the door open and waiting. I slid Georgie in first and climbed in behind her, pulling her back into my arms. She hadn’t said a word since I found her on the beach.

  “Are you hurt, little darling?” I whispered.

  She shook her head in response.

  “Okay. We’ll be home soon. And then you can rest.”

  She relaxed a bit and I stroked the honey-colored hair that was now dull and flat. I felt her body soften in my embrace, and I said a silent prayer of relief.

  Our return to the hotel seemed to take forever. When we finally arrived, Lewis and Jenkins were there to help shield Georgie from any wandering eyes or reporters sniffing out a story. We raced through the lobby, into an elevator, and up to our room. Someone managed to open the door and I took Georgie through to my bedroom.

  I sat her down on the bed and removed the blanket from around her. Her face was red and blotchy, her eyes practically swollen shut. And yet, she still looked beautiful. I left her briefly to politely ask everyone to leave us, after assuring them I’d call in a few hours with an update. I knew if I wanted Georgie to talk, it was going to have to be just the two of us.

  Before I returned to the bedroom, I poured her a double bourbon. I carried it with me but stopped at the threshold of the bedroom. Georgie was tearing at her clothes in a frantic rush to get them off. I set the glass down on the dresser and went to her, stilling her furious hands from inflicting further damage. I carefully lifted the blouse she wore over her head and she immediately covered her chest. I slid her shorts down her legs, which prompted her to cringe and whimper like a frightened animal. She stepped out of them and tried to hide her body from me.

  “I won’t look, I promise. Just take my hand.” I held out my hand and she took it, holding tightly. I led her to the bathroom and turned the taps on in the shower.

  “Do you want me to stay or go?” I asked, helpless. If she didn’t want me to see her body, then most likely, she didn’t want any additional help.

  “You can go,” she mumbled.

  “Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need me.” I left her, standing next to the shower, looking so broken and fragile that I almost stayed. I closed the door behind me and then slid down the wall, sitting on the floor.

  I heard her moving around in the bathroom, which I took as a good sign. Then she began to cry. It was an inhuman, animalistic howl. I scrambled to my feet and pushed the bathroom door open. Modesty be damned. She needed help.

  I found Georgie scrubbing at her skin with a washcloth, roughly dragging it across her body, rubbing furiously. I stepped into the shower behind her, paying no attention to the fact that I was fully clothed. She didn’t notice me until I wrapped my arms around her tightly. She dropped the cloth and together, we tumbled to the cold tile floor. I held her against my body, murmuring soothing words until she calmed. Georgie held tightly to my arm, breathing heavily.

  “I think it’s time to get out.” I helped her stand and left her in the shower for a moment while I grabbed some towels. My sopping wet clothes dripped all over the marble tile floor, but I hardly noticed. I wrapped Georgie in a fluffy cotton towel before handing her a second towel, which she twisted around her hair. She remained frozen to one spot in the bathroom while I peeled off my clothes. I kept my damp boxer briefs on and discarded the remaining clothes in the shower. I wrapped a towel around my waist before guiding Georgie forward with a gentle hand on her back.

  When we re-entered the bedroom, I handed her the glass of bourbon I had abandoned. “Drink this.”

  Georgie sat on the edge of the bed, holding the glass tightly, and took small sips. I watched her from the corner of my eye as I moved around the room and got dressed. She seemed oblivious to the fact that I had seen more than just a glimpse of her body.

  When I was completely dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, I sat next to her. I took the glass of bourbon from Georgie’s hands and swallowed the rest. Then I linked our hands together.

  “That’s my ring on your finger, Georgie.” We both looked at the sparkling stone surrounded by diamonds. “That means I’ll protect you. That means, on some level, I have a commitment to you. A duty to make sure you’re at least happy and safe.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks. I turned toward her and wiped them away with the pad of my thumb.

  “I’m tired,” she finally spoke. Her voice sounded thick and foreign.

  “Okay. Climb under the covers.”

  “You want me to stay?”

  I saw sadness and fear mixed with disbelief in her eyes. I touched my forehead to hers and gently stroked her cheek with the back of my fingers.

  “Of course, little darling,” I whispered. I placed a light kiss on her cheek before leaving the bedroom to retrieve the black yoga pants and gray T-shirt she slept in. I handed them to her and she rewarded me with an appreciative smile. She disappeared into the bathroom to change, returning a few minutes later.

  I let Georgie take the lead. I followed her movements because I feared I had already overstepped some boundaries. She moved toward one side of the bed and I headed toward the opposite side. I watched her pull back the covers and slide in, before doing the same. I remained motionless while she adjusted herself. As much as I wanted to pull her back into my arms, I didn’t want to scare her away. I let her decide what she wanted from me.

  And Georgie wanted to be held. When we both settled in bed, she slid her petite body next to mine. She nudged my arms until I opened them and then wiggled into my embrace. I wrapped my arms tightly around her, cocooning her, shielding her, comforting her.

  “Do you know a man named Russell Atlee?” She must have felt safe enough to finally talk.

  Russell Atlee? The name bounced around in my head, but I came up with nothing.r />
  “I’ve never heard of him. Why?”

  Georgie stiffened. Maybe she was surprised to learn that I didn’t know Russell Atlee.

  “Was he at the fundraiser tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  My body filled with dread. I knew the questions I had to ask next and I hated that.

  “Did he approach you tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  Instinctively, I held on to her tighter. Her voice was so quiet, barely a whisper.

  “What did he want?”

  “Payment.” Georgie’s body trembled. Even though I held her, whatever Russell Atlee had done on that beach still scared her.

  “Payment? What the fuck does that mean?” Different scenarios played out in my mind. I immediately thought the worst. Shit! Had this asshole raped her? Had I fucked up when I put her in the shower and now all of the evidence of his crime was down the drain?

  I gently turned Georgie so she was on her back, and I hovered over her. If she was raped by this cocksucker, then I wanted to look into her eyes. I wanted her to see me there, ready to kill for her. She turned her face away from me, but I placed a firm finger under her chin and tipped it back.

  “Tell me, Georgie. What did he do to you?”

  “I can’t tell you. Not yet.”

  I knew that I was pushing her and I felt like a horrible bastard for doing it.

  “Then tell me what you can, Georgie.”

  “He said he knows this is all a scheme and he is going to expose us.” She pointed a trembling finger toward the floor. “He gave me his card.”

  I immediately scrambled out of bed, flipped on a light, and searched her pile of clothes. I sifted through them until I found the torn remnants of her shirt. I reached inside the pocket but there was no business card. Frantically, I shook out the shorts and looked around until I saw a tiny white card on the carpet, peeking out from underneath the bed. I snatched it up and shoved it into the pocket of my sweats. I glanced up and saw twin pools of emerald green staring back at me. She looked like a frightened rabbit. I walked toward Georgie’s side of the bed and sat on the edge. I leaned forward slightly and gently ran my knuckles along her cheekbone. She tilted her head slightly and closed her eyes. I kissed the top of her head before heading out to the living room.

  I called Sean. “Russell Atlee. I want to know everything about him.” I didn’t wait for Sean to respond before hanging up. It was a simple command and the only thing I needed to say. My phone immediately started ringing again. Sean’s name appeared on the screen. I sighed in frustration and answered.

  “Not now, Sean,” I said.

  “Just tell me if she’s okay and I won’t bug you until morning.”

  “Physically, she’s okay.”

  “Thank God. Oh, and I cancelled your day tomorrow.”

  I felt relieved. I didn’t want to go out and give my stump speeches and shake hands while leaving Georgie alone. “I appreciate that. Call me when you know who Atlee is.”

  I hung up and returned to the bedroom. Georgie was sitting up in bed, the top sheet and comforter pooled around her waist. She looked nervous and worried, chewing on her bottom lip.

  “You should be asleep,” I said softly.

  She turned toward me as I slid back into bed. “Will you do something for me?”

  “I’ll do just about anything for you.”

  “Will you kiss me again? The way you kissed me at the community center?”

  “Georgie, I’m not sure that’s the best thing.” But God, I wanted to kiss her. I could tell my rejection stung.

  She nodded her head quickly and her lower lip trembled. Then she pulled the covers over her and turned away from me. I sighed out of frustration because the last thing I wanted was for her to feel rejected by me.

  I slid next to her, molding my large body protectively to her. I gently kissed the exposed flesh on her neck and I felt her flinch and tremble. “You’re not ready, Georgie. Whatever he did is still so fresh in your mind that wherever I touch or kiss, all you’ll feel is fear.”

  Georgie gripped my forearms firmly until I felt her relax into my embrace.

  I couldn’t go to sleep without knowing one thing. “Can I ask you one question?”

  She nodded.

  “Did he rape you?”

  “No,” she said, quietly but resolutely.

  I closed my eyes and silently said a prayer of thanks.

  “Go to sleep, little darling. Everything will look better in the morning.”

  Sleeping was difficult, but I managed a few hours in between nightmarish images of Russell Atlee’s hands all over my body. His words swirled around in my mind. My fear intensified at the idea that our arrangement would be uncovered. Each time I woke, Jameson was right there, ready to chase away the monster. I gravitated toward his strong embrace like a magnet. I used the safety I felt there like an anchor.

  When morning finally arrived, I remained shrouded in the dark bedroom while Jameson slid out of bed and went to work. I asked myself over and over, why was I doing this? What was I doing? Was this scheme worth it to not only ruin my life but Jameson’s life too? I had only the easy answers. I couldn’t stomach the difficult ones.

  Through the closed bedroom door, I heard the muffled sound of his voice, often raised. I felt sorry for whomever he was talking to. The door to the suite opened and closed several times throughout the morning and new voices were added in addition to Jameson’s thunderous baritone.

  I finally managed to drag myself out of bed and into the shower. The scalding hot spray was soothing even as it turned my skin pink. When I finished, I realized I had a dilemma. All my clothes were in my bedroom. My options were to rummage through Jameson’s luggage, hoping to find a T-shirt, or put on the hotel robe and belt it tight. I didn’t think rifling through Jameson’s belongings was a good idea, so I opted for the robe.

  All eyes were on me the moment I stepped out of the bedroom. Jameson was huddled with Sean, Lewis, Jenkins, and a severe-looking man with a snow-white buzz cut. Jameson stepped away from the group and walked toward me. He was dressed casually in jeans and a faded U2 T-shirt. His feet were bare and his hair was a gorgeous disheveled mass of inky blackness.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, smirking.

  I hadn’t looked at the clock when I got up, but the time didn’t surprise me.

  “Hello,” I replied sheepishly.

  “How are you feeling?” That was certainly a loaded question.

  “I’m okay.” There was one part of me that wasn’t okay. My stomach. It growled loudly and Jameson and I both laughed. I didn’t eat at the fundraiser and slept through breakfast. My stomach was staging a protest.

  “I thought you might be hungry, so I ordered you breakfast…and lunch.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  He reached out and lightly squeezed my waist before returning to his group. I headed to my room and quickly changed into a pair of black leggings and a yellow sleeveless tunic. I braided my now damp hair and patted on moisturizer. My face was so blotchy and swollen from crying that I didn’t even bother with concealer.

  There were significantly less eyes on me when I returned to the suite’s living area. Sean, Lewis, Jenkins, and the guy with white hair were all gone. But the atmosphere in the suite remained tense.

  “Where did everyone go?” I asked Jameson, who was sitting at the dining table, hunched over his laptop. My lunch was spread out on the table opposite him, waiting for me to devour it. I walked hesitantly over and sat down.

  “To do their jobs.” Jameson looked up from his laptop and smiled pleasantly. His eyes, though, were still filled with concern.

  I pushed around the salad on the plate in front of me, my appetite suddenly gone. Last night reminded me of the one feeling I hate most in the world—helplessness.

  “Georgie,” Jameson said tentatively.

  I set the fork down next to the plate. “When my dad lost all his money, I felt awful. I couldn’t do anything to h
elp their situation. I watched my parents struggle day after day, trying to regain just a fraction of what they lost. And I watched my dad fight to keep that goddamn house because it meant everything to my mother. To me.”

  Inhaling deeply, I managed to finally find courage to meet his hard stare. “I don’t want to feel powerless in this arrangement. You have a weakness now.”

  “You’re not a weakness, Georgie.”

  I snorted derisively in response. “Tell that to Russell Atlee.” I could tell from the hard look on Jameson’s face and the way the muscle in his jaw ticked that he didn’t appreciate my attitude. I sighed; this was a moment for honesty. “Russell Atlee thought he could use me. He thought I was expendable and that was the worst feeling in the world. I don’t want to just stand next to you, smiling and waving. I want to do more for you, for the campaign.”

  “Tell me what he did, what he said,” Jameson whispered, his voice laced with concern.

  “Jameson, I don’t want to talk about it,” I stated matter-of-factly. I already felt like an open wound. I didn’t want to bleed out anymore.

  “I don’t want to push you, Georgie, but I need to know what happened.”

  The thought of telling Jameson every vile detail made my stomach churn. How could I describe the way I felt when Russell Atlee touched me or how his breath was a hot hiss against my ear? I always believed that I was a woman who would fight back, but when Russell’s hands groped and grabbed, I froze. I was too embarrassed and ashamed to admit I wasn’t strong enough to resist him.

  I stood and walked away, heading toward the living room. I sat down on one of the plush sofas and grabbed the remote, turning on the television. Jameson apparently didn’t play the avoidance game because he joined me. He took the remote from my hand and clicked off the television.

  “Fine, then let’s talk about what happened at the community center.”

  I groaned. I didn’t want to talk about that either, but at least it was a slightly more pleasant topic than Russell Atlee. “I’m not a fan of that topic either.”