Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1)

by Rebecca Gallo

  “I’m aware. Your rejection still stings, twenty-four hours later.”

  My rejection? I turned my gaze on him, shocked. He felt rejected? All week, the connection we shared simmered and was nurtured with every display of affection we put on for the masses of people who showed up to campaign events. Every touch, every chaste kiss or heated gaze that wasn’t genuinely given, felt like rejection.

  “It was spontaneous. I told you.”

  “I know what you said, but you didn’t hear what I had to say.” Jameson shifted on the couch so his entire body faced me, and I felt it was only fair to do the same. He reached out and took my hand, brushing his thumb along the back.

  “There’s nothing more that I want, that I desire, than to serve my country in its highest office. I truly believe it’s what I was born to do. I’ve spent every waking moment focused entirely on that one goal and nothing was going to stand in my way. I even foolishly thought I could be the next bachelor president because I’ve been married to this country for so long.”

  I placed a firm hand on Jameson’s chest. I didn’t want him to continue. “Jameson, don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  Jameson exhaled loudly and looked away. “Then tell me what you want, Georgie. What promises can I make?”

  I swallowed the hard lump in my throat. Russell Atlee made me feel disposable. This arranged engagement made me feel weaker than I’d felt in a long time. I didn’t want to be a burden, even though this whole deal Jameson and I had was a giant wrecking ball of liability.

  “Promise to make me a part of the campaign. Promise me I’m more than just a campaign gimmick.”

  Confusion clouded his face. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t just want to smile and wave, Jameson! Give me something to do. I can help with communications—emails, memos, speeches. Let me be more than what I already am.”

  “Okay. I promise.” He nodded and I felt my whole body relax.

  Jameson’s large, warm hand slid around my body and he pulled me flush against his body. He looked down at me with a hard, smoldering gaze. My heart thundered in my chest as I waited for him to make his next move.

  “I’m not going to promise you anything else, Georgie, because the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But I think there’s something between us. I’m not going to push it because I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I’m not going to fight it either because I’m still a man. Every wall I put up, I will tear down to eventually get to you.”

  For the next few days, Georgie and I worked together to define these new parameters in our relationship. She went with me to community centers, town halls, and union halls during the day, giving her short speech about how I was ‘the one’, which my speech writers polished up just a bit, and at night, she accompanied me to fundraising events. When we had a free moment, she was learning from the communications director of my campaign.

  Behind the scenes, my campaign was tense. I had people working around the clock to find out who Russell Atlee was, what he knew, who he worked for, and who might have leaked any information. We watched the news like hawks, keeping well-trained eyes on any story about Georgie. We made sure to keep our friends in the media close and to constantly bug them for information. In the weeks that followed since Georgie’s, for lack of a better word, attack, Russell Atlee had not made one move. It was possible that he was bluffing, but my gut told me otherwise.

  With three weeks until the first debate, Georgie and I were eager to finally leave New York City and begin touring the country. She slept with me every night in the back of the campaign bus and every night, my fucking heart broke over and over as she whimpered and twitched in her sleep. I felt guilty knowing that having her in my bed was the reason why I now slept comfortably. I hadn’t had a single nightmare in weeks.

  I was still on edge, though, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I constantly worried about when Russell Atlee would strike. And when I wasn’t thinking about Russell Atlee, I was thinking about Georgie. Every day, I wanted more and more of her, but I stopped myself from taking. That’s not to say I didn’t steal on occasion. I took advantage of every kiss she gave me at events. I found little ways to show her affection, to communicate my desire. Small brushes along the back of her neck, a hand on the small of her back, holding her hand walking in and out of events. There was still a tension between us because I knew that she too was worried about Russell Atlee.

  “Can we please stop here?” Georgie was looking out of the window at something, her face filled with excitement. We were stopped in Myrtle Beach with ten days left before we headed to Boston for the first debate.

  “Where?” I asked, moving to sit next to her. I looked out the window and saw what appeared to be a ’50s style diner. It was all chrome, neon lights, and glass, and advertised ‘the world’s best milkshakes’.

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  George turned to me. Her expression told me she was indeed serious about stopping at this place. “Jameson, I take milkshakes very seriously. If this place claims to have the best milkshakes in the entire world, then I need to inspect.”

  I laughed and placed a light kiss on her nose. “Fine, we’ll stop.”

  Georgie and I, as well as a small team of my aides and security, entered the throwback diner. It was clear the patrons favored my opponent, but I didn’t mind being in enemy territory. In fact, with Georgie by my side, I marched proudly into it.

  The hostess seemed quite overwhelmed by the sheer size of our party and scrambled to quickly accommodate us. Georgie and I sat in a booth by ourselves and she excitedly ordered a chocolate milkshake, her green eyes sparkling with pleasure.

  Behind Georgie, I noticed Sean gathered with Lewis, Jenkins, and a few members of the security team. That was not a good sign. Georgie couldn’t see them because her back faced the small group of men, and if Russell Atlee had finally made good on his promise to release those photographs, then it was for the best. I didn’t want to excuse myself unless absolutely necessary because I didn’t want to overreact. If one of them made eye contact, then I would go. Until then, I remained focused on the woman in front of me, who was now greedily sucking down a chocolate milkshake. I adjusted myself, tantalized by the way her mouth wrapped around the bright red straw.

  “Do you think they’d let me?” I hadn’t realized Georgie was talking because I was so enamored by her lips doing other things.

  “Let you do what?”

  “Learn how to make one of these milkshakes. This is seriously the best milkshake I’ve ever had. We need these in the White House.” Her exuberance made me laugh.

  “We can ask.” I stopped the server as she passed and inquired about whether or not Georgie would be able to sneak back behind the old-fashioned counter and learn how to operate the milkshake machine. The server looked confused but said she’d ask the manager. Within a few minutes, Georgie was happily distracted behind the counter. And I could find out what was happening.

  The group was still gathered in the corner of the restaurant and now they were all staring at me as I made my way over. Their expressions told me I was not about to hear good news.

  “Tell me,” I commanded, my voice low because I didn’t want Georgie to think anything was wrong should she look this way.

  “Our contact at the Times said they received some photographs of Georgie.” Lewis looked like he was about to pass out.

  “And?” I wanted to know what the Times was going to do with the images, and if any more news outlets had received the photographs.

  “They have no plans to run the photographs. But…” I swear, Lewis was going to be sick. He looked green and was sweating heavily.

  “Someone’s already run them, haven’t they?”

  Lewis nodded and then exhaled; his hot, heavy breath blew across my face.

  “Who?”

  “Some of the gossip sites.”

  Some? That meant more than one. Fuck! And the way that Lewis, Jenkins, and Sean were lookin
g at one another meant it was more than just gossip sites.

  “And some of the more conservative pundit websites.”

  “Talk to me about damage control.”

  We strategized and, every so often, I looked back at the counter to see Georgie throw back her head with sheer joy and laugh. Customers were lined up now, waiting to get their next milkshake made by Georgie Washington, possible First Lady. She gladly posed for pictures or took selfies and the entire time, she was oblivious to the fact that her world was crumbling.

  “I want to see those pictures. Now.”

  Sean shook his head and then motioned for me to follow him. We walked out of the restaurant and back onto the bus. He took out his phone and opened a browser, which was already pre-loaded with one of the gossip sites.

  I still had no clue who the fuck Russell Atlee was. He was like a goddamn ghost. Even our contacts in the Republican Party didn’t know him. I hoped that if I saw his picture then I could figure out his identity.

  The pictures loaded quickly one by one and I only saw red. His face was shadowed, but Georgie’s face was clear. It was also clear she was uncomfortable. I was finally able to see what Georgie refused to tell me. The hands of her tormentor all over her body, touching and groping her so intimately that it was a miracle she let me near. I grabbed Sean’s phone out of his hand and smashed it against the side of the bus. I’d buy him a new one later. These assholes published evidence of a sexual assault and it needed to come down.

  “Get the lawyers on the phone. This shit needs to be removed. NOW!” The bus vibrated with my roar. “And get her the fuck back on the bus.”

  Sean nodded and left. I needed to be alone, to calm down before she returned because if she saw me like this, then she’d immediately know something was wrong. I had to be able to tell her this myself, to tell her calmly, and to hold her when she inevitably began to cry.

  Lewis and Jenkins were the first ones back on the bus. “Move up the Sierra Simmons shoot. We need that done ASAP. We need America to see Georgie as their next First Lady, not as the woman in those fucking pictures.”

  They nodded, taking notes on their phones. I paced the length of the bus, wearing a path in the carpeting. “And find out where the fuck those photos came from. Tell our friend at the Times we owe him for his tip but find out who sent those photographs. We need to go after anyone who publishes those pictures and anyone who distributes them.”

  Through the bus’s wide front windshield, I could see Georgie saying goodbye to the small crowd that had gathered. She left them with huge, bright smiles and hugs. Sean escorted her out and I knew now was the time to get my shit together.

  “Leave us,” I demanded quietly once Georgie was back on the bus. Her face was bright and full of excitement, and I felt guilty knowing I was about to crush her. Sean, Lewis, and Jenkins left the bus and joined the other aides on a second bus, in what Georgie called our ‘campaign caravan’. I commanded the driver to get back on the road.

  Georgie was still oblivious to what was happening. I turned back toward her to find her in the rear of the bus, humming happily and rummaging through her suitcase. I made my way down the narrow hallway that led to the bedroom and entered it, closing the door behind me.

  “Thank you so much for stopping! I had the best time learning how to make milkshakes. Those are definitely on my White House must-have list.”

  “You have a White House must-have list?” I chuckled at the thought. Who knew what else she was dreaming up? It was quite possible that she was trying to come up with a way to serve chicken tenders at a State dinner.

  “There’s actually something I’ve wanted to ask you.” She looked nervous, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

  I reached out and gently touched it. She looked up at me with those big, green eyes that sometimes seemed to swallow me whole. We had become familiar enough that these intimate touches lost their awkwardness.

  “What is it, little darling?”

  “When my parents died, I had to sell a lot of things, but the antiques dealer in town wouldn’t buy my father’s desk. So, it’s sitting in storage. It’s been in my family for generations.”

  I held up a hand, stopping her. I knew what she wanted, what she was going to ask.

  “We’ll bring it to the White House. I’ll put it in my private office. Or, you can have it in your own office.”

  Georgie launched herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck. I caught her around the waist and held her close as our lips met in a hard, fast kiss. Her lips were slightly chilled, no doubt from the milkshake she’d just consumed, and they had a milky sweetness to them. I could feast on them for days, maybe even weeks. We broke apart after a moment, both of us panting heavily.

  “You really are the most wonderful man, Jameson.”

  “And you’re an extraordinary woman, Georgie.” I studied her face carefully. There was no way I could tell her what had happened; there was no way I could break her heart.

  “But I have to tell you something.”

  “But I have to tell you something.”

  Those words echoed in my brain. I just had the most wonderful evening, doing something totally spontaneous, and now I was filled with dread.

  “Strip.” Jameson’s voice was low and commanding.

  “What?” I sounded confused, but I heard his request loud and clear. How was getting naked supposed to make this situation better?

  “Take off your clothes, Georgie.” Jameson began to undress. Despite the touches and affectionate moments of the last few weeks, nudity had never been a part of this equation. We slept in the same bed, but I hadn’t gotten more than a peek of Jameson’s skin.

  Jameson started unbuttoning the thin, linen shirt that he favored in warmer climates. I watched him work the buttons as inch by inch, his solid, muscled chest became visible. He shrugged it off and it drifted to the floor. His hands then started working on his belt buckle. My nerves intensified with every article of clothing he removed. I looked up at him, wondering why clothing was not required for the news he was about to deliver.

  “What I must tell you will strip you emotionally, so you might as well be naked. I’m not going to tell you again. Strip. Or I’ll gladly do it for you.” His smile was sly and crooked and even though what he was about to tell me was probably awful, he was still a man. I was still a woman. And the desire that radiated between us was almost palpable.

  My fingers trembled as I lifted the hem of my coral pink top. As soon it cleared my head and landed on the floor, Jameson’s mouth was hot against my skin. I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. His large hands held my waist firmly, fusing our bodies together. He kissed my neck and the swell of my breasts. With one slight motion, he pushed me back onto the bed. Sometime between taking off my shirt and landing on the bed, Jameson’s pants disappeared. He only wore a pair of black boxer briefs. I glanced down at the sizeable bulge and swallowed. Jesus, I was in trouble.

  Jameson struck, covering me with his big body. His hands slid up my thighs and under my skirt, skimming along the lace edge of my panties. His lips were everywhere—my neck, my shoulders, my chest. He devoured me like a man starved. The heady combination of his mouth and hands was like a drug, intoxicating and lethal.

  “God, you’re so soft. And you fucking smell like a chocolate-covered strawberry.” He kissed me softly once, twice, until his kisses became deeper, more urgent. My body was his personal buffet. “You taste like one too.”

  As wonderful as Jameson felt, his words were on a constant loop in my mind. “Jameson,” I pleaded in between heated kisses.

  He stopped and touched our foreheads together. “I know, little darling. I know you want me to tell you, but not yet.”

  Jameson went back to work, distracting me with his delicious hands buried deep under my skirt. One finger slipped beneath the elastic band of my underwear and gently traced my flesh. Emboldened by the small whimper that escaped my lips, he added more of his wicked fingers. He teased me
with light strokes across my folds, and then with the faintest of touches to my clit. Hot tremors of desire coursed through my body. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moaned with pleasure.

  Jameson momentarily paused his exploration of the most intimate areas of my body. I let out a whine of protest, which elicited a deep chuckle. I squeaked with surprise when his hands grabbed both the waistband of my skirt and my panties, and he tugged them down my body. It didn’t register that I was almost completely naked until Jameson growled with hunger.

  “I cannot wait to taste you.” His voice was practically feral.

  I wanted to enjoy this moment badly. I wanted to be consumed by the desire that surged through my entire body, but I couldn’t. Jameson had something to tell me and I knew it was going to be bad.

  “Jameson, please. Tell me.” I looked up at him, his body still hovering over mine. The primal hunger I saw in his clear blue eyes dissipated and was replaced by anger. And worry. And defeat.

  I sat up and started to cover myself with the bedsheet, but Jameson held up a hand to stop me. He reached around and unhooked my bra, letting the straps fall to the sides. I slid it off and let it slip to the floor. Then Jameson stood and removed his boxer briefs. There were no more barriers. All that remained would be whatever ugly truth Jameson was about to reveal.

  We both slid beneath the covers, Jameson drawing me close, using his body like a shield. “Russell Atlee made his move.”

  He didn’t have to say any more. I knew what he meant. “Did you see the pictures?”

  “Yes.”

  “You saw what he did? What I was too embarrassed to tell.” I turned away from him, ashamed. The images of that night on the beach flashed through my mind and I shuddered. Jameson placed a firm hand on my bare shoulder and pulled me to face him. In the dim light of the bedroom, his normally clear blue eyes were a dark sapphire.

  “Embarrassed?” he asked in a firm whisper.

  “I was frozen. I wanted to fight back, but his hands locked me in place.” I sounded more panicked than I meant. It felt important to me that Jameson know I didn’t want that man’s hands on me. That I didn’t somehow invite him to touch me.