Frustrated that my connection to him was now gone, I headed upstairs. A small army of chefs had taken over Jameson’s gourmet kitchen, starting their dinner preparation. The aromas coming from what they’d already prepared smelled divine. Garlic, oregano, parmesan. My mouth watered. I wandered around, observing the hustle and bustle. Jameson was nowhere in sight. A makeshift office was set up in the formal living room at the front of the house, and members of the campaign staff were preparing documents and assembling packets of information. I kept moving around the house, up to the third level where, in addition to Jameson’s master bedroom, was also Jameson’s office. I hadn’t been in that room, but once I reached the landing, I could hear him again. His voice was so distinct, so smooth and rich, that I would know it anywhere. I gravitated toward the sound and stood just outside his office, listening to his conversation.
The only other person in the room beside Jameson was Sean. Their conversation sounded boring, but it didn’t matter to me. What mattered was that Jameson was on the other side of that door, and this was the closest I had been to him all day long. I pressed a hand to the door, hoping for some sort of connection. I nearly fell into his office when the door opened suddenly.
I was face-to-face with Sean, who looked just as surprised. I quickly righted myself and sprinted away, seeking refuge in the spare bedroom. I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart racing. I didn’t want to be caught loitering outside of his office; I’d just wanted to be close.
The door opened, and I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.
“Can I come in?” Jameson asked softly.
“It’s your house.” I scolded myself for the flippant tone.
“But this is your space and I won’t disturb it if you don’t want me.”
Of course I want you, I wanted to scream. After last night, I wanted him even more.
“It’s fine. Come in.” I turned slightly and out of the corner of my eye, I could see him fully enter the room. He sat next to me and I noticed that he wore a well-worn pair of jeans that had several tears and holes, and an Eagles concert T-shirt.
“Did you want something?” Almost absentmindedly, Jameson picked up my left hand and began toying with the ring I wore. He twisted and turned it and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the glittering emerald. There was a deep crease in the middle of his brow, as if he was concentrating intensely on something.
“No.” I couldn’t bring myself to admit that I was lurking just to hear his voice.
“Then why were you outside my office?” He finally looked up and our eyes met, blue and green. Emerald and aquamarine.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. It was the best I could come up with, because there was no logical reason for me to be there.
“I think I know.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick with an unnamed emotion.
“You do?” I looked up at him, surprised. What could he possibly think?
He leaned forward, sliding his large hand against my cheek, and pressed our foreheads together. “I missed you too.”
I sucked in a shaky breath and swallowed the lump that instantly formed in my throat. I reached up to grasp his bicep and held on tightly. “I missed you so much.”
“I know, Georgie. And I’m sorry for being an asshole, for snapping at you…for not telling you about the tape. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
“Jameson, I can deal with that. I can deal with all of that. But I need to know that there’s a place for me in your life. I don’t want to just be a campaign gimmick. I want to be more.”
Jameson inhaled sharply and pressed his hand firmly to my cheek. His expression told me he was just as confused. I tilted my head into his touch and reached up to place my hand over his. He was thinking about me, about us. What more could I ask from him? “I know. I don’t have an answer for that yet. I’m figuring it all out still.”
I felt a little lighter, telling him what I wanted. I didn’t know how long I could wait for him to decide, but at least he knew.
“It’s okay,” I finally replied. He smiled tightly and then placed his arm around my shoulders, pulling me against his body. He kissed the top of my head before letting go.
“We have to get ready. Everyone will be here soon.”
“Are Avon and DeWayne coming tonight?”
“Yes, they’ll be here. Apparently, you, my mom, and Avon need to talk with the stylists about your debate outfits. Whatever you choose to wear is symbolic or something. I think it’s a bunch of horseshit, but Lewis and Jenkins swear it’s true. I had to listen to them ramble for twenty minutes about dresses versus pantsuits.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. I knew exactly what Lewis and Jenkins meant. My appearance was a reflection of Jameson, of his campaign. I needed to convey the right message with my wardrobe. Maybe it would be the perfect time to wear a scarlet red dress.
“Absolutely not!” That was the reaction of not only Jameson, but also Lewis, Jenkins, and Sean.
“You’re not Hester Prynne and I’m certainly not Arthur fucking Dimmesdale.” Jameson’s tone was incredulous as he looked over the gorgeous red dress I held out in front of me. It was so beautiful and I looked amazing in red. Disappointed, I put the dress back on the rack and looked at my other options.
Jameson came up behind me and slipped an arm around my waist. He nuzzled my hair and I heard an inhale of breath. “You could wear a paper bag and you would still be gorgeous.”
I smiled at his compliment and then he was gone, disappearing upstairs with all the other men while I remained with Avon and Ruth.
“Did you and Jameson have a talk last night?” Ruth inquired.
I shook my head. “He had a nightmare last night. I asked him to tell me about it.”
I heard Ruth gasp and looked over to see her covering her surprise with a hand. “He hardly ever talks about that.”
I understood. I rarely talked about the haunting dreams of my parents. It was a private pain, one that wasn’t easily shared.
“We talked a little bit earlier today, though. He doesn’t know what he wants and I made it clear exactly what I wanted. I want him, with or without the Oval.”
“I clearly missed something,” Avon interjected, her gorgeous toffee-colored eyes darting between me and Ruth.
“Jameson and I are at an impasse right now. I don’t want to just be some campaign ploy, used to get him to the White House. He has to figure out my role in his life.”
“You mean, the two of you aren’t the real deal? It sure looked that way on that video.” Avon smiled like the cat that just ate the canary, and I couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on my cheeks. “Not to mention, you both act like it when you’re around each other. You’re like two magnets, drawn to each other.”
“I guess we put on a good show.” I shrugged off the rest of her comment.
“Honey, you cannot fake the way he looks at you.”
“I guess I’ve never paid much attention to how he looks at me.” Because I am always too busy looking at him, I added mentally.
“Well, then I suggest you Google yourself because if he doesn’t want you for real, then that man is a true politician.” She glanced over at Ruth and smiled shyly. “Sorry, Mrs. Martin.”
“I’m not offended. Jameson can be stubborn. When he sets his mind on accomplishing a goal, he gets tunnel vision. It’s all he can see. He’s been that way his whole life and he’s never let anything, or anyone, distract him. Until now. He’s never brought someone home for us to meet. Every relationship he’s had has been casual, or only lasted a few months. His drive and tenacity are things I both love and hate about him. He never lets anyone in, except Sean.”
I flopped onto a large, overstuffed armchair. It was just the three of us in the room; the stylists left after the red dress was vetoed. I guess what was happening was some form of girl talk. I needed to vent about Jameson and how I felt, and I needed to hear what Avon and Ruth had to say because I didn’t want to make the wrong decision. I was head
over heels in love with Jameson and if I was imagining things, then I needed to figure that out now. But Ruth and Avon both said the same thing: something was there. I just had to wait for Jameson to realize it.
Avon approached the clothing rack that had been left behind by the stylists. She wrapped her hand around a hanger and pulled out the garment. It was a navy blue skirt suit covered with bold, white polka dots. The jacket had short sleeves and flared out from the waist. “For the record, I think you should wear this.”
“Oh! And I have the perfect monogram pin! And it’s made with rubies too,” Ruth added.
“Watch out, Hester Prynne, there’s a new sinner in town!” I exclaimed, and our laughter filled the room. Our conversation melted into lighter topics and for the first time in what felt like months, I was relaxed and happy.
It took a lot of convincing on my part, but after everyone left that night, I managed to get Georgie back in my bed. I had two shitty nights of sleep and I wasn’t about to add a third, especially the night before the first debate. I didn’t lay a finger on her, even though I had the urge to stroke her soft, silky skin and bury my face in her strawberry-scented hair. Instead, I stayed away, reading over my notes while she slept quietly next to me. When I started to succumb to exhaustion, I sank down into the mattress and like a selfish bastard, reached out and pulled her tightly against my body. I was ashamed to admit how much I needed her but not enough to leave her alone.
The next morning, I woke up to an empty bed, but a glance at the clock revealed I had gotten eight hours of peaceful sleep. Eight whole hours! I couldn’t remember the last time I slept for longer than five. It was a matter of hours before my campaign descended on the house, so I slipped out of bed, pulling on a pair of loose pajama pants, and went in search of Georgie.
She was seated at the round kitchen table, bathed in a shaft of sunlight. Her honey-blond hair sparkled like a halo around her head. She held a coffee mug in one hand while she studied a large, leather-bound book in front of her.
“What’s that?” I asked, as I walked into the kitchen. There was still coffee in the pot and I poured myself a cup before walking over to the table.
“Sierra Simmons sent it. It’s all of our photographs.” She held up a sheet of paper and I took it from her. “She sent a note with it.”
I unfolded the paper and scanned it, taking in Sierra’s words to us:
Jameson and Georgie –
Thank you for letting me photograph you. I cannot tell you what an honor it was to not only meet you, but to witness your amazing relationship with one another. I have never met a couple quite like you. Your relationship is electric and the air in my studio crackled with so much energy, I thought we were all going to combust. I hope you look at these photographs and see exactly what I saw: the true power of love. I hope you will let me photograph you again soon.
Fondly,
Sierra Simmons
I handed Georgie the paper back and then stood behind her to look at the photograph on display. It was a picture of just Georgie, her body stretched out in front of her like she had stood, only to quickly sit back down. She looked stunning with the skirt of her red dress fanned out around her. Her hair had been teased into a messy twist, and her makeup was practically nonexistent after being under the hot lights in Sierra’s studio.
“Beautiful,” I murmured, planting a kiss on the top of Georgie’s head. Sierra’s words circled in my head, though. She thought she captured the power of true love, and I wished these images were more than just a half-truth. Georgie and I had a powerful connection, that wasn’t a lie, and Sierra definitely captured it. She didn’t capture love, though, with her lens. I took a sip of coffee to hide my grimace from Georgie.
“Did you decide on an outfit?” I asked casually, moving us onto a safer topic.
“Yes, but I’m not showing you until we have to leave. I don’t want you to veto it.” Her voice was firm but still held a bit of hesitation, like she wanted my approval.
“It’s not the red dress, is it?” I sounded exasperated, hoping she didn’t decide to go ahead and pick the dress I refused to let her wear.
“No, it’s not the red dress. I promise!” She held up her hand in an ‘I swear’ gesture.
“Okay.” A quick glance at the clock reminded me of the time. “Everyone will be here soon. It’ll be a madhouse, so enjoy the quiet while you can.”
I turned and started walking from the kitchen, intending to work in my office because after the debate, I had to go to Washington for some crucial votes. But something halted me; a thought.
“Georgie, I just want you to be prepared for tonight.” I stopped short, just before the hallway, and faced her again. She looked up from the Sierra Simmons book, a wistful expression on her face. “Governor Huntley may say some unkind things, not only about me, but also about you. I don’t want you to get offended by anything he might say.”
Georgie closed the book and leaned back in her chair. Then our eyes met and her gaze was filled with so much conviction I began to question if I needed to really warn her. “Jameson, you and I both know the truth. It doesn’t matter what Governor Huntley says tonight, or what he tries to get the American people to think about me or you, or even us. We know the truth and I’ll remember that tonight.”
Stunned. That was how I felt. I brought her into my world, into this ugly game of politics, and she responded like a pro. I was starting to doubt my feelings for her because if I couldn’t love this woman more than the Oval, then how was I going to love anyone?
I felt like we were all walking into the lion’s den. Even though I felt prepared and had prepped endlessly for the debate, the release of the video made me nervous for tonight. Suddenly, policy and my vision for the country didn’t matter because the entire world had seen me fucking my fiancée senselessly. My parents rode with us in a limousine to the debate venue, Boston College, and the ride was silent. I had fucking home field advantage and I was so jittery that Georgie had to hold tightly to my hands as we walked into the debate hall.
The most important members of my campaign surrounded me as we discussed last-minute topics that might come up. What we didn’t discuss, what we avoided, was the sex tape. We didn’t know when, or if, it would even come up tonight and under what capacity. Would the moderator ask about it? Would the governor bring it up in one of his answers? It was hard to prepare for and it was so incredibly easy to avoid. Mentally, I rehearsed a few lines of response and ran them by Lewis and Jenkins, which they approved. I knew they were plotting out answers but wouldn’t offer any up unless asked.
My little team stood backstage until the last moment. I needed their strength and energy. My mom nervously twisted and knotted a handkerchief and my dad’s forehead was scrunched up with tension. But Georgie looked calm. She looked perfectly polished in her suit, just like a First Lady. Her hair was loose and wavy, her makeup simple. I looked at the monogram pin on her chest and smirked. When I first saw it, I almost made her remove it. I didn’t want to give any asshole pundit reason to criticize her. But then I changed my mind and thought it was the perfect “fuck you” to everyone who said a disparaging word about us. About her. The pin belonged to my mother; it was a gift from my father after I was born. The bold red rubies that formed a “J” sparkled against the navy-blue fabric of her suit.
Georgie held out my ancient iPod and my earbuds for me, and I nearly kissed her senseless for this small act. I took them from her and we found a quiet corner with a few chairs. I slid the earbuds into my ears and shuffled through the selection of artists, looking for something to calm me. Georgie had added some new music, bands that were more modern but appealed to my classic rock tendencies. I picked a musician I knew she liked because she often hummed his songs. Hozier. I held out my hand for her and she grasped it between hers. We sat quietly together but, for the first time, we felt truly united.
A flurry of production assistants began scrambling around backstage, a signal that the debate was about to get
underway. I slipped the earbuds from my ears and handed them to Georgie, along with the iPod. She tucked them in an outside pocket of my worn, well-loved leather messenger bag that she was guarding for me. We stood and the momentary disconnect between us was rekindled once I grabbed her hand again. We stopped at the threshold to the stage, just beyond the curtains. The moderators were going over the rules of the debate with the audience. Across the stage, I spied Governor Huntley. I looked away; he didn’t need any extra attention tonight.
“And now, if you’ll please give our two candidates a round of applause. Governor Lamar Huntley and Senator Jameson Martin.”
The moderator’s voice was loud and filled my ears. Fuck, I was beyond nervous. I felt sweat prickle on my upper lip and I quickly wiped it away. I buttoned my suit jacket and turned back toward Georgie. She stood on tiptoe, her hands resting on my shoulders for balance, and kissed me quickly but firmly.
“Good luck,” she whispered.
I turned, ready to walk out on stage, but Georgie stopped me before I had the chance. The moderator had already introduced me and I could see Governor Huntley walking out on stage, waving and smiling. I had only the briefest of moments before things got weird.
“I want to tell you something. I know you’re not even remotely ready to say this and maybe you don’t even feel it. Maybe you never will, but…I love you.”
Then she kissed me again. It was hard and firm and full of so much conviction. She was so sure of herself and her feelings, sure enough to take a risk and tell me something as profound as ‘I love you’. And I couldn’t respond, because she was pushing me toward the stage and the production assistants, who were frantic, their arms flailing wildly while they waited for me to shake myself out of the haze Georgie’s declaration created. But when I finally walked out onto the debate platform, I had the biggest fucking smile on my face.
Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1) Page 17
