Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1)

by Rebecca Gallo

  I had never seen Jameson so nervous. I knew he needed quiet and his music, and the moment I pulled out his iPod, I instantly saw the relief in his expression. We sat quietly in a moment that I could only describe as surreal. While people hustled around us, Jameson and I sat there, unnoticed. Our hands were clasped tightly together and I willed all of my positive energy to somehow flow from me and into him. It didn’t work because when he was called, when it was time for the candidates to be announced, he looked positively green, and that was why I told him. Jameson needed to hear that I loved him, and I needed to tell him because I didn’t want him to doubt me.

  Ruth, Sam, and I were all ushered to the front of the auditorium, where we took our seats in the first row. Jameson was shaking hands with the two moderators and Governor Huntley, and he looked more relaxed, confident even. I watched as he took his place behind his lectern, arranging his notes and pens. A carafe of water and a single glass sat on a small table next to him. I was sure Governor Huntley was doing the same things, but my gaze was trained on Jameson.

  He looked dashing in his crisp, fitted navy blue suit. His shirt was a brilliant white that was heavily starched and his tie was a bright scarlet red that popped against his shirt. He had a small American flag pin affixed to his lapel and when I looked down at his feet, I noticed his favorite pair of brown leather Oxfords had been recently polished. Jameson glanced casually at his Rolex, which he told me had been a gift from his father when he graduated from West Point, before reaching down to fill the empty glass.

  And then he found me.

  Through the blinding lights of the stage, his pale blue eyes managed to lock on me. He grinned and winked, causing my cheeks to flush with embarrassment.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. I am honored to serve as your moderator tonight, but this evening is really all about you and your vision for our country. I want to begin tonight, however, by asking you both about recent events that have plagued Senator Martin’s campaign. You both have promised to run positive campaigns, preferring to focus on your different leadership styles and your diverse visions for our country. Yet, Governor Huntley, advertisements, paid for by super PACs that support your campaign and from which your campaign has received donations, have started to run what some might call personal attacks on Senator Martin’s fiancée. How do you respond to the accusations that your campaign is allowing these super PACs to do your dirty work?”

  The boldness of the moderator’s question shocked me. I hoped I’d only be mentioned in passing because this entire campaign was so much bigger than just me. I also hadn’t paid much attention to the news or to the pundits because, at times, being with Jameson was just as torturous. I didn’t need to know what they said about me; Jameson’s moods told me what I needed to know. I had picked up on this after the pictures from the clambake were released. If the media was particularly cruel, then Jameson preferred to brood and he often pushed me away until his head was clear. He felt this was his way of protecting me, but it only created problems for us. Jameson needed to realize that protecting me meant equality. I needed to be his partner rather than his secret.

  When the moderator finished his question, I looked up to see Jameson grip the podium, his knuckles practically white. His jaw was tense and I could see the muscles begin to tick with anger. He wasn’t expecting this line of questioning either. I glanced over at Governor Huntley and his expression said something entirely different. It said that he was annoyed.

  “First, I want to thank Boston College for hosting tonight’s event. There are a few cities in this country that truly symbolize democracy and Boston is one of them. I’m sure that Senator Martin is enjoying his home field advantage tonight as well. As for the question that was posed to me regarding the advertisements bought and paid for by a handful of super PACs that support my campaign, I have one simple response. It’s their money and how they want to spend it is up to them. I have no control over how they run their organization or over the advertisements they produce. My personal campaign has promised to focus solely on the issues and to run a positive campaign. And we have done that. However, my campaign cannot control that the senator chose to publicly engage in matters that should be private. Louise and I have prayed for Senator Martin and Ms. Washington because these are difficult times and we are hopeful their relationship will only grow stronger.”

  Governor Huntley stepped away from the podium as if to signal that he was finished answering the question. I noticed Jameson looking down at his notes, hiding his anger. He was gathering himself, calming himself, before it was his time to answer.

  “Senator Martin, your turn. How do you feel about the negative advertisements targeting Ms. Washington that have been bought and paid for by super PACs that support Governor Huntley?”

  Jameson looked up at the same time Ruth and Sam reached for my hands. I was sandwiched in between them, and their gestures provided me with an instant sense of relief. Jameson’s eyes searched the audience, and I knew he was looking for me, but we were unable to connect.

  “First, thank you, Boston College, for being a gracious host and welcoming us onto your campus. I do enjoy being back in my home state, in my hometown, but I don’t feel like I have home field advantage tonight. I did, after all, graduate from West Point and I spend most of my time in Washington, working hard for the people who live not only in this amazing city, but in the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts.”

  Jameson paused before reaching down to pick up the glass of water next to him. I knew that every move he made tonight was calculated and was probably approved by Sean or Lewis and Jenkins. “Second, I truly appreciate the opportunity to address this topic. I have argued, from the moment I entered this race, that my personal life in no way qualifies me to be the next president, but since my nomination to be the Democratic candidate, I have been held to a higher standard. And I still believe, engaged or not, that I am the better candidate. However, that is not the issue. The issue is that my relationship receives an unfair amount of criticism and attention. The super PACs that support my opponent do not attach my record or my military service. Instead, they are vicious and relentless in their quest to destroy my relationship with Georgie. The scrutiny that I have faced, that Georgie and I have faced together, since we announced our engagement, has been unprecedented. There seems to be a double standard in this campaign. It’s okay to attack my fiancée, to question my personal life, but the governor’s personal life is off-limits? I thank the governor and his wife for their prayers, but what I would really like is for the governor to give back every cent he’s received from the super PACs who have maligned my fiancée.”

  There was a definitive gasp from the audience and Jameson looked directly at Governor Huntley when he made his challenge. The moderator spoke up when it seemed that Jameson was finished.

  “Governor Huntley, how do you respond to Senator Martin’s challenge? Would your campaign be willing to return funds to super PACs that have attacked Ms. Washington?”

  “My campaign will look into the organizations that have paid for these advertisements. If they truly are malicious, then I will gladly give back the funds. My campaign doesn’t support organizations that run blatantly slanderous advertisements.”

  Jameson wasn’t pleased with the governor’s answer; I could tell by the way his jaw was still tightly clenched, but the moderator was satisfied and moved on to another line of questioning. Thankfully, it had nothing to do with me, so I relaxed and listened to Jameson’s responses.

  For the next few hours, I sat in awe of the man on the stage. Jameson was smart, but on stage, he was brilliant. His rebuttals every time the governor challenged him on something were thought-out and articulated. He wasn’t flustered; instead, he was calm and cool, and the governor appeared agitated. There were times when Jameson’s responses left Governor Huntley stuttering and stumbling, and I smiled, knowing that Jameson was winning. Pride swelled in my chest; the powerful politician up on stage was mine and he was going to be the next Presid
ent of the United States.

  At the close of the debate, Jameson brought me onstage, along with his parents. The moment his hands circled my waist, I threw my arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly.

  “Oh my God, Jameson. You were absolutely amazing!” I gushed.

  He pulled away slightly and his grin told me everything. He was confident he won and I was his prize. To celebrate this ‘victory’, he pressed his lips against mine in a firm, chaste kiss.

  Jameson’s parents interrupted the moment and I stood back to let them congratulate their son.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Governor Huntley approach. A prickle of unease shot through my body. I had yet to meet the governor but decorum mandated that I acknowledge him.

  “Ms. Washington, we meet at last,” he said, his voice dripping with false southern charm. He extended his hand toward me and I politely took it, shaking it firmly and briefly. When he let go, I was mindful to wipe my hand surreptitiously against my skirt.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Governor.” I nodded my head politely in his direction and stole a glance back toward Jameson, who was still engaged in a conversation with his father.

  “Your fiancé is quite protective. He’ll fight anyone who dares sully your good name.”

  “Jameson is very caring. I appreciate everything he does to protect our relationship.”

  I didn’t like being so close to Governor Huntley without Jameson. I was nervous and worried about saying the wrong thing. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long for Jameson to finally join our awkward conversation.

  “Governor, I see you have finally met my fiancée.” Jameson’s political mask was on and his smile was wide, bright, and totally disingenuous. The two men firmly shook hands and I could see the challenge in both their gazes.

  The governor released Jameson’s hand and nodded in my direction. “I have finally made the acquaintance of the lovely Ms. Washington. I was just telling her that you are quite the knight in shining armor.”

  Jameson’s hand slid around my waist and he pulled me against him tightly. “Of course I am, Governor. I’m sure you would do the exact same thing for Louise.”

  “Absolutely.”

  It was easy to tell, based on Jameson’s grip and the way he looked at the governor, his eyes stormy and dark, that Jameson didn’t trust him. There was something unspoken between the two men, and I started to wonder if it had anything to do with the meeting they had recently.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Governor. My parents are waiting.” Jameson maneuvered us away from the governor and toward Ruth and Sam, who were talking with the debate moderator.

  We exchanged a few more pleasantries with people on the stage, who all congratulated Jameson on his debate performance. I noticed the exhaustion begin to set in as Jameson’s normally sharp features started to soften. We were finally able to make our escape to the waiting caravan of vehicles.

  As soon as we said good night to his parents and slid into the back of our limousine, Jameson loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Then he turned toward me and pulled me into his lap. His hand shot into my hair, his fingers running through the long strands, and then he touched our foreheads together.

  “I thought I was going to lose it tonight when the moderator asked about you. Governor Huntley’s answer pissed me off.”

  “You were amazing,” I whispered. I placed my hands on either side of his face, lightly stroking his cheeks with the pads of my thumbs. I brushed my lips lightly against his once, twice, before pulling back.

  “I hate that you keep getting used as a pawn in all of this. I’m sorry that this whole arrangement has been nothing but nightmare after nightmare.”

  I was shocked. Did he really think that our agreement was a nightmare? I started to move away, back to my seat, but Jameson held me firmly.

  “Fuck, Georgie. That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.” He sighed and closed his eyes, as if he were gathering his thoughts. “I just meant that I’m sorry this hasn’t been easier. I didn’t expect it would be this difficult.”

  I could see the frustration on Jameson’s face. Whatever he wanted to say wasn’t coming out right and he was struggling to find the words. Instead of forcing him to talk, I kissed him softly. The kiss instantly heated as Jameson took charge. Showing rather than telling was sometimes the best way to communicate.

  Jameson’s hand slid up my thigh and underneath my skirt. His fingers brushed the edge of my lace panties before plunging into my wetness. He ended our kiss, pulling back to look at me. His expression was a mixture of surprise and delight.

  “You’re wet?”

  “Are you complaining?”

  “Not in the least. Were you this wet during the debate?”

  “Your performance had me practically dripping, Senator.” My voice was a sultry purr. I grasped his tie and tugged it lightly yet firmly, before attacking his mouth with my own. I moved so that I now straddled him and his hands found my ass. I broke the kiss and slid down his body until my bare knees met the scratchy carpeting of the car’s interior.

  “Georgie, don’t,” Jameson warned me. I knew why he wanted me to stop. We were in the back of a car and even though there was only one other person, this was hardly private. We’ve already been caught once. He didn’t want to risk being exposed again. I didn’t care.

  “Is there a partition screen?”

  Jameson nodded and I saw his hand move across the door’s handle before I heard the soft motorized whirring sound, granting us privacy. When it stopped, I skated my hands up his thighs until I grasped his belt buckle between my fingers. I maneuvered the metal until his belt hung open and then I went to work on the button of his trousers. I tugged his fly open and reached inside, pulling his erection free from the confines of his boxer briefs. He was hot and heavy in my hand and growing harder with just the slightest bit of attention. I stroked his cock, admiring the silky softness of his flesh against my palm. My mouth watered as I imagined what it would be like to finally take him in my mouth.

  I wasted no more time fantasizing and bent over his lap. I guided him into my mouth and moaned as I got my first taste. His hands tangled themselves in my hair as I began to suck him, feasting on his salty essence and relishing in the clean, maleness of his scent. He groaned with appreciation as I took him deeply into my mouth, and I tortured him with long, leisurely licks in between devouring him whole.

  “Jesus, fuck, Georgie.” He shifted in his seat, shoving himself farther down my throat.

  I gagged momentarily on the size of him until he pulled back slightly. I focused on breathing through my nose as I regained my rhythm. Short, shallow pulls followed by longer, deeper drags.

  “I’m going to come, Georgie. Is that what you want?”

  I nodded my head in response and focused my efforts on getting him to explode. Having his cock in my mouth intoxicated me; it was like a drug. I felt him tense as his hands gripped my head tightly, and then I felt the first hot streams. His cock pulsed on my tongue and I continued to lightly lap at the head until he pulled himself from my mouth.

  “I hope every debate ends that way,” he growled, tucking his cock back into his boxer briefs. He refastened the button on his trousers and buckled his belt before pulling me off the carpet.

  I smiled mischievously. “That can be arranged.”

  “I wonder what else we can arrange.” His words were a delicious invitation. He pushed me gently until I lay across the leather backseat. Then he nudged my thighs apart and shoved at my skirt until it was bunched around my waist. I was exposed, indecently on display for his eyes only. He drew my panties down my legs until they tangled around my ankles. He gave me a devious grin before he buried himself in between my thighs. My hand shot out, hitting the glass of the window, and I braced myself while he feasted on me for the rest of our trip home.

  Jesus, I was in so much fucking trouble. Georgie had me totally spellbound. When the debate moderator asked me about all of the slander t
hat had been directed toward Georgie, I thought I was going to lose my damn mind. And then Governor Huntley tried to pull off his fake Christian bullshit by saying that he and his wife prayed for us. I wanted to laugh because I knew the truth about him, and it was so ugly. I had it all tucked away safely, to be used only in the case of emergencies.

  The thing that pissed me off the most was that his campaign literally had nothing to attack me with, so they chose Georgie.

  I sat in bed, with her sound asleep next to me, and replayed the delicious car ride home, and her pre-debate confession. She loved me and I felt like a selfish asshole accepting her love, basking in its glow. She gave me so much and all she asked for in return was reassurance, and I couldn’t give it to her.

  I wanted to tell her to have faith in me, that I would eventually come around. The thought of her not being in my life after the election ended was not an option. I was going to be the next president and she was going to be the First Lady. That was all I knew. Would that be enough?

  I removed my glasses and set aside the folder of information I was studying. I had to leave in the morning to head to Washington and cast my vote on a crucial bill. I didn’t want my record as a senator used against me, so even though the campaign was a twenty-four-seven job, I also made sure I was present on the Senate floor when necessary. It was exhausting.

  Georgie greeted me at the front door before I left. Her hair was in a messy braid and she looked like a sexy, sleepy, rumpled mess. Her T-shirt hung from her shoulder and she wore a tiny pair of black shorts. She held my leather messenger bag in front of her as she waited for me to slip on my shoes and suit jacket.