Capitol Promises (The Presidential Promises Duet )

by Rebecca Gallo

  “I don’t think so. I’m just going to sit down.” I found a chair nearby and hurried toward it.

  “Do you want me to have Secret Service escort you back to the residence?”

  She was essentially asking me if I wanted to run away, and my answer was a quiet, “Yes.”

  Two agents assigned to me walked with me back to the private residence. They assured me that Jameson would be informed of my illness, and all I did was nod lamely while I feigned illness.

  These days, I rarely went anywhere alone. Avon and I were together frequently, since our positions naturally paired us together, or I accompanied Jameson on official business when necessary. During the moments I was alone, the reporters hounded me, forcing me further into the protective shield of my Secret Service detail. But the screaming and the shouting were always there. Even when they weren’t, their voices echoed constantly in my mind. The day I visited the school with Max was the first time I had been out in public without Jameson or Avon since the attack in Memphis, and look how that was received.

  I didn’t bother Jameson with any of this. He had enough to worry about, and I knew his caveman reaction would be to forbid me from leaving the private residence. He didn’t need the weight of my personal turmoil added to the enormity of his job.

  It would also be just another reason for him to go apeshit every time I wanted to attend a meeting with Max. I wanted to be involved so badly with Max’s efforts at overhauling education that I was willing to endure a little bit of personal turmoil.

  I took refuge in the Queens’ Bedroom and watched Avon speak at the press conference I was supposed to give. I watched her explain my proposals and initiatives, and while she so eloquently delivered my speech, I cried because I was weak.

  Jameson

  When I returned that evening, Georgie struck the moment I stepped foot in the bedroom.

  “Did you ask Lauren to have Secret Service perform a background check on Tom Clayton?” Her voice was high, and her eyes were a little … crazy. I expected to come home and find her asleep. Secret Service informed me that she abruptly left her press conference because of illness. So I had Sean clear my evening plans so I could take care of her. The woman shuffling from foot to foot in front of me didn’t look sick at all. She looked manic.

  “Uhh, yes. Why?”

  “Because he attended my press conference today, and I freaked the fuck out and couldn’t do it.”

  A flurry of emotion surged through me. I was angry because clearly this reporter frightened her. But I also felt concerned. Was she so scared of him that she would eventually retreat to the zombie-like state she was in prior to the election? “Why didn’t you tell me it was that bad?”

  “Jameson, you’re the president. You don’t have time to deal with the big, bad ugly dude who writes horrible shit about me on a daily basis.”

  “WHAT? Georgie, what the fuck is he writing about you?”

  “You can search his column and read it for yourself.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I was going to spend some time on the internet tonight, reading this guy’s articles, but first, I was going to ensure that background check was completed.

  I pulled my primitive secured cell phone from my pocket and looked down at it with disgust. I hated this thing. It was so clunky and ancient, but it was the only way I was allowed to communicate. Having a phone “smarter” than what I was given was too high of a security risk.

  I hunt-and-pecked out a message to Sean, asking him to check on the status of Clayton’s background check because I had to know; not only for Georgie’s sake, but for mine too.

  “There. I sent Sean a text asking him to check in with Secret Service and find out when his background check is going to be done.”

  “Thank you.” Her features softened, and the crazy left her eyes as relief filled her. Her entire body seemed to go limp as she flopped down onto the bed.

  In my pocket, my phone buzzed. I pulled it out and saw that Sean replied.

  SEAN: SS doesn’t have a background check request for Clayton.

  ME: WTF?! I asked Lauren to request that a week ago!

  SEAN: Well, the request is in now. They’re also combing through all his columns.

  ME: Thanks. Whatever this guy has been saying about Georgie has got her scared.

  SEAN: Just doing my job.

  I slipped my phone back into my pocket and squeezed my eyes shut. Sometimes being president was so damn hard. When I opened them, I looked at the woman sprawled on my bed, sleeping peacefully. When had she fallen asleep? And then it dawned on me; she must have been hiding quite a bit of this from me. Some invisible weight must have been lifted from her shoulders tonight.

  “Lauren, I want to see you in the Oval Office. Now.”

  Lauren teetered in on her too-high heels that made me roll my eyes every time I saw her wearing them. She came highly recommended and had impeccable credentials, but I was starting to think she only got those things because of her looks. And after the epic fuckup of not asking Secret Service to perform a background check on someone … well, I was beginning to think she lacked a brain.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Do you recall me asking you to request Secret Service perform a background check on Tom Clayton last week?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t lie to me. Sean checked on its status last night, and they informed him that no such request was ever made.”

  I could see the wheels in her head spinning as she tried to find a believable excuse. “You’re right, Mr. President. I didn’t submit that request. I am so sorry. It will never happen again.”

  Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “Ms. Washington is not only the first lady, but she’s also my fiancée, and I’ll protect her with my life if I have to. Mr. Clayton’s inflammatory columns have been recently brought to my attention, and what he writes could be considered a security threat.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “If something like this ever happens again, you’re fired. Consider this your only warning.”

  Her red lips trembled slightly, but then she sucked in a deep breath and left my office.

  Business wasn’t finished, though. Standing, I lifted my suit jacket from the back of my chair and slipped it on, snapping it into place. I walked briskly from my office, a man on a mission, and headed toward the press briefing room. This was either going to be fun or a shit show.

  Bart Davidson, my press secretary, was more than a little shocked when I interrupted the briefing he was giving to the pool of press. They were oblivious to me at first, eating up everything he was giving them about my first few weeks in office. Well, I was about to give them an earful.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Bart, I’m sorry to interrupt, but something has recently been brought to my attention and I’d like to address it personally.”

  “Of course, Mr. President.” Bart stepped aside, and I eagerly stepped forward.

  “I’d like to make a request. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve been oblivious to some of the things that you’re writing about my fiancée. Now, some of you have been kind and courteous because you know her. You were members of the press pool that followed the campaign, and now you’re here, covering the White House. Georgie and I appreciate the job you’re doing. There is nothing wrong with criticism. It’s how we learn and grow in order to become better. But when you’re using words like ‘whore’ to describe the first lady of the United States, that’s not criticism; that’s mean.”

  I held up a hand because I could sense a few of the reporters getting ready to jump on the “Freedom of Speech” bandwagon. They were twitching in their seats, but they could squirm a little longer. “There are consequences to what you say, to what we all say. Freedom of speech matters until it becomes a threat. I hope you’ll think about that the next time you write something inflammatory about the first lady.”

  I lef
t the podium because I didn’t want to call Tom Clayton out publicly. That would only humiliate us both. But I knew that as soon as I stepped out of the press briefing room, he would receive an email instructing him to report to the Oval Office. And sure enough, twenty minutes after I sat down behind my desk, he arrived.

  “Good afternoon, sir. I got an email that said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, Tom. I did. I wanted to personally let you know that your White House privileges have been revoked.”

  “Excuse me, sir?” The nervousness that he walked in with quickly faded away to righteous anger.

  “The Secret Service failed to do a background check prior to issuing your clearance, which was an oversight on their part. It has been taken care of, and they also took a look at those lovely articles you’ve been writing for Right America. They think, and I’m inclined to agree, that what you wrote about the first lady could be considered a security threat.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. Now get the fuck out of my office. Secret Service will escort you from the White House and confiscate your badge.”

  He wanted to say something else, make some kind of threat, but that would only make things worse for him. I stared at him patiently until he finally left.

  Today felt like a win.

  Georgie

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I screeched the moment I laid eyes on Jameson. Unfortunately, we only had about twenty minutes of alone time because we were hosting a dinner for someone. I couldn’t remember because I was so angry.

  “What do you mean?” Clearly, Jameson had no idea what mortal sin he had just committed as he stripped out of his suit and dressed for dinner.

  “You humiliated me today in front of the entire press corps!”

  “I defended you! And I also revoked the privileges of Tom Clayton too. You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you. I do actually appreciate that. What I don’t appreciate is you going before the entire press corps and acting like a goddamn possessive caveman. I can stand up for myself.”

  “Really? That’s why you chickened out of your press conference?”

  “Fuck you, Jameson! You think you made everything all better because you went out there and told them all to stop writing mean things about me? You actually made things worse.”

  I stormed out of the dressing room attached to our master suite and into the bathroom. I could feel the tears starting to burn, and I refused to let him see me cry. I was not weak. I plucked a tissue out of the box on the counter and dabbed at my eyes. The makeup artist just left, and I looked like shit. I fumbled through my makeup and did my best to fix what I’d ruined.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice was gravelly, and I looked in the mirror to see him leaning against the doorframe. Even though I was furious with him, he still blew me away with his black hair and crystal-clear blue eyes. He wore black tuxedo pants and his freshly starched white shirt was open, revealing his firm chest.

  “Go away,” I mumbled.

  “Why? I want to discuss this. I didn’t realize—”

  “Go away, because I want to be mad at you. I deserve to be mad at you, but I can’t when you’re standing there looking so fucking hot with your shirt unbuttoned. It’s not fair.”

  And I swear, what he did next, he did on purpose. Jameson placed his hands on his hips, spreading his shirt open to reveal even more of his bare chest. “Okay, that’s reasonable,” he said. And then, because deep down he’s an asshole, he smirked before retreating to the bedroom.

  We made it down to the dinner in record time, even though I seemed to be scrambling at the last minute for something to wear. As the first lady, I had to pay for my own clothing, and since I was pretty much nobody with no money, I didn’t have a large designer wardrobe to choose from, compared to the previous first ladies.

  “You look nice,” Jameson commented as he escorted me down the stairs to the Blue Room where we would meet our guests, whom I still couldn’t remember.

  I looked down at my modest black dress with sheer sleeves and a jeweled neckline. The stylist swept my hair up into an elegant French twist, and I managed to salvage my makeup into something decent.

  “Thank you,” I replied, but I felt inadequate and underdressed next to him.

  Our guests arrived—some high-profile donors, along with a few governors—and we all made our way to the state dining room. I was surprised to see Maxwell Edison stroll through the entrance and sit down next to one of the donors. Maybe tonight would be a good night to convince Jameson to let me tour more schools with Max.

  I dutifully sat next to Jameson and made boring conversations with the wives of the governors and donors. They were all elegant and seemed to be dripping in jewels and money. Beneath the table, I fingered the hem of my dress. It was something I’d owned for years and probably bought to wear to a high school dance I chaperoned. All the gorgeous clothing I wore during the campaign was borrowed and returned. I kept only a few pieces, which Jameson bought for me.

  “You don’t look thrilled to be here,” a smooth, familiar voice said. I turned to see that Max Edison had replaced one of the boring wives. I hated the way I immediately perked up.

  “It’s just been a difficult day.”

  “I saw that press conference. What a shit show,” he muttered.

  I smiled thinly. “Jameson’s heart was in the right place.”

  Max placed a hand over his heart and howled. “Wow! Spoken like a true politician.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know if I should be offended by that.”

  “Don’t be. You have to learn how to play this game if you want to survive in DC.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Of course, I am,” he said with a wink.

  We were deep in conversation for most of the night, and even though I should have felt selfish for monopolizing his time, I didn’t. I also should have been attentive to Jameson, who kept glancing over at us frequently.

  “There are some really great schools in the area you need to visit. I think it’s important for you to become well-acquainted with the administrators,” Max was telling me, but I was distracted by the smolder Jameson was shooting my way.

  Shaking myself out of my daze, I focused back on Max. “I’m sorry. Yes, absolutely. I would love to visit some of the schools in the area and talk to their teachers and administrators. I’ll have Mallory, my new chief of very little staff, start arranging that.”

  “Very impressive.”

  “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Jameson’s smooth, deep voice cut into our conversation, and his hand rested on my shoulder. “Georgie, I want to introduce you to someone. Do you mind if I steal her?”

  “Not at all,” Max replied.

  Jameson extended his hand in front of me, and I took it easily. I stood and nodded toward Max before Jameson whisked me away to the opposite end of the massive dining room.

  “You two looked very cozy,” Jameson said through gritted teeth.

  “We were having a very friendly and easy conversation. He knows I want to start going out and touring schools in the area, so he made some suggestions for me.”

  “And did he also suggest that he accompany you?”

  “No, he didn’t. But his confirmation is coming up soon. Don’t you think it’s good that he’s meeting with people in Washington?”

  Jameson sighed heavily. “I guess it’s good. He should be schmoozing senators, though, not my fiancée.”

  “Well, I’ll have Mallory make arrangements and then talk to Avon about going with me.”

  “Thank you,” he said, kissing my cheek lightly. “I want to ask you a question, and I want you to be honest with me.”

  “Jameson, do you really want to have a serious conversation right now? We’ve got a room full of guests who want to speak with you.”

  He looked past me, and the small clusters formed around the room. Dinner was finished, so now everyone was enjoying coffee and dessert—whoopie pies.


  “You’re right. It can wait.”

  I transitioned back into my role for the rest of the night, playing hostess alongside Jameson. I couldn’t escape the feeling of inadequacy around these people, though; as if somehow, I was just an interloper. Jameson picked up on my anxiety and firmly held my hand. When the night ended, I was ready to collapse.

  Clutching my heels in one hand, I trailed Jameson as we made our way back to the second floor of the private residence.

  “Was something bothering you tonight? Were you still upset over what I said during the press briefing?” We were in our bedroom, shedding all our finery, which relieved me. I felt like myself in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. There was no more pretending.

  “It’s nothing, Jameson. Don’t worry about it,” I said, trying to ignore the conversation.

  “Georgie, I watched you tonight. For most of the night, you were totally miserable. The only time you enjoyed yourself was when you were talking to Max.”

  “And when I was shoving whoopie pies in my mouth,” I added.

  “You’re not getting out of this conversation. I want you to tell me. You’re always yelling at me to be open and honest with you, and I want the same thing.”

  I sighed and sagged down onto the padded bench at the foot of the bed. “Fine. It was weird being around all those wives.”

  “Why? Because we’re not married?”

  “No. Because they were wearing all these fancy dresses that probably cost a boatload of money, and they were covered in jewels. And I was wearing a dress I’ve owned for probably five years, that I wore to a high school homecoming dance. I even felt self-conscious standing next to you.”

  “So go shopping. Fill up your closet with whatever you want.”

  “But I don’t have any money for that, Jameson. I didn’t take the five-million dollars, remember? The president and the first lady have to pay for all their clothes and stuff. I have like negative forty-three dollars in my checking account.”

  “Georgie, you have my money. I don’t care if you spend it.”

  “Then I’ll be accused of being a gold digger. It’s a double-edged sword, Jameson.”