“Could someone tell me where we’re going?” I asked.
“New York City,” Lewis replied. New York? I didn’t have any luggage or toiletries or even my computer. Hell, I didn’t even have a book to read on what was turning into the loneliest car ride ever.
“Why are we driving and not flying?” I asked.
“It saves the campaign money,” Lewis responded again. He seemed to be the only one talking to me.
“What about my luggage?”
“It’s in the back.”
I didn’t bother even trying to glance in the back of the vehicle. Jameson ran a tight ship, so if Lewis said it was there, it was there.
“Ms. Washington, the campaign schedule has been uploaded to your calendar. You can just scroll through to find out when and where we will be.” This was old hat to everyone in the vehicle, except me. I knew there would be a learning curve, but I’d hoped someone would take the time to talk with me about my expected role in all of this. I reached into my black leather purse and pulled out my phone. I scrolled through the calendar and saw that this coming week was filled with events in and around New York City. What was I expected to do and say at these events? So many questions about the role I was supposed to play swirled like a thunderstorm in my brain.
I tucked my phone back into my purse and pulled out the folder full of everything I needed to know about Jameson Martin. I continued reading through his life story, which was fairly interesting. He graduated from West Point only a few months before the attacks on the World Trade Center occurred. He was wounded during an ambush on his convoy, when he bravely pulled members of his platoon from a burning Humvee before it exploded. Jameson was awarded a bronze star for his heroism. When he returned from his last tour, he retired from the military but immediately went right back into public service by running against, and defeating, the incumbent Republican senator in his home state of Massachusetts. After winning his second term, Jameson added his name to a crowded field of potential Democratic nominees for president. While many candidates dropped like flies during the primary season, Jameson sailed through until he eventually won the nomination.
Reading through his biography, I hadn’t realized how much older he was than me. It didn’t bother me and clearly, it didn’t bother the people who showed up at the event today. But I also hadn’t seen the news. I had no idea what was being said about us and I didn’t mind being ignorant for a little while longer.
“Are we going to stop before we get to New York?” I finally asked.
“Just for gas.”
I wasn’t sure who answered me and I didn’t care. I was being ignored for the most part, so I placed the folder back in my purse and closed my eyes, leaning my head against the window. The rhythm of the car soothed me until my eyes grew heavy and I fell asleep.
A light hand on my shoulder shook me, and my eyes fluttered open. I was in a parking garage, still in the backseat of the SUV. I looked to see who the hand belonged to and was met with the unfamiliar gaze of a woman I had been dying to meet. Avon West.
Avon’s eyes were a striking chocolate brown rimmed with gold and her hair cascaded around her shoulders in soft waves. She had the perfect button nose and a wide smile. Her skin was a flawless mocha color that seemed to glow from within. I’d have to ask her about her skin care regimen.
“Where is everyone?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.
“They went up to their rooms.” She had a soft voice that dripped with a Southern accent.
“Oh.” My heart dropped with disappointment.
“Well, don’t look too sad. It’ll give us time for some girl talk.” She smiled mischievously, her perfectly white teeth practically glowing. We walked toward the bank of elevators and she handed me a small envelope that contained the key card for my room.
I gave her a shy smile. “Thanks. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about all of this.”
“It’s intimidating, isn’t it? And I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you!”
Avon West was just as well-known as her husband. She, too, served the public as an amazing civil rights lawyer. She had won some landmark cases dealing with voting rights and immigration. She was kind of a judicial rock star.
“I am very intimidated by this. I feel like I don’t have any ownership over my own life anymore.”
The elevator stopped at my designated floor and we walked down the long corridor until I found my room. I noticed the absence of security. Shouldn’t a potential First Lady have some sort of protection?
“Can I give you a piece of advice? I learned pretty early on that you won’t have a life until you find your place within his.” That sounded cryptic as hell. How was my life supposed to fit in with Jameson’s? All of my own personal and professional goals were temporarily on hold while I participated in this arranged relationship.
“That might be kind of hard when he doesn’t even bother to include me.” I slid the key card in and with a beep, the door unlocked. I opened the door to nothing more than an ordinary hotel room. I turned and looked back at Avon, who stood in the doorway. That perfect little nose was scrunched up in disgust.
“Do you want to go out for dinner?” Avon offered.
I shook my head. I just wanted to be alone. My suitcase waited for me on the bed, but I had no idea what was packed in it. I had brought a few items with me to Boston but not enough to last me very long on the campaign trail. I guess I would be doing some shopping. Was there a Target in Times Square? I didn’t even know where we were in New York City.
“I’ll see you in the morning then, Georgie.” Avon placed a comforting hand on my shoulder and then left.
I turned back around and sighed.
I walked through the room, trailing my fingers along the furniture. What was I supposed to do? Jameson and the spin doctors had left me behind. I went to the small desk in the room and found the booklet with the hotel information. Scanning it, I noticed there was a restaurant on the first floor. I grabbed my purse and room key, and headed down to the lobby.
The hotel lobby wasn’t that impressive. It was nice in the sense that this was one of the better hotel chains, but we weren’t staying in some swanky New York City hotel like the Waldorf Astoria or the Plaza. This was a presidential campaign, after all. I found the hotel restaurant easily enough, but stopped dead in my tracks when I heard the deep booming laugh of Jameson Martin, my fake fiancé. I walked toward the bar but hid in the shadows of some columns. He was with the usual suspects: Sean, Lewis, Jenkins, and DeWayne, plus a few other men I didn’t know. They were all laughing and smiling, clearly having a fantastic evening. Probably celebrating. Jameson had much to celebrate. Now that he had a fiancée, his poll numbers would probably soar. Meanwhile, the fiancée, aka me, was left alone.
I walked back to the hotel restaurant and asked for a table by the window. If I had to be miserable and alone, at least I could people watch. And eat chicken tenders. When you’re by yourself, no one is around to judge you for ordering off the kid’s menu.
Jameson and company were still riding high in the hotel bar when I left the restaurant. I stopped and stared, annoyed by their celebration. Bitterness filled my mouth. It was easy for them to be happy because to them, I was little more than a campaign strategy. Jameson must have sensed my eyes on him because he looked up and locked eyes with me. His smile faded for the briefest moment before he turned away, back to the celebrating and the good times.
Tears burned my cheeks as I made my way back up to my room. I looked down at the ring on my finger, which now felt heavy and foreign. I couldn’t stop the memory of Jameson lifting my hand to his lips and kissing my ring, and the undeniable spark between us, from invading my mind. I slipped the ring off and tucked it into an inside pocket of my purse. I didn’t feel right wearing it when I was starting to think I had made a huge mistake.
It was hard to continue celebrating after seeing Georgie in the hotel lobby; looking at us, at me really, like we had just kicked her
puppy. I slipped easily back into work mode once the event was over and even though I had more to do before this week’s events, I could have waited and spent time talking to her. But I didn’t because she was starting to get to me. The eyes. The full, red lips. The way her body moved under the silk of the dress. The subtle hint of cleavage. It was all starting to drive me crazy and I needed to remain focused.
I paid the tab and made my excuses, leaving Sean and DeWayne with Lewis, Jenkins, and a few of my campaign aides. I needed to be alone and get Georgie out of my head.
My phone rang while I waited for the elevator and looking down at the caller ID, I had to answer it. I couldn’t ignore my own mother.
“Good evening, Mom,” I greeted her.
“Hello, James! When were you going to tell your old mom about the lovely young lady you’re marrying?”
I rolled my eyes. “Mom. I can’t talk about this right now and you know that’s not really the situation.”
“Well, we didn’t know you had found someone. She’s as pretty as a picture! And that name? Georgina Washington? You couldn’t have planned it any better.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. It’s been a stressful few days.”
“Are you saying she’s not a nice person?” The elevator arrived and I stepped on. Thankfully I was alone, so I didn’t have to worry about someone overhearing and making assumptions. Or worse, leaking false information.
“No, she’s a wonderful person. She just needed some convincing, that’s all.”
“Well, no woman wants to give up years of her life for a man’s ambition if he doesn’t love her. I’m sure it required some serious thought.”
“And a cabinet pick,” I mumbled.
“What did you say, James? I hate when you mumble.”
“Nothing.”
“Are you treating her like a gentleman should? Being nice and courteous?”
I exhaled loudly. This conversation had quickly become annoying and now all I could picture was Georgie’s face, how sad and alone she looked. So much for forgetting about her. “Mom, I’m trying to win an election. A very important election. I’m focused on that right now.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole. This young woman is giving up her life for yours. Don’t you forget that!”
I nearly choked on my mother’s bluntness.
“Thank you for calling, Mom. I’ll call you when we’re back in Boston.”
“You better! I want to meet her.”
“Of course. Good night.” I hung up quickly before she could admonish me further. Her words were on a constant loop running through my brain. Don’t be an asshole. She’s giving up her life for yours. For the first time, I started to think differently about Georgie.
The elevator arrived at my floor and instead of exiting, I punched the button for Georgie’s floor. A few moments later, I found myself in front of the door to her hotel room. I only had to wait a few moments for her to open the door.
The first thing I noticed were the red rims around her eyes. The second thing? She refused to maintain eye contact. She was so confident during our first meeting, berating me over the flaws in this plan. The woman standing before me looked defeated.
“I told you that I was an asshole. And my mother just reminded me of it now. Literally. She actually called me an asshole.”
She looked up at me with those big saucer-like eyes, questioning not only my appearance, but also my words.
“Can I come in?”
Georgie stepped aside and let me pass. I hadn’t realized that we booked her a standard room. It was plain and nondescript. Perfect for hiding your fake fiancée. But did I want to hide her? I sat down on the king-sized bed and waited for her to come back to the bedroom.
The door clicked shut and soon Georgie appeared, leaning against the beige textured wall. She still wore the dress with butterflies, but it was wrinkled now. Her hair was limp and her face blotchy. And yet, I resisted the urge to take her in my arms and kiss the breath from her lips.
“While I was talking to my mother just now, she said something very important.”
“What did she say?” Her voice was thick and heavy.
“You’re giving up your life for mine.” I stood and in a few strides, we were eye-to-eye. I leaned my shoulder against the wall and shoved a hand in my pocket. She fidgeted nervously with her fingers, picking and biting at her nails. I could see the tears swimming in her eyes and the quiver of her lower lip as she looked everywhere but at me.
I removed my hand from my pocket and reached out to grab ahold of one of hers. It happened to be her left hand and I noticed she was no longer wearing her ring. It made me angry for some reason, like she was giving up on me. On us. “Where’s your ring?”
“I took it off. It’s in my purse.”
I left her briefly to grab her purse and handed it to her. She reached inside, unzipped a pocket, and removed it. She held it out for me to see and I took it from her, slipping it back on her finger before bringing her hand up to my lips, gently kissing it.
“Please don’t take it off again.”
“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me. “In case someone sees me without it?” There was the confident spitfire I had met.
“No, because it’s a symbol of how much I appreciate the sacrifice you’re making for me.”
I looked around her hotel room and decided this was not how she deserved to be treated. “Grab your suitcase. Did you unpack yet?”
“No, I didn’t.” She walked around me and reached for the small case that was next to the bed. “Where am I going?”
“It’s hard to be my fiancée when we’re not staying in the same room.” I grabbed her bag and opened the door. “Let’s go.”
I would have to call Gail, the woman in my campaign who made all my travel arrangements, in the morning, and let her know to cancel all of Georgie’s rooms. My mother was right; I didn’t need to be an asshole to this woman.
I was stunned when Jameson showed up and apologized. I was even more stunned when he repeated the same move from the press conference, kissing my hand, privately. The spark simmered back to life and I felt an overwhelming warmth course through my body the moment we connected. I followed him out of the hotel room and we made our way down the hallway. Jameson walked slightly in front of me, carrying my small piece of luggage, while I trailed behind. He was still wearing his khakis and navy polo. His black hair was messier and I noticed the strands of white sprinkled throughout. A pair of tortoise shell glasses hung from the button placket of his shirt and instead of the brown loafers, he wore a pair of battered running shoes. I wondered if this was his version of comfort. I also wondered if my yoga pants were in the suitcase he carried.
We boarded the elevator car and Jameson hit the button for the top floor. The silence between us was awkwardly comfortable. “Did you have dinner?” he finally asked.
“Sort of,” I replied, thinking of my pitiful, childish meal.
“You can order room service if you’re still hungry.”
“Thank you.” I wasn’t necessarily hungry, but I wouldn’t turn down a bottle of red wine and a slice of chocolate cake. Or a whole chocolate cake, if they had it.
The elevator car finally stopped and the doors opened. As we stepped out, I immediately noticed the increased security presence, something that my floor seriously lacked. Jameson nodded at the men standing guard in the hallway as we made our way to the door of his suite. It was hard not to notice the way the khaki material hugged his perfect backside as he pulled the plastic key card from his back pocket and opened the door.
I followed him inside the expansive suite, which had a large living area with bedrooms on either side, and a wall of windows at the back end that opened to a large balcony. Jameson headed toward one of the bedrooms while I headed to the windows.
Sprawled before me was New York City, lit up with millions of twinkling lights. I had never seen anything so gorgeous before. Modern high-rise buildin
gs towered over ancient brick apartment buildings. Cars honked loudly, infiltrating the quiet with their garish sounds. Below us, endless trails of red brake lights and white headlights illuminated the city streets.
“Is this your first visit to New York City?” Jameson’s voice, at times, was smooth as velvet and his deep baritone was soothing as it slid across my skin.
“No. My parents brought me when I was ten. They took me to every museum. To Ellis Island. To see the Statue of Liberty. The customary Broadway play.”
“Cats, Les Mis, or Phantom?”
“Les Mis, probably.” I smiled at the memory of walking through the Museum of Natural History with my father, the ancient bones of a tyrannosaurus rex towering above me. “I haven’t been back since, though.”
“Let’s talk about your schedule.” This was work Jameson now, the Jameson whose sole focus was winning the presidency, no matter what. I followed him over to a plush couch and sat down next to him. He had a calendar spread out on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Lewis and Jenkins thought you might like to visit a few schools, so we’ve added that to the schedule, but not for a few weeks. For now, you will accompany me to events we’ve already planned.”
“I appreciate that. But what am I expected to do?”
Jameson sighed but remained focused on the calendar in front of us. “You’ll give short speeches to introduce me. You might answer a few questions but mostly you’ll just sit there…”
And look pretty, I finished mentally. “Of course.” I smiled tightly and blinked away a few stray tears. I didn’t think my role at these events would be significant, but I felt insulted. I didn’t agree to be Jameson Martin’s arm candy; I agreed to become the next First Lady and it was time to act a little presidential.
Presidential Bargain Page 4
