Running Mate

by Katie Ashley

  “That won’t be necessary. We’ve already arranged your fiancée.”

  “Is she a stacked blonde with nymphomaniac tendencies?” I jokingly asked.

  “No, Barrett, she is not,” Dad replied tersely.

  “Let me guess, she’s the daughter of one of Mom’s cronies? The ones who always want to pawn off one of their spawn on me?”

  “Actually, she isn’t anyone you know. She works for the campaign.”

  Warily, I eyed the folder. I was more than a little worried to see who had been picked for me since my parents were notoriously bad at fixing me up with women. After taking a deep breath, I flipped open the file to peer curiously at the smiling face of my fake future wife, Addison. Hmm, I had to give Dad and his minions credit—the woman was gorgeous. Considering the picture was only from the shoulders up, I couldn’t tell if she had a rocking body or not.

  “Color me surprised, she’s stunning.”

  Dad shot me a disgusted look. “Addison is more than just a pretty face. She’s Ivy League educated. Her father is a minister in South Carolina, and she spent time in Central America as a child when her parents were working as missionaries so she is fluent in Spanish. She also works on my campaign, so she understands what’s involved within the world of politics.”

  “Impressive.”

  “As you can see, she brings a lot to the table by covering many bases for us with the voting constituency,” Dad said.

  “I’d almost say she was too good to be true considering she can appeal to the women’s and Hispanic vote while her parents hit the conservatives.” I cocked my brows at them. “Are you sure she doesn’t have something sordid in her past?”

  Dad shook his head. “Her past is irreproachable, only one long-term relationship with a representative’s son. As for her online persona, she has no pictures of drunken debauchery or excessive partying, and no nudes.” Dad gave me a pointed look on the last one. “No scandals of any kind.”

  “We don’t anticipate any skeletons in Miss Monroe’s closet coming back to bite us in the ass,” Bernie chimed in.

  Great. Addison sounded like an utter and total bore. Who doesn’t have at least one or two pictures of drunken shenanigans on their Facebook page? How the hell was I supposed to survive for nine months with somebody like that? Maybe it wasn’t too late for them to find someone else—someone who actually had a personality, or better yet, a pulse.

  “You’re absolutely sure she’s the one?”

  “Absolutely certain,” Dad replied. His tone told me this wasn’t up for negotiation.

  “She willingly agreed to do this?”

  “Yes. We met with her before you arrived. We felt her verbal confirmation was enough to have you go ahead and meet us here.”

  Stroking my chin thoughtfully, I asked, “What did you have to offer her?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Come on. As a serious career woman, she doesn’t impress me as the vapid type who would want to do this for her fifteen minutes of fame. If she’s as smart as you say she is, she wouldn’t just do this out of the kindness of her heart either. She would expect something in return for her time. I’m thinking some sort of monetary compensation.”

  “Yes. She is being compensated for her time.” The corners of Dad’s lips quirked. “The fact that she would have to pose as your fiancée made it quite costly.”

  “Very funny.” I couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to be paid to spend time with me considering how many willingly did it for free. Tilting my head, I asked, “Just how costly?”

  “Seven figures.”

  My eyes bulged. “Jesus Christ, isn’t that a little extreme?”

  A curious smiled curved on Dad’s lips. “You know, Miss Monroe said the same thing when she heard the figure. It must mean you two think alike.”

  “At least she didn’t try negotiating for more.”

  “No, that thought never would’ve crossed her mind.” The reverent expression on Dad’s face told me just how much he admired this girl. She must have been special to have won him over—that or she had him completely snowed.

  “When do I get to meet her?”

  “If you’re ready, you can right now. She just downstairs.”

  My stomach lurched at the prospect. Regardless of how much I wanted to put it off, it was now or never. “Sure. Let’s get this freak show on the road.”

  Dad nodded. “Bernie, why don’t you go downstairs to get Miss Monroe?”

  Bernie rose out of his chair. “Be right back.”

  “Take your time,” I joked as Bernie started out of the room.

  “You know, son, you don’t have to treat this like a death sentence. It’s not like I picked some unfortunate-looking creature to torture you with. Addison has a great sense of humor. I think you’re going to like her a lot.”

  I exhaled a frustrated breath. “Stop trying to sell this to me, Dad. Save it for the campaign trail. I’m just going to have to treat Addison like a task at work, like she’s part of a job I have to do.”

  “You might surprise yourself when you get to know her.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Just promise me you’ll try to keep an open mind.”

  “Fine. I promise.”

  When the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival of my fake fiancée, I felt the figurative noose tightening around my neck. Bringing my hand to my tie, I loosened it slightly, then I rose out of my chair and prepared to meet my doom.

  ADDISON

  After verbally accepting my role of fake fiancée to Barrett Callahan, I wasn’t exactly sure what the next step would be. Would one of the bedroom doors open for Barrett to come sweeping out of? Would I be sent back to work to pretend like my life hadn’t just completely changed in the course of ten minutes?

  “With Super Tuesday just two weeks away, I want you and Barrett with me on Monday for a campaign stop in Ohio. Because of that tight schedule, we need to get you outfitted in your battle attire as soon as possible.”

  “My battle attire?”

  “Yes. We have a stylist waiting to meet with you downstairs.”

  “You guys move fast.”

  Senator Callahan laughed. “As I’m sure you’re aware, everything in politics is meticulously planned with many backups. We had Everett on standby today in the hopes this would all work out.”

  “I see. But what about work?”

  Bernie winked at me. “Considering I know your boss, I’ll field any of the questions as to why you aren’t returning this afternoon.”

  I laughed. “Okay. I trust you to handle it.”

  “Your absence this afternoon at work will also help corroborate the story we’re preparing for the media. People will be left to assume you left to be with Barrett.”

  “Once again, the two of you have thought of everything,” I complimented.

  Senator Callahan smiled. “Don’t worry yourself about your job at the campaign. You have a lot to focus on in your new role.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Everett will not only take your measurements and get your ideas on what clothes you like to wear, but he will also go over some of the protocol of the campaign. Since he travels with us, you could consider him an expert.”

  “I’m sure I need all the help I can get,” I lamented. I wasn’t just talking about the fact that my wardrobe would need some serious overhauling to make me presentable to the public. It was also about the fact that I had no freakin’ clue about campaign protocol. While I kicked ass at my job, that was something I was familiar with—something I had gone to school for. As far as I knew, there wasn’t a school for shaking hands and kissing babies along the campaign trail.

  “You’ll do just fine, I’m sure. Bernie will take you downstairs where Everett is waiting.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said as I rose out of my chair.

  Senator Callahan stood up and threw out his hand. “No, thank you, Miss Monroe.”

  After shaking his hand, I followed Bernie to the elevato
r. The staffer who had taken my Choos appeared when the elevator doors opened and gave me a smile as he handed them back to me. “Good as new,” he mused.

  “I’ll say,” I replied. Not only had the heel been repaired, someone had shined them so well I could practically see myself in them. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  Once I slipped my born-again heels back on, I got onto the elevator with Bernie. I had to say I was much less nervous on this trip than I had been on the first. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’ve agreed to do this,” Bernie said.

  “I hope you’ll still be saying that in a couple of months.”

  He laughed. “I think you’re going to exceed not only our expectations, but your own as well.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  Once we got off the elevator, I followed Bernie as we made our way through the lobby and down a hallway. With a knock, he entered one of the conference rooms. “Come in,” a muffled voice called.

  Bernie opened the door and motioned for me to enter first. When I got inside, a tall, lanky man came striding up to us. His blond hair reached his shoulders, and his blue eyes stared inquisitively at me.

  “Addison, I’d like you to meet Everett Delaney, stylist for the Callahan campaign.”

  I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Everett took my hand in his and then brought it to his lips. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  Bernie patted my back. “Since I know you’re in very capable hands, I’m going to head back to the penthouse. We’re about to initiate stage two of our plan.”

  Hmm. I knew that must mean Barrett was on his way, and the thought sent my stomach into a weird fluttering—the kind you get when you’re anxious to see your crush. I wasn’t sure where that was coming from since there was no way I was crushing on someone I’d never met.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “Once you’re finished, feel free to have lunch in the hotel restaurant. I’ll let them know you’re coming, and you can just write ‘penthouse’ on the bill.”

  “Thank you, Bernie.”

  After the door closed behind him, a nervous laugh bubbled out of me. Everett’s brows popped up as he asked, “Is something funny?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous. I’ve never had a stylist before.”

  A smirk spread on Everett’s lips. “You don’t say.”

  I glanced down at my outfit. “Am I dressed that badly?”

  “It’s not horrible, but it ain’t good either.”

  "Senator Callahan mentioned that besides helping me with clothes, you were going to fill me in on campaign protocol.”

  “That’s right. The campaign can’t afford any mistakes or faux pas on anyone’s part, especially yours. You’re going to be an old dog learning new tricks on how to walk, talk, and speak.”

  “Are you going to be the Henry Higgins to my Eliza Doolittle like in My Fair Lady?"

  Everett tapped his chin in thought. "I like to think of it more like Hector Elizondo's character in Pretty Woman, but maybe that’s because he’s more my type than Rex Harrison."

  "I already know what fork to use." I conveniently left out the part where I’d learned that tidbit from the movie.

  "Good, we can mark that one off the list, but do you know what bag call is?"

  "No, that one I'm not aware of."

  "When you go out with the campaign, bag call comes ninety minutes before you are supposed to leave a hotel. You have to have your suitcase out in the hallway for pickup.”

  “An hour and a half before we leave?”

  “Yep.” Waggling a finger, Everett added, “But the trick comes in having a large purse to dump your makeup and hair products in. You can also toss your jammies in there.”

  A wave of panic washed over me. “I feel like I should be writing this down.”

  “Don’t worry. I have everything you’ll need written down in what I like to call the Campaign Bible.”

  I exhaled a relieved breath. “Good.”

  “But first and foremost, let’s get back to your wardrobe.” Everett crooked a finger, signaling for me to follow him. Racks full of designer clothes ran the length of the front of the conference room. “Since I was short on time, I took the liberty of guessing on your size. We can always alter them later.”

  Pop-up signs divided the clothes by designer. Names like Valentino, Ralph Lauren, Marc Jacobs, and Carolina Herrera popped out, and Everett noticed me eying them. “We try to wear only American designers when you’re on the road, but sometimes we slip in some others.” Pointing at the racks, Everett said, “Your wardrobe will be divided into everyday campaign wear, political rallies, and evening wear.”

  “I had no idea it would be so complicated. I’m just used to wearing business casual at work.”

  “Well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. You could be experiencing up to three wardrobe changes a day.”

  “Wow.” Three outfits a day times seven days a week…that was a hell of a lot of clothes. More importantly, it was a hell of a lot of money. I was used to stretching my dollars and pinching pennies when it came to my wardrobe. I had enough to wear for two weeks straight without repeating. Now I wouldn’t even be repeating in the same day.

  “Tell me about it. Guess who is in charge of keeping up with what you wear.” Everett poked his chest with his index finger. “Yep, that would be me. I’m in charge of outfitting all the Callahans while out on the campaign trail, and trust me, it’s no easy undertaking.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  “First rule of the trail: you have to be careful about the fabrics you wear at political rallies. No silk, linen, or cotton.”

  “Oh, is it some sort of fashion faux pas to wear those?” As the child of missionaries, I’d spent a lot of time in linen and cotton. Although one might think the hem of my dresses reached the floor or I was expected to have covered arms, that wasn’t the case at all, especially in the jungle climates. My dad sometimes gave sermons in shorts, and my mom, my sister, and I often wore sleeveless sundresses.

  Everett pursed his lips. “No. It’s more about the fact that if you wear those fabrics, you’ll end up showing your bra-clad tits and thong-wearing ass under the heat of the heavy stage lights.”

  “Okay then. I will just be saying no to silk, linen, or cotton.”

  “It’s not an all or nothing thing. You can still wear them, but we just have to ensure you won’t be on a stage and that it’s not a particularly sunny day.”

  “Got it.”

  Everett smiled. “All right. Let’s get you ready to meet America.”

  I’d never known picking out clothes could be so exhausting, but it was. Once again, I couldn’t help cringing at the thought of what all of it was going to cost—probably more than my annual salary, and that was only for a wardrobe up until convention season. Then I would need a designer summer wardrobe. It seemed crazy, but man was I going to look totally amazing in the clothes. I almost wished I had gotten to take them with me so I could model them again back in my hotel room, but they were taken for Everett’s team to do alterations and then they would be catalogued. Everett had shown me the computer program that printed the labels that would be added to the garment bags. I had never stopped to think about the process of dressing politicians and their families. It was truly intense.

  After I was finished with Everett, I took Bernie’s offer and went to the Jefferson’s restaurant for lunch. I was halfway through my grilled chicken Caesar salad when Bernie came over and sat down with me. I already knew what the news was before he even opened his mouth; his pleased expression gave it away.

  “Barrett accepted his father’s offer.”

  “That’s great. I mean, we can’t do this without him, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “He’s very anxious to meet you, so as soon as you’re finished, we’ll head back upstairs.”

  The prospect of meeting Barrett sent my nerves into overdrive
. There was no way I’d be able to finish eating now. “I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  Bernie nodded. “Then let’s go meet your new fiancé.”

  Now there was a statement one didn’t hear every day. Having not dated for months, it certainly wasn’t something I was expecting to hear, least of all today, not to mention any time in the near future. After Walt, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to be someone’s fiancée or wife. I didn’t want to give my heart away again and risk having it trampled and spit upon by a man who couldn’t keep his pants zipped. But now, here I was, the fiancée of a man who was ten times worse than Walt when it came to being a womanizer. That was a sobering thought. Think of your future debt-free existence. Think of the future. Think of all the brand new Choos.

  When I stood up, my legs felt unusually wobbly, and I thought I might face-plant for the second time that day. Taking a deep breath, I pushed forward to walk with Bernie out of the restaurant. It only grew worse when we got onto the elevator. My stomach clenched in anxiety, and my knees starting shaking, which caused me to stumble. Great, Bernie probably thought I’d gotten sauced during lunch.

  Seriously, I didn’t know what my problem was. I mean, I should’ve been less nervous this time. After all, I knew my job was safe, and that I myself was safe. I swiped my now sweaty palms on my skirt. Gross. The last thing I needed was for Barrett to be turned off when he shook my hand.

  It wasn’t so much that I was nervous about meeting Barrett because he was somewhat famous. I certainly didn’t follow celebrities on Instagram or tune into TMZ or Entertainment Tonight for the latest gossip. I really only knew about him because of doing work for Senator Callahan’s campaign.

  What I was feeling was like first-date jitters amped up on meth. Of course, if you find yourself on a bad first date, you can bail, or at least know you’re not stuck with the person beyond the next few hours. With Barrett, I was in it for a long haul, and since our relationship would be lived out in front of the cameras, there would be no bailing or running away.

  Absently, I brought my hand to my throat, which had tightened considerably with emotion. I was fighting not only my nerves, but also an immense pressure to make my faked feelings for Barrett believable. Every event and every rally with him would be like opening night where I had to sell it to an audience. Even the most seasoned theater performer could succumb to nerves.