Running Mate

by Katie Ashley

  When the elevator opened, I remained frozen like a statue. For the life of me, I couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. “Miss Monroe?” Bernie questioned.

  “Um, yeah. I’m sorry. I had a momentary zone-out moment. I’m good.” My brain screamed a message to my feet to pick their sorry asses up, and this time, they complied. We made our way through the foyer and around the living room to the dining room.

  There he was—my future fake husband. He was even more handsome in person than in his pictures. He usually wore a relaxed, almost comical expression in his pictures, but today his jaw was taut with tension and worry. Amusement could not be found anywhere in his expression.

  We stood there with a figurative gap the size of the Mississippi between us. We both just stared, not blinking and not moving. I wasn’t sure what I had expected was going to happen, maybe that he was going to run to greet me with open arms like some Hollywood movie or something crazy like that. I guess I hadn’t bargained on him being so unreceptive.

  Senator Callahan nudged Barrett forward. After Barrett shook his head like he was shaking himself out of a trance, he closed the space between us. “You must be Addison,” he said, his voice impossibly deep.

  “Yes, I am.” Extending my hand, I smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  My heart flip-flopped a little when Barrett returned my smile. “I’m not so sure I like the circumstances in which we’re meeting, but yes, it’s nice to meet you.”

  I tried putting myself in his shoes for a moment. I was sure the idea of marriage—even a fake one—was the last thing on his mind. There was also the fact that he hadn’t gotten to choose who to do this whole faking plan with, and for a man like him, I was sure that had been hard.

  “This is a pretty crazy scheme we’ve gotten ourselves into, isn’t it?” I questioned.

  Barrett laughed. “Yeah. It sure as hell is.”

  “I would say it would make a funny story to tell our grandchildren one day, but then there’s that pesky NDA preventing that.”

  “Even if we could, I doubt anyone would believe us. Who in their right mind would pretend to be engaged to someone?”

  I laughed. “Exactly.”

  “So you work for my father?”

  “Yes. I’m the volunteer coordinator for the campaign.”

  Barrett appeared confused. “What exactly is it that you do?”

  “I recruit and organize volunteers to help with campaign activities.” I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds so boring, doesn’t it?”

  “Not at all,” Barrett replied.

  “She’s doing an amazing job,” Senator Callahan piped up. “Bernie raves about her.”

  “High praise indeed if Bernie is giving it,” Barrett replied.

  “I’m just very grateful to get to work for your dad.”

  Barrett winked. “Relax. You don’t need to suck up to him just because he’s in the room with us.”

  “I’m not sucking up. I mean every word,” I countered good-naturedly.

  After cocking his head at me, Barrett said, “Can I be honest with you for a minute?”

  “Sure. I mean, honesty is the most important part of a relationship, and you are my fake fiancé.”

  “It’s just I’m a little surprised to find you have a personality.”

  “I’m sorry?” That was the G-rated version of what I actually wanted to say. What the fuck? was more what I was inwardly thinking.

  “It’s just that after Dad and Bernie told me you didn’t have any skeletons in your past and you didn’t like to party, I couldn’t help worrying you were going to be a total bore, but I can actually see myself being able to tolerate being around you.”

  Oh hell no. Tolerate? Did he actually have the balls to say he could tolerate being around me?

  I pursed my lips at him. “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “Not only that, but I was sweating bullets before I saw your picture. After hearing about what a potential bore you were, I couldn’t help thinking you had to be a hag.”

  In that moment, I had a flash of a scene from the movie Clue where Madeline Kahn does the famous “Flames on the side of my face” line. That is exactly what I felt like in that moment after hearing Barrett’s disparaging remarks—fiery rage.

  “Well, I guess we should both be thankful I’m not a hag to disgrace you with,” I bit out.

  Barrett’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I think you misunderstood me.”

  “No, actually, I think I understood perfectly well that a man like you has a certain standard he abides by when it comes to women, and you don’t waste your time with anyone who doesn’t make the cut.”

  “But you do make the cut.”

  “Lucky me.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Barrett said, “You’re pissed at me, aren’t you?”

  “Wow, you sure cracked that code, Sherlock. I see you’re putting that Ivy League education to good use, aren’t you?”

  “You’re getting your panties in a twist just because I said I was glad you had a personality and you weren’t a hag?”

  “And because of the fact that you don’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with saying that to me.”

  “Uh, maybe because that’s how I feel,” Barrett countered.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be so narrow-minded and judgmental.”

  Barrett scowled. “You’re judging me.”

  “I’m just stating facts.”

  When Senator Callahan cleared his throat behind us, white-hot mortification pulsated through me. Oh shit. Shit. SHIT!

  In my fury at Barrett’s comments, I had gotten tunnel vision and completely forgot that Senator Callahan and Bernie were in the room with us. God, what they must think of me for going off on him. With my mouth and temper, I was sure they were regretting asking me to be Barrett’s fake fiancée.

  Meekly, I turned around. “I’m sorry, sir.”

  Senator Callahan smiled. “There’s no need to apologize. I’m glad you put him in his place. He needed it.”

  My mouth gaped open. Okay, that was so not what I was expecting him to say, and it was safe to say my admiration for Senator Callahan continued to grow. “I appreciate that, sir, but at the same time, I’m going to have to learn to temper my emotions around Barrett, or this will never work when we’re in public.”

  “I’m glad you’re willing to work on it.” He gave Barrett a pointed look. “I’m sure you’re going to do the same.”

  “Sure,” Barrett replied, although his tone didn’t seem very convincing.

  “Now that the two of you have met, I think it’s best you sit down with my attorney so you can go over the contract,” Senator Callahan said.

  “Contract?” Barrett and I questioned in unison.

  “Yes. It’s something I had Marshall construct.” At what must’ve been our continued expression of confusion, Senator Callahan said, “You don’t enter into this type of serious deal without a contract.” He shook his head at Barrett. “Honestly, you of all people should understand the importance of contracts.”

  With a scowl, Barrett replied, “In business, yes. Call me crazy for not anticipating my word wouldn’t be good enough.”

  “This document not only protects the two of you legally, but it also outlines what is expected of you over the coming months.”

  “Sounds peachy,” Barrett mused.

  Senator Callahan ignored his son’s comment. “I have some calls to make, so I’ll leave you to it.”

  Marshall appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but then I realized he must’ve been working in one of the bedrooms. With his curly hair, short stature, and wiry glasses, he immediately reminded me of a young Richard Dreyfus. After shaking my hand, he smiled at Barrett. “Always a pleasure seeing you.”

  “I would agree, but I’m not so sure about it at this moment.”

  Marshall laughed. “Yes, it’s usually you barking out the orders for me to draft. I see you’re already lamenting your loss of power and control in t
he situation?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  God, he was a such a spoiled little rich boy, one who was always used to getting his way. I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, you better get used to it, pretty boy, because I won’t be controlled, and I’m certainly not putting you in charge.”

  Barrett grunted. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  Marshall peered at us over the top of his glasses, and I could tell from his expression that he found our dynamic very intriguing. “Hopefully there won’t be anything too heinous in the contract.” He opened the folder in his hand and took out some paperwork. “Shall we?”

  “If you insist,” Barrett said.

  “Miss Monroe, why don’t you have a seat here”—he patted the chair to the right of the head of the table—“ and Barrett, you can have a seat there.” He motioned to the seat directly across from mine.

  Barrett went around the top of the table. Before he sat down, he quirked his brows at me. “Ladies first.”

  Since his tone was far more condescending than gracious, I narrowed my eyes at him. When it came to manners and personality, Barrett was the polar opposite of his father. “Thank you,” I muttered. Once I was seated, Barrett sat down as well.

  After handing a contract to me and one to Barrett, Marshall cleared his throat to begin reading. “Paragraph one: For the duration of the campaign, whether long or short, both parties agree to cohabitate. This includes all hotel rooms while traveling, as well as apartments.”

  It felt as though a needle screeched across a record in my mind at the word cohabitating. Oh. My. God. With the shiny million being dangled over my head, I hadn’t really stopped to think about the details—the fine print, as they say. This was so very, very bad. “I have to move in with him?”

  “This isn’t the 1950s, Miss Monroe. Most engaged couples live together prior to matrimony,” Marshall replied.

  “That’s all well and good, but I don’t really like the idea of living with a stranger, least of all him.”

  “I feel the same way, sweetcheeks,” Barrett said.

  With a roll of my eyes, I said, “Do not call me that.”

  “What? I was just practicing some terms of endearment for my fiancée.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t find ‘sweetcheeks’ endearing. I find it revolting.”

  “Fine then, snookums.”

  Instead of reaching across the table to strangle him, I took a few deep breaths. You can do this, Addison. Just think of the one million dollars and all the brand new Jimmy Choos you can wear. “Okay, if I agree to move in with him, what happens to my apartment?”

  “You’re more than welcome to keep the apartment, or you can let it go and find another either after the convention or after the election. Regardless of what you decide to do, you won’t be seeing very much of it over the next few months.”

  The economical thing to do would be to just store my stuff at my brother Evan’s place in Arlington until the campaign was over. Then I would have more time to devote to finding my dream place.

  Oh shit. My family.

  What am I going to tell them? Although my parents were several states away, we talked at least once or twice a week. Since I hadn’t mentioned dating anyone, it was going to be a tough sell for them, and considering how close as I was to Evan, there was no way he would believe my sudden engagement. I supposed I could swear him to secrecy while also alluding to the fact that Senator Callahan knew people who could make him disappear.

  As far as friends went, I really didn’t have any outside of the campaign. The friendships I’d formed when I first moved to D.C. had been because of Walt. Once we were no longer a couple, my friends vanished. I guess he had gotten custody of them in our breakup.

  “Speaking of apartments, what about the fact that I live in New York and Addison lives here?” Barrett asked.

  “Your father has offered the guest cottage at his estate for the two of you to stay in when you’re not on the road. As your fiancée, Addison should probably be seen leaving your apartment in New York a few times.”

  “Ugh, I hate New York,” I said.

  Barrett’s eyes bulged. “How can you possibly say that?”

  “Because it’s the truth. It’s overcrowded and overpriced. The only redeeming quality is Broadway.”

  Eyeing me with an expression of both disbelief and disgust, Barrett said, “Saying you hate New York is like saying you hate America.”

  I rolled my eyes. “No, it’s not.”

  “Oh hell yeah it is.”

  “Maybe in your view it is, but for me, saying you hate Washington DC is way more unpatriotic.”

  Marshall tapped his pen loudly on the table. “Can we focus please?”

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Barrett replied as he ducked his head to stare at the contract.

  “So we’re all good on paragraph one?”

  “Yes,” Barrett and I grumbled.

  Marshall nodded. “Paragraph Two: During the course of the campaign, both parties agree to abstain from any physical or emotional contact with a member of the opposite sex.”

  Barrett whipped his head up so fast I thought he might get whiplash. “Hold up—I can’t see anyone else but her for nine months?”

  Ouch. Although I didn’t want to admit it, that remark stung a little. I guess I shouldn’t have been too surprised that Barrett wasn’t thrilled by the prospect of monogamy with anyone, least of all me, but in the moment, it felt rather harsh.

  Trying to save face, I mused, “Thanks for making me feel like a leper.”

  Barrett appeared momentarily apologetic. “It has nothing to do with you personally and everything to do with my dick.”

  Marshall grunted in frustration. “We’re trying to sell the image of a happy, loving couple, Barrett.”

  Barrett poked the contract with his finger. “But this clause means I can’t have sex with anyone.”

  “Not exactly. You and your hand can have a great time together,” I countered with a grin.

  Narrowing his eyes at me, Barrett said, “I have never gone without sex for nine days, let alone nine months.”

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  “This is bullshit.”

  “Of course you would make this only about you,” I mumbled.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Listen up, pretty boy—being stuck with you isn’t going to be a cakewalk for me either, but I’m prepared to do it.”

  “Because you’re being well compensated by my father.”

  “You’re such an asshole.”

  “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

  “Maybe instead of thinking with your dick, you should think about your father and how this is all in the best interest of him securing the party’s nomination and being our next president?”

  “I am thinking of my dad, or I never would’ve agreed to this insane idea.”

  “Then stop being selfish.”

  “Trust me, babe, you will not want to be around me if I go without sex. It’s not pretty.”

  “Maybe you could find something more meaningful to do with your time, something that would contribute to the community.”

  “Oh, I contribute to the community when I have sex. It’s not just me enjoying the experience.”

  “Gag me.”

  “With my size, that does tend to happen.”

  Once again, I fought the urge to strangle Barrett, or maybe kick him in the balls. Glaring at him, I said, “Is there any way we could add a clause to the contract that says Barrett has to speak to me in a respectful manner that isn’t peppered with immature innuendo?”

  “This is who I am, sweetheart. I’m not changing because a contract or you tell me to.” Barrett placed his palms on the table. “So either you kiss the cool million goodbye and walk out of here, or you buckle your seatbelt and enjoy the ride.”

  Ugh. He made me sick. I didn’t think I’d ever met a more infuriating and egotistical
man.

  “Can we please proceed?” Marshall questioned.

  “Fine,” I grumbled.

  Marshall took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He appeared exhausted after just ten minutes of Barrett’s and my bickering. “As for your previous misgivings about this clause, Barrett, it is morally bankrupt of me, but I would suggest that perhaps you find someone to satisfy your needs on the side.”

  Oh hell no. “Wow, you’re actually advocating him cheating?” I demanded of Marshall.

  “I said it would be morally bankrupt of me.”

  “That’s putting it mildly,” I huffed before crossing my arms over my chest.

  Marshall adjusted his glasses. “I’m not sure how in the vast scheme of things you could take offense to this when you are about to lie to the entire American public.”

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I countered, “I consider what I’m doing to be for the greater good. Even if our relationship isn’t real, I’m not a big fan of being made to look like fool if he’s caught screwing some other woman.”

  “Let me finish,” Marshall said. He looked from me to Barrett. “I would add that the entire purpose of having a fiancée is to show your commitment to the bonds of marriage, and as Miss Monroe has suggested, if you were discovered, the media would have a field day of epic proportions. I believe you can also understand how humiliating it would be for Miss Monroe as well.”

  Barrett sat in a stunned silence after Marshall’s remarks. I could tell the wheels in his head were spinning, and he didn’t like the inevitable answer that he was about to be forced into celibacy.

  “It’s shit like this that makes the evil part of me root for Dad to get defeated on Super Tuesday.”

  “Am I to assume your response means you agree to sign off on paragraph two?” Marshall questioned.

  Barrett exhaled a painful breath. “Yeah. Whatever.” Asshole.

  "Now we come to the appearance clause in paragraph three." Marshall peered at me over his wire-rimmed glasses. "This is more directed you, Miss Monroe."