“But nothing is ever free, isn’t that right, Governor?” I looked at him through a narrowed gaze.
“Absolutely.”
“What do you want?”
The governor sucked in a sharp breath and let it out before giving me a nervous smile.
“The man cannot ever be prosecuted. His identity can never be revealed publicly.”
I laughed. Seriously, I laughed at the sheer audacity of the man who sat in front of me. “Are you fucking kidding me, Lamar?” Fuck respect and decorum. He was asking me to do something that was completely out of the question.
“Language, James. We are both gentlemen.”
“Fuck being a gentleman. Do you seriously expect me to not go after the man who assaulted my fiancée? That bastard put his hands all over her. He touched what is mine. How can you ask me that, as a man? How can you ask me that as a husband? As a father?”
His jaw ticked and his fingers drummed nervously on the thick manila folder. Then it dawned on me. He knew Russell Atlee personally.
“Fuck your folder, Lamar. I’ll find out who he is myself, and I promise you that if he’s connected to you in any way, I will make you both pay.”
“There is no need to get ugly, James. I am not unwilling to give you something in return. My campaign will acknowledge receiving funds from the super PAC and we will return the money, or donate it to victims of sexual assault. Your choice.”
“That is not good enough. Not even remotely close. She deserves more than that.”
“Then we are at an impasse.”
Fuck the impasse. If he knew who Russell Atlee was, then there was a way to find out ourselves. I had a point of reference now, somewhere to look.
“I’ll see you on the campaign trail, Governor.”
Governor Lamar Alexander nodded and slid the folder off the table. He stood and immediately left. There was no need to shake hands or keep up the pretense of civility. He asked me to do the unthinkable. To borrow a famous phrase, it was time to go rogue.
I left the spa feeling totally relaxed. My hair was trimmed and glossy, my body exfoliated and silky soft. I felt sinful and decadent for having enjoyed a few hours away from the campaign chaos. In the car, I pulled out my phone and saw all of the media alerts that had popped up about the campaign. I was excited to see Jameson’s speech to the union. Jameson was totally different when he was in front of a room full of blue-collar workers. He never wore suits. He explained to me that he wanted to seem approachable and a suit cut him off from his constituents. The speeches he gave in union halls were always fiery and passionate. Blue-collar workers had once defected from the Democratic Party, and Jameson was ensuring they returned this time around.
I cued up one of the videos, eager to see Jameson’s angular features and pitch-black hair. Instead, it was a video of DeWayne and Avon. They were speaking at Jameson’s event, in Jameson’s place. Confused, I listened to the speech anyway because DeWayne was still a powerful and passionate orator. I closed out the video and read through the other campaign alerts, the headlines only adding to my confusion. Image and after image of Jameson’s opponent, Louisiana governor Lamar Huntley leaving our hotel. It was clear he wasn’t expecting to be seen by anyone because he was heavily flanked by security and his head was down, but his identity could not be mistaken.
Confusion was replaced with anger. Jameson had lied to me. Goodbye relaxation, hello tension.
I read through the articles, all speculating about why Jameson and Lamar Huntley had secretly met. Was Jameson going to drop out? Was Governor Huntley? What scam were they inflicting upon the American people? Disgusted, I tossed my phone back in my bag. Jameson better have a good explanation for this.
As it turned out, when I returned to the suite, Jameson wasn’t even there. Was this the plan? According to my calculations and Jameson’s schedule, he was still supposed to be at an event. I stewed silently, waiting for him to return. I also ordered cake and wine from the room service menu.
It was hours before Jameson returned. Hours, and many glasses of wine later. He walked through the door and looked at me, tension ticking away at his jaw.
“I see you had dinner,” Jameson rumbled, nodding toward my empty plate and the now empty bottle of wine.
“Yep.” I held up my phone. “I see you lied to me.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Georgie.”
“That’s unacceptable, Jameson.”
“Well, too fucking bad. All I want to do is take a shower and go to bed because tomorrow, we have to go and meet Sierra Simmons.”
“Luckily, you’re good at lying.”
He gave me a hard look before disappearing into the bedroom we shared.
I remained immobile, sitting at the table, waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to come back out, apologize for being an asshole, and explain everything to me. I wanted him to come back and put his lips and hands all over my body because I felt my own control begin to slip and fracture.
I don’t know how long I continued to sit at the table before I finally gave in to find refuge in the second bedroom. I went through my bedtime routine like a robot and slipped under the heavy comforter, letting the weight settle over my body.
I awoke to screams. My own screams. I clawed at the blankets covering my body and at the arms holding me, shaking me.
“Georgie! Georgie, wake up.” The voice was deep and vibrated across my body, echoing in my mind.
My eyes popped open and I was immediately met with Jameson’s intense, icy blue stare. “Jameson?”
“You were having a nightmare.”
I sat up in bed and brought the comforter up to my chest, clutching it in my hands.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” As much as I was relieved to have him near me, to find comfort in his protection, I was still angry at him for lying to me about his meeting and then shutting me out.
I fell back against the mattress, pulled the comforter over my body, and turned away from him. His weight, heavy on the bed, remained motionless. I could hear him breathe and occasionally sigh. He placed a hand on the curve of my hip and left it there for a moment before he removed it and left. I immediately felt bereft without him.
I only got a few more hours of dreamless sleep before I had to get up. We needed to pretend today, and I didn’t know if I had it in me.
I took a long, hot shower, hoping to coax some relaxation back into my body. It didn’t work.
I placed silly patches under my eyes with the promise of tightening up the puffiness. They didn’t work.
I dried my hair, hoping to achieve the same glossiness, but instead it fell flat and remained dull.
Nothing felt right. Nothing felt the same.
Jameson and I walked into Sierra Simmons’ bright, airy loft-studio. It was a gorgeous industrial space with exposed brick, duct work, pipes, and well-worn wooden floors that promised a splinter or two. Jameson and I had moved around each other that morning with great care. I sipped my coffee and nibbled on a muffin in the living room while he read the papers and scowled at his phone in the dining room. When we had to leave, I walked dutifully behind him, keeping my eyes down. We had barely said more than two words to each other.
Sierra greeted us enthusiastically. She was tall and thin with a shock of white hair that was styled in a severe bob. She wore thick black glasses that seemed to swallow up her face but somehow it still looked chic. She was dressed in a striped black T-shirt and loose jeans with the cuffs rolled up. I noticed that her feet were bare. Yikes.
“Welcome! I’m so happy to have you both here.” Her smile was infectious and genuine, and I found it hard to not smile back. She enveloped me in a warm hug and shook Jameson’s hand. Then she surprised me and said, “Can I be honest with you? You both look like shit!”
I let out an embarrassed laugh. Nail hit firmly on the head.
“It’s been a rough few weeks, Ms. Simmons,” Jameson growled.
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll make it work. We ha
ve several different setups today.” And then she proceeded to walk us through the shoot and the studio. I immediately let myself get lost in her words and her wild gesticulating.
There was a team of stylists waiting to spruce us both up. We were informed that, for the most part, the photoshoot would be entirely natural. Natural light. No makeup. Very little styling.
“And nudity. Lots of nudity.” Sierra Simmons cackled and I looked at Jameson with wide eyes. Could we tell her no? Nix the nudity? Before I had the chance to object, Jameson stepped forward and held up a hand.
“No to the nudity. We respect your vision as a photographer and an artist but neither of us is getting naked today.”
Sierra Simmons pouted for a good ten seconds before she waved her hands in a flurry and proclaimed, “Moving on!”
Jameson and I stood in the middle of her chaotic studio while she yelled at her assistants about moving things around the set. “Both of you go and get changed.” She snapped her fingers toward us. Jameson gave me an apologetic look before he took both of my hands in his and kissed the backs.
“FUCK, you two! I cannot handle all the feels you’re giving me right now!” Sierra exclaimed.
Jameson and I burst out laughing before we separated and went in opposite directions.
With the luck Georgie and I were having, we didn’t need nude photos out there scandalizing the country. Instead of nudity, Sierra put us in jeans. Georgie appeared wearing the thinnest of white, cotton tank tops. I could easily make out the outline of her full breasts and the shadow of her dusky pink nipples. I fought the urge to pull one into my watering mouth.
We stood in the middle of a stark white set. There was nothing except the two of us. Sierra posed us, twisting our bodies to her whim. I didn’t mind because I finally had my hands back where they belonged. In between shots, I murmured my apologies in Georgie’s ear, making sure to include a nibble or a playful nip. Georgie’s giggle returned like music to my ears, as did her vibrant smile, a comfort to my weary heart.
“Jesus, do you two ever quit,” Sierra commented after I grabbed Georgie by the waist and planted a loud, wet kiss on her pale, glossy lips.
I had to admit there were moments when I was completely oblivious to my surroundings whenever Georgie was in the same room. I was guilty of tunnel-vision and this was definitely one of those moments. I’d placed a wedge between us and I was doing my best to make amends. If that happened during the photoshoot, so be it.
“Okay, kids. We need to get you changed. This next setup is going to be very glam, very presidential, very Mad Men, because you both just have that look. You know what I mean? Of course you do. Anyway, this will take a little bit longer to set up. Georgie, off you go to hair and makeup. Jameson, you too.”
I followed two assistants behind a folding screen where a makeshift dressing room had been set up for me. There was a selection of suits and dress shirts, but I already knew what I wanted. I picked up a midnight blue suit and held it out to the stylist. Then I reached for a light blue dress shirt and a navy blue tie that had a small white pattern printed on it. It didn’t take me long to get dressed and to have them part my hair and slick it back.
I emerged from behind the screen and Sierra ushered me to the set she and her assistants had created. She took a series of shots that were of just me while we waited for Georgie to emerge.
“Tell me about your relationship with Georgie,” Sierra asked.
I forgot that she was also supposed to write a piece to go along with the photo spread.
I sat back in the chair and sighed. “It’s totally unlike any other relationship I’ve been in.”
“Why is that?” That was a loaded question.
“I’ve dated women who only wanted to be arm candy, who wanted to use me for connections, or who just wanted my family’s money. That’s not Georgie. Georgie would perceive all of those women to be weak. She genuinely wants to be involved in this campaign. She wants to make a difference in our country, just like I do. We share the same vision for the future of our country. And she pushes me too. She makes me look at an issue from all sides, just not my own.”
Sierra jotted down notes as I spoke. “Tell me something about Georgie that no one else knows.”
I chuckled at the first thought that entered my mind. “She has the palate of a toddler.” Then I thought a little harder. “She has sacrificed so much. Her father invested in a Ponzi scheme and lost everything during the recession. Suddenly, the girl who had everything had nothing. When her parents were killed by a drunk driver, she sold most of her family’s possessions to pay for their funeral, but she refused to get rid of her family home. She’s gone without many of life’s luxuries in order to keep what matters most to her.”
“Describe what it was like for you to hear that your fiancée had been sexually assaulted.”
I tugged at the collar of my shirt. I didn’t want to talk about this all the time because I knew Georgie wouldn’t want to make a big deal out of it. She’d want all the attention to be put on the women who suffered far worse. “Honestly, I felt like I failed as a man. It happened at an event I attended. I was there and I didn’t know. How could I not know? Fuck, we have Secret Service detail, and even they didn’t know! When we found her and when she finally told me, I was angry with myself because as a man, she is my priority and I failed to protect her.”
“Oh, Jameson!”
Sierra and I both looked over at Georgie, who was standing on the edge of the set. Tears pooled in her eyes and before I knew it, she rushed straight into my arms. I held her tightly, smoothing a hand down her back. Then she planted her lips firmly on mine and kissed me fiercely.
“Come on, you guys!” Sierra moaned.
Georgie broke the kiss and giggled, my favorite sound. We broke apart and I could finally admire what she had on. She looked fucking gorgeous in a red cocktail dress with an incredibly full skirt. The layers of fabric cinched at the waist, giving Georgie a stunning hourglass shape. The bodice of the dress had delicate straps that rested just below her shoulders and a delicious V that revealed a hint of her perfect breasts. Together, we made quite the patriotic wet dream.
Sierra began to work again, directing her assistants and us. She instructed Georgie to sit on a white upholstered chair and for me to rest on the arm. Georgie leaned toward me, resting an arm on my leg, and I placed my arm around her, my hand on her bare shoulder. This would be our official engagement photo. I could envision this image, framed, sitting on my parents’ mantle.
“Georgie, look up at Jameson. Big smile. Jameson, look down at Georgie. I want big, cheesy smiles. You’re not serious politicians in a presidential campaign. You’re just a boy and a girl right now. Georgie and Jameson. Show me those people.”
I was struck by what Sierra said. Who were Georgie and Jameson, the girl and the boy? The circumstances of our relationship meant that we would never really be just two normal people. But wasn’t it worth trying? To occasionally be the boy crazy for the girl?
“I have a very important question to ask you,” I whispered, fluttering my fingers along her delicate cheekbone.
Her eyes sparked with delight. This was a familiar game. “What’s that?”
“What’s your favorite dessert?”
Georgie’s eyes widened with surprise. She wasn’t expecting this question. She bit her lower lip, deep in thought. I placed a finger on her lip, pulling it free. She smiled shyly up at me. “Tiramisu.”
Immediately, I thought back to the dinner we shared, when I sat in her kitchen and convinced her to agree to pretend to be my fiancée because polls said the American people didn’t trust a bachelor to be the next president. Every moment we’d shared since then flickered through my mind. Our relationship had changed drastically in such a short amount of time. That night, when we negotiated the details of the agreement, I could have never anticipated the woman looking up at me right now, with her too-big green eyes, would start affecting me so profoundly. Falling for her wasn�
�t a part of the bargain, and now I felt like we needed to renegotiate.
“That’s a wrap, kids!” Sierra shouted, breaking the trance that seemed to have transfixed both me and Jameson. There were moments when we were alone that I fell completely under his spell.
Jameson slid off the arm of the chair and stretched out his long body. I made sure to get my fill, enjoying the way his body moved under the fine cut of the suit he wore. I stood too, smoothing out the many layers of my dress.
“Georgie, just a few quick questions.” Right. Sierra was supposed to include a written piece to accompany her photographs.
“Sure.” I flopped back down in the chair, letting out an exasperated sigh.
Sierra snapped another picture and then smiled at me when she removed the camera away from her face. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. When I see something, I take the shot.”
I understood, but I was done being in front of her lens. I just wanted to go back to the comfort of our hotel suite and climb into bed with Jameson. And maybe a giant slice of tiramisu. Damn my sweet tooth.
“I meant to ask Jameson this, but I guess it doesn’t matter who I ask, really. How did the two of you meet?”
Oh shit! We hadn’t really ever discussed that story. What was I supposed to tell her? I thought long and hard, which I’m sure made her wonder why the answer didn’t just roll off my tongue. “Paul Danville, my old principal, is good friends with Jameson’s father. He introduced us.” There. That was sort of the truth.
“Small world,” she commented, jotting something down in a notebook. I smiled tightly. “Tell me about your relationship with Jameson.”
She asked Jameson this as well and I sort of eavesdropped on their interview. I knew how he answered and I decided it would be best to respond with something similar. “It was unexpected. When we met, I don’t think either of us wanted a relationship. But Jameson is different. He doesn’t look at me with pity, like most of the people I know. He sees me. I finally feel like I belong to someone, like I’m a part of something again.”
Presidential Bargain (The Presidential Promises Duet Book 1) Page 11