Presidential Bargain

by Rebecca Gallo

“Are you just going to stare at me?” His words broke me out of my trance. I could actually just stare at him. Jameson was gorgeous, with or without clothes. His body was presumably softer than it had been in his military days, but it was still impressive. His chest was broad and tapered to a narrow waist. He stayed slim by running, but his muscles were lean and well-defined.

  When I looked up and made eye contact, he smirked and then continued getting ready for bed. Eventually, I did the same. I found my suitcase in one of the massive walk-in closets and located a pair of pajama pants and a tank top. I heard Jameson clear his throat and turned around to find him holding a black shopping bag.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you wear something from this bag.” He looked totally uncomfortable with the contents, which made me grin. I took it from him and looked inside. Wrapped in layers of tissue paper were silky, slinky nighties in the palest of colors. Lavender, steel gray, blush pink. I had no idea when he had time to purchase these, but I wouldn’t deny him this request.

  I selected the blush pink one and noticed that the hem was trimmed in ivory lace. I slipped it on and the cool fabric instantly sent shivers across my body. The V-neck of the bodice revealed a generous amount of cleavage and the hem came to mid-thigh. I immediately felt sexier. I could tell why a man might want a woman to wear this to bed over a pair of stretch pants.

  Jameson was sitting in bed, a pair of thick, black glasses perched on his nose, a folder open in his lap. He was shirtless and wearing only his boxer-briefs. I stepped in the room and waited for him to notice.

  “I’d say that’s an improvement over yoga pants.”

  I could tell by the whisper of a smile on his lips that he was pleased with his purchase.

  “Come to bed, Georgie.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said playfully. I walked to the opposite side and peeled away the comforter and top sheet before sliding in next to him.

  “I think you should call me that more often.”

  I snorted with laughter. “Not on your life!”

  Jameson removed his glasses and set them on the bedside table, along with the folder. When he settled himself, Jameson reached out for me. I gravitated toward him, entwining myself in his embrace. His hands skimmed over my silk-clad body and he hummed appreciatively.

  “You should only wear things like this.” He buried his face in my neck and placed soft kisses there. His large hand cupped one of my breasts and he sucked the nipple into his mouth right through the thin fabric. I gasped at the cool sensation of the wet fabric against my sensitive skin.

  “I’ve dreamed of taking you in this bed.”

  My eyes grew wide at his stunning admission. What did it mean that Jameson had been picturing me in his home? When did he begin to think this way? So many questions suddenly filled my mind.

  Jameson rolled me onto my back and those thoughts and questions disappeared because I was filled with nothing but Jameson. He surrounded me completely, trailing kisses on my bare flesh, teasing the delicate straps of my nightie from my shoulders before tugging the rest of the silky material down my body. I wasn’t entirely sure that was how the garment was supposed to be removed, but I wasn’t about to stop him to tell him that.

  “Can I have you too, Georgie?”

  The question was loaded and I was starting to ask myself something similar. Could I really have Jameson? He had brought me into his world with no promises for more than what was originally bargained. He told me he wanted to be the president more than anything else. He told me he was an asshole and could only offer a woman one or two nights. He had given me more than what he’d originally offered and I’d willingly taken it. What would happen if he took it all away?

  “Jameson.” I was in my head. I couldn’t get out, no matter how wonderful Jameson’s mouth felt against my skin. “Jameson, stop.”

  I heard him sigh heavily and then he let his head fall heavy to my stomach. I rested my hands on top, running my fingers through his hair, before he sat up. The fire that burned out of control in his pale blue eyes only moments before was extinguished. I could see the battle he fought with himself, the war between what he wanted and what he desired.

  “Will you still want me if you don’t win?” It was an honest question. What did he see when he looked at me? I solved a problem for his campaign. I helped his poll numbers. I knew exactly what I saw when I looked at him. My entire future.

  Georgie stayed in my bed, but it felt like we were a million miles apart. Her question swirled in my mind like a storm. Would I still want her if I didn’t win? And then there were all the unspoken questions I saw behind her green eyes. She didn’t have to say them out loud because, chances were, I was asking myself the same questions. For the first time in weeks, I didn’t sleep.

  I paced all night in my office, nursing a glass of my favorite whiskey. Georgie was supposed to solve my problem, and she did. In fact, she exceeded all of my expectations. She transformed my entire campaign. Hell, I could even give her credit for several campaign slogans. We made an excellent team. She took charge of communication, reviewing speeches and press releases, and even interoffice memos. She helped me prepare for speeches and spent time prepping me for the debate, pushing me on specific policy points, playing Devil’s Advocate when necessary. She made me a better candidate and a better man. But did I want her beyond this campaign? Beyond the presidency?

  My cell phone buzzed on my desk, distracting me from my thoughts. I looked at the caller ID; it was Sean, and it was three in the morning. That only meant one thing. Emergency.

  “Yeah,” I growled.

  “I clearly didn’t wake you. Did I interrupt you?” If this was an emergency, then the asshole shouldn’t be making jokes.

  “No. What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a story that’s about to leak. It’s bad.”

  “How bad?” We had just come out of one shit storm; I wasn’t too keen on entering another.

  “You’re going to want to buy a new pair of running shoes and maybe Metallica’s entire music catalog.”

  Fuck. “What’s the story?”

  “Sex tape.”

  “Sean, what aren’t you telling me?”

  “It’s of you and Georgie.”

  I wanted to murder something, or someone. “How in the ever-loving fuck did someone get a sex tape of me and Georgie?”

  “It looks like one of Sierra Simmons’ assistants secretly filmed you and sold the tape.”

  “Well, wake up Sierra Simmons and demand to know who the assistant was because I hope to God she fired that person. And then call the lawyers because this is clearly an invasion of privacy. We didn’t consent to being recorded.”

  This was not what I needed. I wanted the public to forget about my playboy image. They clearly didn’t like the idea of a bachelor president; I could only imagine what they were going to think about a president with a sex tape. I needed to run a country in Europe; they didn’t give a fuck about sex scandals there.

  “We’re on it. Huntley is going to have a field day with this. And you know it’s going to be brought up in the debate.”

  “I know.” I was disappointed in myself. This was why I didn’t want to get attached. I needed to use my brain to do all the thinking, not my dick. And my dick had far too many thoughts, none of which concerned becoming the next President of the United States of America.

  “Just get an injunction to keep people from running the tape. I’ll deal with the fallout.”

  “What about Georgie?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll handle her.”

  “Get a few hours, dude. I need you on the top of your game to deal with this.”

  I hung up, not bothering with the formality of saying goodbye. I was clearly not getting any sleep tonight.

  “Where the fuck is my iPod?” I roared to no one in particular. It was 6:00 a.m. and I was dressed in my running gear. It was cool this morning, so I had on a pair of compression tights beneath my running shorts and a T-shirt underneath
my pullover. I was planning on a long run, and the layers would eventually be peeled away once I was warm enough.

  “Georgie!” I bellowed. My voice was loud enough to wake the dead. She appeared like a sleepy angel in the doorway to the kitchen, where I was rifling through my battered leather messenger bag that my father gave me as a gift when I was first elected to the Senate. I looked at her and my cock twitched beneath the restrictive fabric of my clothing. Stop thinking, I mentally told it.

  Georgie held up my arm band, iPod firmly in place. I did my best not to snatch it out of her hand but based on the way she jumped back, I wasn’t successful.

  “I’m sorry. I was adding some new music to it. More modern bands.” On any other day, I would have appreciated her gesture. Today, however, I lacked the patience to value what she had done for me.

  “Next time, ask. I’m going for a run.”

  “Clearly.”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  “Whatever.” Georgie’s tone was dismissive. She turned on her heel and walked back through the hall, and up the stairs. Later, while my feet pounded the pavement and The Black Keys were blasting in my ears, I realized that she still wore the blush pink nightgown I had given her.

  I returned home, showered, and went to work. I had fires to put out and a debate to prep for, and I still had no idea how I was going to tell Georgie that someone had leaked a video of us having sex in Sierra Simmons’ studio. That would probably crush her more than the photos of her and Russell Atlee. We were also supposed to have dinner with my parents. I didn’t think they’d be pleased that their son had been recorded having rather intense intercourse, or that it was made public.

  My entire staff had been waiting for me when I returned home. After my shower, I met everyone in my office. I didn’t want to make small talk. I wanted updates on what was happening. I wanted reassurance that the video was gone. I wanted fucking results.

  “The video is gone, but there are still shots circulating. Everything lasts fucking forever on the Internet.”

  “Whatever. What did Sierra Simmons say?”

  “Her assistant has been fired and she’s actually suing the person for breach of contract.”

  “Good. Has our lawsuit been filed yet?” Whoever had made the recording was in for a world of hurt. Whatever money they had made from selling the video would be long gone by the time I was through with them.

  “Not yet. Lawyers need a couple more hours. Have you told Georgie?”

  I looked down at the papers in front of me. I felt slightly ashamed that I hadn’t told her yet. “No, not yet. Where is she?”

  “No clue. The house was empty when we got here.”

  Empty? I bolted out of my chair and started calling out for Georgie, checking every floor for her, but Sean was right. She was gone. I pulled my cell phone out and tried calling her, but it just rang and rang before going to voicemail. I kept trying to call her a few more times but gave up.

  Frustrated, I returned to my office. Where could she be? I had no idea because I barely knew the woman. I should have installed a fucking tracking device on her cell phone.

  “I’ll give her an hour before I release the hounds.”

  She had no Secret Service protection with her, so she was completely unprotected from any asshole who might want to fuck with her. Not to mention, if she was anywhere near a television or newspaper, I was pretty sure she knew we were the talk of the town. When she returned, Georgie would be pissed, and I was going to have to do some serious explaining.

  To distract myself, I immersed myself in work and debate prep. The scandalous nature of the video of Georgie and I meant another layer of preparation. I had to be ready for all the accusations Governor Huntley would sling. I sat down in my favorite club chair and let myself get carried away in the work of winning this election.

  When the front door slammed, I had no idea what time it was, or even that it was now raining. I bolted from my chair, out of the office, and down the stairs. Georgie stood, dripping wet, in the foyer. My first instinct was to take her in my arms. My second instinct was to yell because she had been gone so long and hadn’t bothered to answer her phone. I decided to go with something in the middle of the two.

  “Where have you been?” My tone was a mixture of hostility and concern.

  “Out.” I could tell from her cold stare that I wasn’t going to get much out of her.

  “Obviously. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I didn’t have it with me.”

  “What the fuck, Georgie!” I screamed, and she immediately shrunk back into the shadows of the foyer. “What if something happened to you? You have Secret Service detail for a reason!”

  I could tell that if I didn’t get ahold of my emotions quickly, then I would start ranting and raving and that wouldn’t help the situation at all.

  “You don’t even have keys.” I stated this as a fact rather than ask her how she managed to leave and lock up the house.

  “I found a set of keys in a kitchen drawer. They were labeled.”

  I made several spare keys for contractors to use during the remodel. Apparently, my general contractor left them in a kitchen drawer for me after it was finished.

  “Go take a shower and change. We have something important to talk about.”

  “Is it about the tape?” Her eyes were dark and challenging. She didn’t want to ignore the issue. She wanted to address it head-on.

  “Yes,” I answered her, matter-of-factly. “We’re dealing with it. The lawyers are watching for it to pop up on the Internet and if it pings, then we’ll go after that site. It’s been removed from any site that had it up. And Sierra Simmons fired the assistant who took the video. She’s suing that person for breach of contract, and we’re suing for invasion of privacy, among other things.”

  I rattled off the facts like they were nothing, like she hadn’t been exposed publicly to the entire world.

  “I see.” Her jaw was tight and I saw the muscles twitching with anger. She was ready to explode and if I was a better man, I would stand there and take it. But I had too much to bear right now. I couldn’t take her weight.

  I let her walk past me and up the stairs to the bedroom we had yet to completely share. I closed my eyes and tried to picture how she looked in my bed, beneath me, with her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkling with desire. I wanted that moment back.

  “Do you want me to cancel?” Jameson sounded exasperated, like he was unsure of the next step.

  I lounged in the cozy gray chair that sat in one corner of the bedroom. It was placed right next to a massive window that overlooked the back patio.

  “Cancel what?” I asked, roused temporarily from my thoughts.

  “We’re supposed to have dinner with my parents tonight.”

  I had forgotten those plans. I was too engrossed in the implosion of my own life to care about anything else. When Jameson barked at me earlier, I knew something was wrong. I told myself that I would let him tell me but when he didn’t come back after an hour, I showered, got dressed, and left. I wanted to go back home where I felt loved, even if it was just the memory of love. I had managed to eat breakfast at a tiny corner diner a few blocks from Jameson’s house before I saw the newspapers. Then I found the nearest trash can and retched until there was nothing left.

  I had no idea what to do, or even where to go. So I kept walking. I didn’t have my cell phone with me, so that meant I couldn’t call a cab or even schedule an Uber to pick me up. I was also without my shadows, the Secret Service detail. I had no idea how I’d managed to escape them. I figured they would be stationed in front of Jameson’s house, but there was no one waiting outside when I left.

  “Don’t cancel. I have to meet them eventually. Why not do it after they’ve seen my bare ass spread across the news media?” And because I couldn’t help myself, I succumbed to a fit of giggles. I had unintentionally made a pun.

  “This isn’t fucking funny, Georgie.” Jameson
clearly had missed my word play. He was still fairly unhinged, his anger still raging at a full boil.

  “Don’t cancel. I’m sure your parents will understand. I can be ready in an hour.”

  “Fine. I’ll get dressed in the spare bedroom.”

  “There’s no need for you to do that, Jameson. I’m the guest. This isn’t my home.”

  “Goddammit, Georgie!” Jameson roared.

  “What do you want me to do, Jameson? Who do you want me to be today?” I got up from the chair and stormed past him, into the bathroom, where I grabbed my toiletry bag that hadn’t been fully unpacked, and left to find a guest bedroom.

  An hour later, I was ready as promised. Even though the weather was still warm, I felt cold, so I wore a pair of skinny jeans and a sheer black silk blouse with a matching camisole underneath. I managed to tame my thick mane into decent waves and applied minimal makeup. I kept on my engagement ring but added the simple gold wedding band that belonged to my mother to my right hand. It was one of the few physical reminders of her that I kept.

  I met Jameson in the foyer of the house. He too was wearing jeans and an olive-green sweater with the sleeves pushed up. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so a light beard covered his face and I had to restrain myself from running my hand across the coarse hair. He opened the front door and I walked out in front of him, to where three sedans idled at the curb. We got in the last one. The rest of our security detail got in the first two.

  We weren’t in the car long before we pulled up to a colonial in Jamaica Plain. It had two bay windows on the front and a bright, red front door situated between two stately white columns. Jameson held out his hand to help me out of the car and together we walked up a short brick-paved walkway. The front door opened the second Jameson set foot on the small front porch, and he was immediately pulled into the embrace of his mother.

  She held on to him for a long moment while I stood back, awkwardly watching their affectionate exchange. I tried to remember the last time I hugged my own mother, but nothing came to mind.