Sean stepped away from the podium, leaving the reporters shouting questions. They were all shit out of luck because we were done. I was done. He gestured for me to leave and I followed him off the dais, through the back of the campaign office, to a back door. An SUV sat idling in the alley, waiting to take us back to my condo.
After Georgie demanded that I leave, I gave in when I realized she wasn’t going to talk to me. I left her there, in a home I’d hoped to share with her, and told the driver to take me right to the airport. I waited in a parking garage while Sean arranged for a private jet to take me back to D.C., to my condo, because it was the only place Georgie hadn’t touched.
“Where is she?” I demanded. I arranged to have Secret Service stay with her, to keep the gluttonous wolves away from her.
“She went to her parents’ cabin.”
“I want to talk to her.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
I raised my eyebrows and held out my hand expectantly. “I want to talk to her. Now.”
Sean handed me his phone and I scrolled through his contacts until I found the number to the cabin.
“Alone.” I shot Sean and the driver a look that had them scrambling to exit. I hit “SEND” and my heart literally stopped while I waited for her to pick up.
“Hello,” she answered, and my heart started once more. I could live again. Her voice was raspy, like she was sick or had been crying.
“Georgie.”
I heard her suck in a breath. I knew she didn’t want to talk to me, but it had been three days. I gave her some space and I was like a junkie, craving her, craving our connection. I needed my fix. I needed to hear her voice.
“Jameson. Why are you calling?”
“I just needed to know that you’re okay.”
“I’m fine.” That was a lie because if she felt a fraction of what I felt, then Georgie was not fine. Nothing about this whole fucked up situation was fine.
“Are you still wearing my ring?”
“Of course, Jameson.” Her voice hitched and I heard a whimper of a sob escape from the other end.
“I’m so fucking sorry, Georgie. So sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sure I can do this anymore. I’m not sure I want to do this without you. Being the president means nothing if you’re not there with me.”
“Jameson, you need to win. You have to win. This country desperately needs you.”
“What about you, Georgie? Do you need me?”
There was a pause. Too long for my own comfort. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”
“Jameson.” My name came out on an exhale of breath.
“Will you be at the third debate?”
“Yes. I’ll be there.”
“Good.”
Sean tapped on the car window.
“I need to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Jameson!” My name came out as an admonishment this time.
“There’s no point in telling me ‘no’, Georgie. I need you, even if you don’t need me.” I cleared my throat. “Goodbye, Georgie.”
I love you, I said wordlessly as I hit “END”.
I signaled to Sean that my conversation was over. He opened the door and slid in next to me.
“I’m going to win her back, and I’m going to convince America that they need to vote for me.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“By destroying Governor Lamar Huntley and his bastard son.” I slipped my earbuds into my ears and scrolled through the albums on my phone. I selected another band that Georgie added for me. The Killers. I lost myself in their pounding rhythm.
I carefully studied each event that occurred after Georgie officially became a part of my life. My poll numbers surged after we announced our engagement and after the subsequent campaign events. Russell Atlee attacked shortly after, and when the photos of Georgie’s assault were leaked, the intent was to tank our campaign. That backfired.
Opposition super PACs ran ad after ad against her, spreading lies about her father, about her. I remember finding her crying silently in a hotel room, the television on in front of her blasting an advertisement proclaiming her father was the one responsible for the Ponzi scheme and was facing prosecution. I turned it off and took her to bed. I told her once not to pay attention to that shit.
After another wave of riding high in the polls, one of Sierra Simmons’ assistants was mysteriously paid to not only record us, but then leak the video. It seemed that whomever was behind the leak knew our schedule. That suggested a leak in my own campaign. But my campaign didn’t crumble.
More super PAC ads accused Georgie of being some kind of Washington whore, falsely claiming that she was some kind of party girl. The ads were so terrible, they were a joke. And after the first debate, they stopped running. I suspected the governor had something to do with shutting down those ads.
These latest allegations, that I was paying high-end escorts to sleep with me, was planned once again after a surge by our campaign. Any idiot could easily connect the dots. The right was scared they were going to lose and needed to make shit up because none of their other ammunition was sticking. I was made of Teflon, but I was afraid that Georgie leaving the campaign, possibly even leaving me, would finally stick.
“I want everything we have on Huntley leaked. Now.” Everyone was gathered in my condo. The longer I sat idle, the angrier I became. I looked at everyone in the room because it had gone silent. They all stopped talking.
Lewis and Jenkins looked positively frightened.
“Do it discreetly. Use one of those temporary email accounts. And don’t do it from one of our computers.” Sean was the one to bark the orders, but they might as well have come from me. He stood next to me, ready to go to battle together.
Fuck being clean. Fuck being honest. This was war.
The minute Jameson hung up, I crumpled to the floor of the kitchen. Asking him to leave was the hardest thing I had ever done since burying my parents. I’d finally reached my breaking point and while I could have listened to him explain, what I needed was for him to leave. I was overwhelmed because the house was too much; it was stunning and meticulously finished, but the contents of that envelope turned everything ugly. He needed to leave because I needed to process the information I was given without him, Sean, and the spin doctors.
I missed him terribly and hearing his voice, that deep, rich velvety baritone, even for a few minutes, was enough to send my heart racing.
I had watched his disastrous press conference. He looked tired and defeated. He still wore a crisp suit, but no tie. He hadn’t shaved, so his face was covered in a fine layer of dark hair. I felt lost just sitting in the cabin. What was Jameson doing? Who was he with? Was he running constantly? Had he switched his playlist to play nothing but Black Sabbath?
After three days, my body itched for his touch. I reached into the suitcase that sat next to the kitchen door and pulled out one of Jameson’s shirts. I had swiped it long ago from his dry cleaning bag and it still smelled faintly of him. I pulled it over my thin cotton dress and wrapped it tightly around me like a cocoon. I broke down again, tears streaming heavily down my cheeks.
I let my own weakness easily swallow me and I caved into my own desires.
“Hello? Georgie?”
I called him back and when he answered, his voice was full of concern.
I was crying so hard, choking on each sob, that I was having a hard time breathing. I gasped for air in between bouts of crying.
“Everyone, out! Get out of the condo! Just do it!” I heard him yelling on the other end. There were other voices, and then I heard the door slamming in the background.
“Tell me what’s wrong, Georgie.”
The words refused to come, though. I cried and cried until I started to dry heave.
“I’m coming to get you.”
“No, Jameson,” I croaked.
“You can stay with my parents or the
townhouse in Boston; you don’t have to stay with me. But I’m coming for you, little darling.”
“I’m not ready. Just talk to me. Tell me about your day. Tell me anything.”
“Lewis and Jenkins miss you.”
I managed a chuckle. “They do not.”
“Do too! I ordered a waffle this morning out of habit, and neither of them ate it. They just sat there and stared at it. It was very sad.”
“That’s not true.”
“Okay, it’s not. Jenkins ate it.”
I actually laughed out loud, and then Jameson joined in. It felt good to feel something other than sadness.
“Fuck, I miss you so much. Please, let me come and get you.”
“I need some more time, Jameson. Tell me more.”
Jameson continued to talk while I mostly listened to him. I managed to extract myself from the cold tile of the kitchen floor and over to the couch, where I covered myself in an old afghan. I began to feel sleepy despite the early hour. Jameson’s voice was a soothing balm to my battered heart.
“Jameson,” I murmured.
“Yes, darling?”
“Call me again tomorrow?”
“As you wish.”
The next day, Jameson called me on his way to the airport. He was getting back on the campaign trail. He was going to defend himself against this new attack. I hadn’t bothered to turn on the news to see the latest developments.
“When we win this goddamn election, I’m going to take you to London and properly propose. I’m going to find that fucking private garden in Belgravia—”
“I’m pretty sure Lewis and Jenkins told me you proposed in Covent Garden,” I interrupted him.
“Well, wherever the fuck they said I proposed, I’m going to find it and I’m going to properly propose.”
“Do I get a new ring?”
“Do you want a new ring?”
I looked down at the glittering emerald on my hand and wiggled my fingers. “Absolutely not.”
He sighed heavily on the other end. “Thank fuck. I don’t think I could do any better.”
I smiled. “Call me when you get to Pittsburgh.”
Our conversation ended and I busied myself, finding things to do around the cabin. It had hardly been used since my parents’ deaths and even though I had visited recently, it needed to be cleaned. I was happy for the distraction, otherwise I’d hover over my phone, waiting for Jameson’s next call.
The sun had just set when Jameson called next. He told me all about the event in Pittsburgh and the asshole right-wing protesters who protested his appearance.
“Jesus, how many times do I have to tell people I never paid anyone to have sex with me?” I listened to him rant and rave, letting him vent his anger.
Then he sighed heavily because he was finished blowing off steam. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did leave.”
His statement surprised me. His voice was soft, revealing a more vulnerable, insecure side to Jameson.
“I’m not going to leave you. I love you.” My voice was thick with emotion. I heard him suck in a sharp breath, like he didn’t expect me to still love him. “You know, after thinking about this latest scandal to hit the campaign, I can’t help but think the whole thing is ridiculous.”
“What? Georgie, have you been drinking?”
I eyed the ancient bottle of whiskey I found buried in a cabinet. I smirked because it was Jameson. I poured myself a glass, took one sip, and then spat it all out. Unlike my Jameson, this one hadn’t aged well.
“No, I haven’t. Seriously, Jameson. Have you looked at yourself recently? You’re crazy handsome. Why would you ever have to pay a woman for sex? They should have to pay you to sleep with them!”
He laughed heartily on the other end. “Thank you, I think, for that compliment, and for your faith in my good looks to get me out of scandals involving high-end escorts. But if you said that publicly, you’d be vilified.”
“I know. It’s a weak argument.”
“And I do know all of those women.”
I sighed because it pissed me off that he knew them.
“I know. That doesn’t make me happy, but you know what really pisses me off about this whole entire fucked up situation, Jameson? That you put yourself in that position over and over again. You knew those women were escorts, but you still went out with them anyway.”
“They’re my fucking colleagues, Georgie! It was a part of my job! Business is not solely conducted in the halls of the Capital. I’m sorry I was being nice and polite to those women. God knows they probably received very little respect from the men who hired them.”
“I don’t want to fight with you over this.”
“Then don’t fight me with me. Fight next to me. Let me come and get you.”
“I need more time, Jameson.”
On the other end, he sighed heavily as he listened to my repeated rejection for him to come and get me. He was probably exhausted too. I could only imagine how much sleep he was getting, knowing that I wasn’t there to keep his nightmares at bay.
“I’d wait for you until kingdom come, Georgie.”
And then he hung up.
The daily phone calls we shared were the only connection I had to Georgie while she figured things out in her mind. We rarely talked about the campaign. During these daily calls, we became Jameson and Georgie, the man and the woman in this relationship. I recalled what Sierra Simmons said to us during the photoshoot; that she wanted to know who we were as normal people. Now we were getting that chance, to know each other on another level.
“I’m going to put my condo in D.C. on the market,” I informed her the day after she berated me about socializing with escorts.
“Why?”
I could hear her moving around on the other end, making all kinds of racket.
“Well, for one, there’s the White House. It’s not like I’ll need it once I’m elected.”
“So cocky.”
“Damn straight. Plus, between the two of us, we have four properties. Do we need that many?”
“I’m considering selling the cabin.” More noise, followed by a crash in the background, had me curious.
“Georgie, what in the hell are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
I rolled my eyes and we continued our conversation about selling the condo and the cabin. I wondered how quickly the properties could be unloaded because I wasn’t sure about the conflict of interest laws. Could I profit off the sale of my condo if I sold it during my presidency? This was a question for the lawyers.
Privately, I was working hard with my campaign on the best way to destroy Lamar Huntley without ruining my own shot at winning. Stories about his campaign’s complicit involvement in some of the malicious attacks on Georgie slowly started to leak out into the press. There was a good chance, at the final debate, my relationship with Georgie would once again be a hot topic. I didn’t want the information to be dumped all at once and of course, we were saving the best for last. I wanted to see the governor squirm.
My lawyers definitely earned their pay during the last week or two because they were working overtime to kill the damned prostitution story. We filed a lawsuit against the woman who came forward with the information, the same woman who had been Tom Chapman’s escort during my last visit to the Capital. With the threat of a lawsuit looming over her, she quickly recanted her story.
The only thing amiss in my life was Georgie. I still hadn’t managed to convince her to return to me. She left the cabin eventually, to make the appearances she agreed to, and I finally got her to stay with my parents. I hated the thought of her alone in the woods. And our daily conversations continued.
“I liked the dress you wore today.” That day, she had worn a long-sleeved dress that stopped mid-thigh and showed off a pair of impressively toned legs. The dress was a colorful geometric print, with a delicate collar and a bow that tied at the neck. She looked like a vintage dream come true, with her mane of golden hair teased a
nd blown out.
“Thank you. I liked your tie today.” I looked down at the thin navy blue knit tie I still wore. It was more casual than normal, but it worked with the checked shirt and khakis I also had on.
I sighed into the receiver and stretched out my legs in front of me, settling my feet on the coffee table in front of me. I was in another empty hotel room and I was starting to climb the walls without her. Each bed felt colder and colder without her sleeping next to me.
“Come back to me, Georgie,” I whispered. I let my feet fall off the coffee table and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I pressed the phone against my ear and rested my head in my other hand.
“I can’t take this anymore, Georgie. I know I said I wouldn’t pressure you, but dammit, I miss you so much. I’m going stir-crazy without you. We don’t have to miss each other anymore if you’d just let me come and get you. Just one night. Please, Georgie. I’m begging you.”
“All right. Tomorrow night.”
I sat back, relieved. I would finally have her close again, finally have her sweet scent consume me. I closed my eyes and exhaled loudly.
“I cannot wait.”
I was in the middle of an interview when everything changed. My entire world was flipped upside down the moment Sean burst into the room, his eyes wild and completely filled with terror.
“We have a situation.” His voice, his expression, his body language, all told me that whatever was happening was the worst kind of shit imaginable. He wasn’t messing around with false pretenses, with hiding behind a mask.
“Excuse me,” I said to the young journalist. He looked absolutely dumbfounded. The moment I stood up, his phone went off. I looked down at it. The call probably had something to do with the emergency that had Sean practically shitting his pants. “You might want to take that.”
I walked out as calmly as possible toward Sean, who was sweating profusely and looked like he was about to puke. The last time I saw him like his, half of our convoy had been ambushed.
“Don’t freak out.” Those were the first words out of his mouth as soon as I cleared the doorway. Without a doubt, I was going to freak out.
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