Page 12 of Presidential Bargain
“What did you say, James? I hate when youmumble.”
“Nothing.”
“Are you treating her like a gentleman should? Being nice andcourteous?”
I exhaled loudly. This conversation had quickly become annoying and now all I could picture was Georgie’s face, how sad and alone she looked. So much for forgetting about her. “Mom, I’m trying to win an election. A very important election. I’m focused on thatrightnow.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to be an asshole. This young woman is giving up her life for yours. Don’t youforgetthat!”
I nearly choked on my mother’sbluntness.
“Thank you for calling, Mom. I’ll call you when we’re back inBoston.”
“You better! I want tomeether.”
“Of course. Good night.” I hung up quickly before she could admonish me further. Her words were on a constant loop running through my brain.Don’t be an asshole. She’s giving up her life for yours. For the first time, I started to think differently aboutGeorgie.
The elevator arrived at my floor and instead of exiting, I punched the button for Georgie’s floor. A few moments later, I found myself in front of the door to her hotel room. I only had to wait a few moments for her to openthedoor.
The first thing I noticed were the red rims around her eyes. The second thing? She refused to maintain eye contact. She was so confident during our first meeting, berating me over the flaws in this plan. The woman standing before me lookeddefeated.
“I told you that I was an asshole. And my mother just reminded me of it now. Literally. She actually called me anasshole.”
She looked up at me with those big saucer-like eyes, questioning not only my appearance, but also mywords.
“Can Icomein?”
Georgie stepped aside and let me pass. I hadn’t realized that we booked her a standard room. It was plain and nondescript.Perfect for hiding your fake fiancée. But did I want to hide her? I sat down on the king-sized bed and waited for her to come back to thebedroom.
The door clicked shut and soon Georgie appeared, leaning against the beige textured wall. She still wore the dress with butterflies, but it was wrinkled now. Her hair was limp and her face blotchy. And yet, I resisted the urge to take her in my arms and kiss the breath fromherlips.
“While I was talking to my mother just now, she said something veryimportant.”
“What did she say?” Her voice was thick andheavy.
“You’re giving up your life for mine.” I stood and in a few strides, we were eye-to-eye. I leaned my shoulder against the wall and shoved a hand in my pocket. She fidgeted nervously with her fingers, picking and biting at her nails. I could see the tears swimming in her eyes and the quiver of her lower lip as she looked everywhere butatme.
I removed my hand from my pocket and reached out to grab ahold of one of hers. It happened to be her left hand and I noticed she was no longer wearing her ring. It made me angry for some reason, like she was giving up on me. On us. “Where’syourring?”
“I took it off. It’s in mypurse.”
I left her briefly to grab her purse and handed it to her. She reached inside, unzipped a pocket, and removed it. She held it out for me to see and I took it from her, slipping it back on her finger before bringing her hand up to my lips, gentlykissingit.
“Please don’t take it offagain.”
“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me. “In case someone sees me without it?” There was the confident spitfire Ihadmet.
“No, because it’s a symbol of how much I appreciate the sacrifice you’re makingforme.”
I looked around her hotel room and decided this was not how she deserved to be treated. “Grab your suitcase. Did youunpackyet?”
“No, I didn’t.” She walked around me and reached for the small case that was next to the bed. “Where am Igoing?”
“It’s hard to be my fiancée when we’re not staying in the same room.” I grabbed her bag and opened the door. “Let’sgo.”
I would have to call Gail, the woman in my campaign who made all my travel arrangements, in the morning, and let her know to cancel all of Georgie’s rooms. My mother was right; I didn’t need to be an asshole to thiswoman.
Iwas stunnedwhen Jamesonshowed up and apologized. I was even more stunned when he repeated the same move from the press conference, kissing my hand, privately. The spark simmered back to life and I felt an overwhelming warmth course through my body the moment we connected. I followed him out of the hotel room and we made our way down the hallway. Jameson walked slightly in front of me, carrying my small piece of luggage, while I trailed behind. He was still wearing his khakis and navy polo. His black hair was messier and I noticed the strands of white sprinkled throughout. A pair of tortoise shell glasses hung from the button placket of his shirt and instead of the brown loafers, he wore a pair of battered running shoes. I wondered if this was his version of comfort. I also wondered if my yoga pants were in the suitcase hecarried.
