Page 5 of Presidential Bargain
Suddenly, my life was being pulled out from underneath me. I had no idea what was happening and I knew for certain that I was no longer in control. How the fuck had thishappened?
“But I just agreed lastnight!”
“I had a hunch,” he replied with a shrug of his shoulder. Paul Danville, a man I’d known for over half of my life, just shrugged casually, like this entire situation was no big deal. Well, it was a big fucking deal. His office suddenly felt small and a tightness grew in my chest. Holy shit, was this a panicattack?
“I think…I think I’m just going to go home now. If that’s all right.” Concentration would be next to impossible for the rest of the day, which meant cleaning out my classroomcouldwait.
“That’s understandable,Georgie.”
We both stood and Paul came around to the front of his desk. He grabbed both of my hands before pulling me into an embrace, holding me tightly, like a father getting ready to give away his onlydaughter.
“This is not the life they would have wanted for you, Georgie. They wouldn’t want you to be alone in that big old house. Your parents would be proud and so am I.” Paul let me go and then hurried back behind his desk where he busied himself with shuffling papers. I knew it was just a front to hide hiswateryeyes.
I gathered my belongings and stumbled from his office, back tomycar.
I drove home in a daze, passing through the tiny town where I had lived my entire life. After college, I couldn’t afford to live anywhere else. And truthfully, I needed these people to get through the deaths of both parents. Simultaneous deaths that continued to haunt my dreams atnight.
I took a moment to glance at the antique store as I passed it. It held many of the treasures I had to part with to pay for my parents’ funeral. The shop’s owner had sold very few of the items he bought from me and truthfully, I believed he purposefully tried not to sell them. I also believed that he had paid me much more than they were actually worth. Still, I held onto hope that one day I would be able to purchase them back. I thought about the great wooden desk that had been in my father’s study. That desk sat collecting dust in a storage unit not too far away. I tried to sell it, but the owner of the antique store refused to buy it. Suddenly, the image of Jameson sitting regally behind it, in the Oval Office, popped into my head. It made me happy to think that Jameson might one day use something that belonged to myfather.
I made one stop before home. I walked into the local grocery store where I had shopped my entire life. They made the best whoopie pies. I bought several different varieties, including my favorite: chocolate peanut butter. I also made a mental note to stop by the wine and beer outlet next door to stock up on a few bottles of my favoritezinfandel.
“Rough day, Georgie?” The cashier, Sandy, scrutinized my purchases. She was old enough to be my mother and sometimes actedlikeit.
“Yep.” I nodded as I slid my debit card into the machine. Some local high school kid I didn’t know bagged my pies and gave me a pitiful look. “Thanks,Sandy.”
“Have a good one,Georgie.”
The peanut butter whoopie pie didn’t even make it home. I ate it right there in the parking lot, sitting in my car. Then I drove to the one place where I could find peace and quiet, and maybe a little perspective: my family’s cabin in the WhiteMountains.
“Democratic Presidential Nominee,Sen. JamesonMartin, is pleased to announce his engagement to Georgina M. Washington, of Exeter, New Hampshire. Sen. Martin and Ms. Washington will hold a joint press conference on Friday, August 21. At that time, they will provide additional details regarding theirrelationship.”
This was the statement that my team released. Short. Sweet. Vague. We sent it out right away to all the media outlets as soon as Paul Danville called me to let me know that Georgie hadresigned.
“She was shocked, James.” Paul’s words were cautionary. She hadn’t expected the connection, which I assumed, and itworriedhim.
“Thanks for letting me know,” I replieddismissively.
“Jameson?” His tone was a warning; he had moretosay.
“Yeah?” I wasn’t in the mood for his fatherly lecture. I knew that he thought of Georgie as his daughter and when he approached the campaign with her name, his love and concern for her was evident in the way he spokeabouther.
“Take careofher.”
“Paul, I’m notplanningon—”
He cut me off. “I know what you’re planning, James. But take care of heranyway.”
“Of course.” I wasn’t planning on falling in love and marrying her, no matter how much I was starting to like her. She had been right, though, in her interview, when she said we hadn’t figured out what to do with her if I won. If I lost, ending our relationship would be easy. Wait a few months and then announce we had broken up. I’d take a little bit of heat, but it would die downquickly.
If we won, though, I couldn’t break up with her. Then there was re-election to consider. Did I really want to tie myself to this woman for potentially the next eight years of my life? I didn’t have afuckingclue.
When Sean Wallace, my campaign manager and best friend, walked into my office, I looked up at him expectantly. He was a few inches shorter than me, with a broad, burly chest and a shock of yellow blond hair that was constantly slicked back. He had bright blue eyes and an easy smile. Sean and I attended West Point together and then served side-by-side in Iraq and Afghanistan. He had saved my life countless times. After our last tour, we both went into politics. I chose to serve my country publicly while he decided to serve behind thescenes.
Since Georgie’s resignation, no one could get in contact with her. She wasn’t home and she wasn’t answering her phone. Or returning emails. My fake fiancéewasMIA.
“Well?” It was all I hadtosay.
“We found her. Her parents have a cabin in the White Mountains. She’s there,hiding.”
