Page 8 of Presidential Bargain
Everyone called himJames.
Irolled my eyes,hangingup the phone. Of course Georgie wanted me to pick out the ring. Why didn’t I think of that? And of course, it had to be something non-traditional, antique, and made with ethically-sourceddiamonds.
“Jenkins!” Ibarked.
“I’mLewis,sir.”
“Whatever.” I didn’t have the time or patience to tell them apart. They looked the same to me. Tall. Thin. Nondescript. Blended well into the crowd. “Take the rings back to thejeweler.”
“Sir?” The look of sheer terror on his face told me he assumed Georgie wasbackingout.
“She wants me to pick out the ring.” I knew exactly where to look for what she described. “And have my car brought to thefront.”
Georgie walked into my hotelsuite the next morning, smelling fresh, like a mixture of clean cotton, sunshine, and strawberries; a smell that reminded me of our disastrous interview. She was dressed casually, in a short floral romper with a long, cream cardigan that covered her bare shoulders and skimmed the top of her thighs. Her golden amber-colored hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and those big green eyes that seemed to devour me with every glance darted nervously around the room. Georgie was so fucking gorgeous. In another lifetime, when I wasn’t running to be the ruler of the most powerful country on Earth, I’d spend more time getting lost in her, burying myself in her sweetness. But I couldn’t give the hardening of my cock a second thought. I had an election to win and a presidency toclaim.
“Good morning, Georgie,” I greeted her from the small dining table that had been set up with breakfast. I had already eaten, and now leisurely sipped coffee while reading through a variety of newspapers. Georgie and I were starting to make speculative headlines with the announcement of our suddenengagement.
“Good morning,Jameson.”
“James.”
“Excuse me?” She sat down opposite me, not waiting for an invitation. Then she helped herself to a chocolate chip muffin and poured a cup of coffee, filling it with cream and sugar. I pushed the fruit salad toward her, but sheignoredit.
“I prefer to be called James. Wasn’t that in the folder Jenkinsgaveyou?”
“It was. I like Jamesonbetter.”
And I liked the way she said it too. A littletoomuch.
“It’s a gorgeous day,isn’tit?”
“Yes,itis.”
“The perfect day to announce ourengagement.”
She swallowed audibly and looked at me, wide-eyed with fear. Then I slid the blue velvet ring box across the table toward her. She looked down and sat back in her chair, a loud exhale passing through herfulllips.
“Open it,” I gentlycommanded.
Slowly, Georgie lifted the lid and her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing the cry of shock that threatened to escape. I stood, moving my chair so that I sat next to her. I wasn’t going to kneel and actually propose. But I’d prepared a little speech. I lifted the ring from its velvet cushion and helditout.
“This ring was made in Great Britain at the turn of the century. The emerald is almost three carats and is surrounded by a halo of old-mine European diamonds. When I saw it, it reminded me of your stunninggreeneyes.”
I pried her left hand away from her mouth and slid the ring across the delicate flesh of her finger. What I had said was true. The green gem instantly reminded me of her eyes. It was the first ring I saw, and I knew it was the only one for her. Our gazes landed simultaneously on her finger; it looked perfect, like it truly belongedthere.
“Thank you,” shewhispered.
I let her enjoy the moment a bit longer. Then it was backtowork.
“Finish your breakfast and then head to the guest room. The stylists will be here soon.” I returned the chair to the opposite side of the table and left the dining room quickly. There was very little room for sentimentality in my campaign. I had to remain focused. But I couldn’t resist stealing one more look at the beautiful woman who agreed to this sham of anengagement.
Isat there,stunned, lookingdown at the ring on my finger. It was…well, it was something else. I couldn’t believe that Jameson actually went out and found what could only be described as the perfect engagement ring. It felt warm and strangely familiar, as if it belonged there. When I looked up, Jameson was gone. He ran hot and cold with me. There were moments when I saw the real him and then he was quickly replaced by the calm, cool politician. Jameson had his eyes on the prize and, unfortunately for me, that prize was thepresidency.
I ate the rest of my muffin and then found the guest bedroom of the massive hotel suite where Jameson was currently staying. The stylists hired by the campaign had arrived and were setting up. A large rack of clothes waited for my selection, and an endless sea of makeup and hair products was spread out on the bathroomcounter.
I looked through the display of clothing, filled with sleeveless dresses and flowing chiffon skirts. When my fingers landed on the silky softness of a vintage-inspired dress, I knew I’d found the perfect outfit. The dress was ivory silk with a subtle butterfly print. It had an A-line skirt and button-down, V-necked bodice, with a delicate collar and a metallic gold belt. It would match my ring perfectly. I looked down at the shoes the stylist had brought and selected a pair of redpumps.
I sat in a chair for what seemed like hours while the two stylists applied makeup and curled my hair. I did, however, draw the line at them helping me into my dress. I was completely capable of doing that myself. When I finished fastening the last of the pearl buttons, I looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was smooth and perfectly blown out into glossy curtains that framed my face, my lips were the perfect shade of red that didn’t look too garish, and the butterflies on the dress were greatly outnumbered by the ones rioting in mystomach.
