Georgie
The waiting was killing me. Watching the news report the same thing, and say the same thing over and over, was starting to irritate me, and I felt myself grow agitated. I looked around the suite; it was packed with campaign staff members. They were all glued to either the television screen or their phones, waiting for the endless stream of updates.
Jameson was projected to pretty much win every New England state, which wasn’t surprising and didn’t amount to many electoral votes. He needed to win the battleground states; those were the results that had me tied up in knots.
“We have to start getting ready to go down to the ballroom,” Jameson whispered in my ear. I was standing next to the wet bar, and its array of bottles tempted me. My hand hovered over one, but Jameson covered it with his and brought it up to his lips. It was my left hand.
“I’ll help you with your dress,” he murmured.
I was captivated by the way he was taking command of me, releasing me from my prison of nerves.
Jameson led me to the suite’s master bedroom, then moved around me, setting his suit out on the bed and my dress right next to it. Then he started to change, and if he was expecting me to follow suit, he was dead wrong. I loved Jameson’s body, and I selfishly took any chance I got to appreciate it.
First, he took off the casual t-shirt that he wore. It was just us and a small army of his campaign staff in the suite, so there was no need for him to dress formally. His muscles flexed and rippled as he pulled the garment over his head, baring his toned, taut abdomen. Then his hands moved to his belt. Deftly, his long fingers worked the buckle free before moving to the button at the waistband of his jeans. My mouth watered as his jeans slid down his lean thighs and landed on the carpeted floor.
“Are you serious?” I asked, when he finally was stripped down to his boxer briefs. I nearly burst out laughing at the sight of tiny little American flags printed all over his underwear. I did not expect my serious politician to wear something like that.
“These are my election pair,” he replied with a cheeky wink and shit-eating grin. And then they came off. “Let’s get showered, little darling. Nothing is going to get accomplished with you staring at me like that, and we can’t be late.”
I quickly shed my own clothes and followed him to the master bathroom where he continued his command over me. The shower was started, and he got in first, letting the scalding water cascade over him before he adjusted the temperature. Jameson motioned for me, and when I stepped foot inside the steamy space, his domination continued. He washed and lathered my body, worshipping me with his hands and refusing any of my attempts at reciprocation.
“No, Georgie. I can’t control the outcome of this election, but I can control what happens in this shower, in this space. Let me,” he ordered, his voice low and gravelly. I silently nodded and let him carry on with his tasks.
Jameson led me under the spray of water and cradled my head in his hands, tilting it back to wet my hair. Then he turned me so my back faced his front, and his fingers delved into my hair, working shampoo through it. His hands were firm on my shoulders as they turned me back around so he could rinse the shampoo away.
Our shower lasted much longer than was probably necessary, but the intimate experience made me feel closer to him. Every day, our connection solidified, and today, it felt like we couldn’t get any closer.
Jameson reached around me and turned the water off. He got out first, wrapping a towel around his waist before holding one out for me. As I stepped out, he wrapped me in more than just the fluffy cotton material. His arms came around me and held me tightly against his damp chest.
“Tell me we’re going to win.” The calm, cool, and controlled man was gone, replaced with a man terrified of defeat.
I had my own fears and doubts about whether we would win. But I couldn’t share them now. “Yes, Jameson. We’re going to win.”
Jameson exhaled, and I felt his entire body relax against mine. Then he stepped away so we could continue preparing.
I turned down stylists because, just like Jameson, I wanted some control over tonight. And doing my own hair and makeup was one thing I had power over. When I was ready, Jameson helped zip up the white dress I’d selected for tonight’s event. It was short and sleeveless, and the middle of the dress was decorated with red flowers that trailed down the skirt.
“I like you in this dress. And I like your hair like this,” Jameson whispered, examining with me with a heated gaze.
“Thank you,” I exhaled. I hadn’t realized that his admiration of my appearance made me hold my breath. But when I was caught in Jameson’s line of sight, he often had that effect on me.
I turned to inspect him and found myself breathless again. Slim-cut black suit, white shirt, and navy blue striped tie. He looked perfect.
“You look amazing,” I commented. I reached out to needlessly straighten his tie and then ran my hands down the front of his suit jacket. Simultaneously, we both sighed as our hands locked.
“It seems like you’ve been with me forever and not just a few months. What would I do without you? Where would I be without you? You made the difference in my life, Georgie, and I am beyond grateful.”
Do not cry, I scolded myself. But one hot tear after another made its way down my cheeks. I had no control over my emotions. “Every day that we’re together, Jameson, I am thankful you saw something in me. You are an amazing man, and our country needs you. I am so proud of you, and I cannot wait to continue this journey with you.”
Through my tears, I saw the sweetest smile on Jameson’s lips. And then I saw his tears. We were quite the pair, standing in the middle of a hotel suite’s bedroom, holding hands and crying. He let go of one my hands and wiped away the wetness from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb.
“Are you ready?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not anymore.”
* * *
The hotel ballroom was packed. An even bigger event was being held a few miles away at the Boston Convention Center. We would eventually make our way there, but for now, we remained in the ballroom, watching the results come in on large screens projecting various news channels.
A stage had been assembled at one end of the ballroom. There was a podium where people were already speaking out about other Democratic candidates and the results of their campaigns. This wasn’t a party just for Jameson; it was meant to celebrate every Democratic candidate who was running during this election cycle. But Jameson was the main attraction.
Our entrance interrupted the current speaker. As soon as Jameson stepped foot on the platform, holding my hand, the spotlight hit us, and the crowd cheered. Jameson smiled and waved proudly while I gave the crowd a timid smile. He led us over toward the podium and shook hands with the man who was speaking.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Jameson practically shouted over the roar of the crowd. The gentleman just shook his head and smiled before stepping away.
We approached the podium together, and Jameson waved again. I followed suit because I was fearful of looking like an idiot standing next to him. So I pretended. My nerves were hidden behind the biggest, fakest smile, and I waved like a crazy person. Jameson waited calmly for the crowd to settle down.
“Good evening! Thank you for being here tonight,” he began. The crowd roared, and Jameson patiently waited. “It’s going to be a long night, so I hope you’re comfortable. We’ve already picked up a few states, so thank you! But the West Coast is still voting. And we all know how many people live in California. Congratulations to all the candidates who have already won their races. Whether it’s a state or local race, you earned it, and I know you’re going to make a difference. Georgie and I are incredibly excited to share this night with you, and we’re grateful you’re a part of it. So sit tight, have a drink or two, and let’s hope for the only outcome we’re willing to accept.”
Jameson stepped away from the podium and regained his grip on my hand. We walked to the edge of the stage, waving and smiling, while the crowd continued to cheer. He led me to a long banquet table where the other candidates waited. Jameson shook hands and made small talk, congratulating those who’d already won.
I searched around the room, waiting for familiar faces to appear. My eyes immediately landed on the nearby agents, gauging how close they were to me and how long it would take me to get to one in the event something happened. But nothing was going to ruin Jameson’s night, I told myself. Not even my own newly developed neuroses. I had no clue when Sean would reappear or when DeWayne and Avon would arrive. Hell, I’d give anything to see my favorite spin doctors, Lewis and Jenkins, right about now. Jameson must have sensed my anxiety because he excused himself from a conversation he was having with a state senatorial candidate and led me to the side.
“Are you okay?”
I nodded my head a little too enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. I can see it written all over your face. What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t do well with large crowds, and after everything that happened in Memphis, my anxiety is worse.” I bit my lip nervously and looked around to see if people were watching us.
Jameson placed a firm finger under my chin and guided my face back toward him. His calm, steady demeanor was a balm to my nerves, soothing away the worry and fears.
“Avon and DeWayne will be here soon. They’re staying in a different hotel.”
I nodded my understanding. Knowing that Avon would be here calmed me. We were supposed to be together—expected to be together—and no one would think anything different if I stayed semi-permanently attached to her side the entire evening.
“Don’t ever be afraid to tell me when you’re scared or nervous. I understand how you feel.” I started to doubt Jameson; how could he know how I felt? He was the life of the party. People were drawn to him like a magnet. But his service, his experiences during the war, gave him the same anxiety that now plagued me. He was just better at hiding it and pushing through. He needed to teach me his ways.
We returned to the other candidates, and I was comfortable enough to join some of the conversations, sharing my own support for candidates who were worried about the outcome of their race.
When Avon and DeWayne finally arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief. I practically snatched Avon away from her husband.
“I am so happy to see you,” I exclaimed, embracing her tightly.
“Thank you, I think,” Avon responded, once I finally let go.
“Sorry to bombard you like that. Large crowds of unfamiliar people make me nervous. Everyone in this room knows me, but I don’t have a clue who they are.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just thank them for their support because everyone in this room is here for you and Jameson. They believe in everything you’re doing, and they just want the opportunity to finally tell you that.”
This was the difference between me and Avon. She was a seasoned pro; she knew what to expect at huge events like this and how to handle the thousands of enthusiastic supporters.
“You might have to remind me of that about a hundred times tonight.”
We both stood at the edge of the stage, looking out at the huge ballroom swarming with campaign supporters from all over. I heard Avon exhale loudly, and then she said, “But this is much bigger than I’m used to.”
“At least there’s cake,” I pointed out as a tray filled with dessert passed by us.
“And booze,” she added.
While Jameson introduced DeWayne to the crowd of supporters, Avon and I went in search of reinforcements. We followed the dessert cart and snagged a few plates, taking them back to the stage. No way was I going to let an entire ballroom of people watch me scarf cake, so I discreetly took my plate and hid behind some rather large banners.
“What are you doing back here?” a voice hissed just as I was taking the first bite of chocolate mousse cake into my mouth. Wide-eyed, I turned and came face to face with Jameson.
“Eating cake,” I admitted with a mouthful of the sweet treat.
“Why are you hiding?”
I took another delicious bite and made the effort to swallow it completely before answering him. “Because I don’t want all those people see me eat cake.”
Jameson rolled his eyes, but before he could say something else, the crowd began to cheer and roar. Something happened. I forgot about my cake and my self-consciousness and followed Jameson out front. The screens were all projecting the same news network, and they were getting ready to announce a series of projections.
“We can now predict that Senator Jameson Martin will win the states of New York, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Virginia, and Washington, DC. Ohio is still too close to call. Senator Garcia is predicted to win West Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia. We’re awaiting results from Florida and Michigan. Polls will soon be closing in the following states...” I tuned him out because all I could see was the map showing states that Jameson was projected to carry. His lead had grown over Garcia, but the states that would soon close their polls were traditionally Republican states. Garcia would pull even. Florida, Michigan, and Ohio were going to be crucial.
I pivoted on my heel to face Jameson, who stared up at the screen with amazement. I reached out and took his hand. He looked down briefly at our joined hands before bringing them up to place a kiss on the back of my hand.
“We’re doing it, little darling. We’re winning.”
We were whisked off to the convention center to watch the remaining returns there. Jameson’s excitement was palpable. In the back of the car, his knee bobbed constantly, and he checked his phone every ten seconds. We practically sprinted into the giant convention space because more returns were being announced.
With eager eyes, we watched the announcers deliver a crushing blow: most of the Southern states and their electoral votes would go to Senator Garcia.
Jameson turned to face me and shrugged. “Wasn’t going to win them anyway.”
He did pick up Illinois and Indiana and most of the Midwest, which prompted a collective sigh of relief from the entire hall of attendees.
Then it was back to waiting.
It was well after midnight when the news networks started to project Jameson as the next President of the United States. We waited together with DeWayne, Avon, Jameson’s parents, and Sean in a suite inside the convention hall. My heels were kicked off and my head leaned against Jameson’s shoulder. I was beyond exhausted.
Lewis and Jenkins burst through the door almost simultaneously. “We did it!” Their shouts were in unison, and suddenly, we all started to perk up.
“We. Did. It!” At first, it didn’t register what they were saying. We did it? What exactly did we do?
“We did it?” Jameson asked drowsily. Then it dawned on him, at the same time it must have finally occurred to everyone else, what exactly we had done. We’d put Jameson in the White House. We’d made his dream come true.
Overcome with emotion, I burst into tears. The past few months were the longest of my life, and now, it was finally over. I felt Jameson’s arms slide around me as he cradled my shaking body against his. He held me tightly, and when I felt him vibrate beneath me, I realized he was also crying.
“Oh my God, Georgie.” Jameson gasped to find the words through his own emotion. “We won.”
I managed to peek up at him and nodded my head. I reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand. “Yes, we did. We won.”
Outside in the convention hall, confetti and balloons cascaded down onto the waiting crowd. We were expected down there any moment. Reluctantly, Jameson released me, and I swiped away the tears that streamed down my face. We both stood, and immediately, Avon enveloped me in a hug. Jameson engaged in a hearty round of handshakes and pats on the back until he got to his parents. Everyone in the room was crying, but Sam was so overcome when Jameson approached him.
“I’m so proud of you, son,” Sam choked out. “I’m so proud of everything you’ve accomplished.”
“Thank you, Dad,” Jameson managed to reply.
I stood back, letting them enjoy their time together. I wondered how my own parents would have reacted to this. What would they think about their only child becoming the next first lady of the United States?
“Georgie.” Jameson called out to me, shaking me from my thoughts. I looked at him, and he had his arm extended toward me.
“Let’s go claim our victory,” he whispered, linking our hands and bending down to kiss my cheek. I nodded happily, and then we walked down to the convention hall and the thunderous cheers of everyone there.
All four of us walked onto the stage holding hands. The confetti and balloons were like a constant stream, falling continuously. I trailed behind Jameson as we made our way from one end of the stage to the next, smiling and waving. He finally approached the podium that was set up to deliver his acceptance speech.
The way Jameson tamed the crowd with just the wave of a hand was magical. I was envious of his crowd control, and if I ever ended up back in the classroom, Jameson would need to teach me his ways.
“Thank you so much,” he started. “Thank you for this amazing victory! Because of you, we are standing here tonight. I want to congratulate Senator Garcia on the amazing job he did, coming into an election that was nearly complete and giving it everything. I respect him greatly and look forward to working with him in the future.”
Jameson stepped back from the podium and looked down at the floor. Some might have thought he was just gathering his thoughts, but I saw the tears drip down onto the brown leather of his shoes. I placed my hand on his back and rubbed it in small circles. He stood and looked out over the crowd, his eyes glistening.
“To be honest, I didn’t think this would happen. I imagined giving a very different speech to you tonight. We haven’t had it easy, and there were moments when I was ready to just give up. But time and time again, I was reminded that you needed me; that our country needed me. So thank you for all your hard work. For believing in me and standing by me.”
Jameson turned to face me and grabbed my hands. He brought them up to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “This extraordinary woman changed everything for me. I owe her so much, and she’s going to make one hell of a first lady. Thank you, Georgie, for so much more than I can express.
“America, I promise to be the leader you have deserved for so long, and I promise to serve every single one of you. Thank you, and God bless America!”
Jameson stepped forward and slid his hands around my waist, bringing me closer. He leaned forward and gently kissed my cheek. The night ended with more waving, more smiling, and more tears. By the time it was all over, I collapsed into the back seat of the limousine.
“I promise to make all your dreams come true, too, Georgie. You made mine a possibility, and now it’s your turn.” He linked our hands together and kissed them, sealing the solemn vows he just made.