Jameson
This was the best night of my life. I was officially the president of the United States. Jameson Martin, the scrawny little kid who looked up to his daddy and dreamed about becoming president one day, was now the commander in chief. I looked in the mirror and made one last adjustment to my black silk bow tie. Now it was time to celebrate.
“Holy fuck, is that what you’re wearing?” Georgie stepped into the bedroom from the dressing room.
Georgie seemed distracted, working an earring into her ear before looking up at me and smiling. “Yes, I am,” she replied, smoothing down the massive skirt of her red satin ball gown. She looked gorgeous with her hair curled into massive waves that perfectly framed her face. And the dress she chose for tonight … it left me damn near speechless. It was strapless with a deep V that somehow kept her covered but also revealed a hint of her cleavage. And it sparkled. Thousands of tiny crystals covered the bodice of the dress.
“Jesus,” I muttered as she walked past me to collect her clutch purse and black cashmere wrap.
“Do you not like it?”
“I love it. It’s just … a lot of dress. Thank God for Secret Service.”
Georgie looked back at me and smiled sweetly, but with one glance at those devilish green eyes, I knew she had something up her sleeve.
“Umm, your gift wouldn’t fit under my dress, so I couldn’t wear it tonight,” she informed me.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “What does that mean?”
“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself. Now hurry up, Mr. President. We’ve got a ball to attend.”
Georgie disappeared before I could say another word or ask for further explanation. I followed quickly behind her, my brand-new patent-leather dress shoes slipping against the marble floor. I chuckled to myself at the thought of the president wiping out in the private residence. That would be a first, I thought with a smirk.
She was already in the limousine, waiting for me. The skirt of her dress took up one section of seats, so we were forced to sit apart, which was probably a good thing because if I touched her, then there was a real possibility we were going to be late. And I was seriously considering it because I wanted to find out what was under that dress.
We were scheduled to arrive at a few different events throughout the course of the night. The first one was for the campaign volunteers, and they greeted us with a loud cheer. I gave a short speech, thanking them for all their hard work, and then we mingled with some of the attendees. But no dancing; I was saving that dance for a very special moment.
The next party we stopped at was pretty much the same thing: give a short speech and then mingle. It was exhausting, but it was also our duty as the newly-elected president and first lady. These events were for the people who worked tirelessly to put us in the White House. The least we could do was share a drink and celebrate with them.
By the time we arrived at the last ball, the most important one of the night, I was more than ready to head back to the White House, but I owed Georgie a dance. She looked like fucking Cinderella, so the least I could do was pretend to be Prince Charming.
The first few notes of what I considered to be “our song” began, and I took pleasure in grabbing her hand and pulling her away from whomever she was entertaining.
“This is our moment, little darling,” I whispered in her ear.
We were center stage, the lights on us, following our every movement. I slipped one hand around her waist, pulling her close, and used the other to take hold of her left hand. I cradled it in mine, holding it against my chest while we swayed to the band’s rendition of “Here Comes the Sun.”
Georgie closed her eyes and bowed her head, a small smile on her lips. When she looked up, I saw her eyes glassy with tears. I let go of her hand to brush her tears away with the pad of my thumb.
“Why are you crying?” I asked her quietly.
“Because of this moment. This is an absolutely perfect moment.”
“Enjoy it, Georgie. You deserve it. We deserve it. And tonight, I’m going to find out what kind of secrets you’ve been hiding under this dress. But tomorrow … tomorrow, the work begins.”
* * *
The first real order of business was a grim one. Planning my own funeral. Within the first week of the new administration, the president has to make arrangements in the event of his death while in office, natural or otherwise.
“This is some seriously sick shit,” I said to Sean, who was helping me. I didn’t want Georgie present for this.
“We had to do it in the Army, too,” he reminded me.
“That was before I had Georgie to consider.” In the Army, I was a young, inexperienced officer who, more often than not, was a little too gung-ho for battle. I never put my men in danger, but I was also a little careless at times. If I was killed during combat, then there were only my parents and a small contingency of friends to mourn me. Now, I had to think about Georgie. I had to make sure that if I died, she would be taken care of.
“It would be a lot easier if you were already married,” my lawyer, Ron Engle, chimed in.
“Ron, with all due respect, fuck off. I just got to the White House. I need to figure out how to be a president before I become a husband.”
“They’re kind of the same,” he replied. “Don’t make either of them angry, and you’ll live a long and happy life.”
I snorted with laughter. That seemed to be true, but while I was eager to begin this new marriage to my country, I wasn’t ready to take that next step with Georgie. We needed to get settled first, and then we could discuss marriage. I wasn’t about to succumb to the public’s pressure to get married just because they thrived on sensational storylines.
After I finished planning my funeral, I began working to undo an arms deal that President Arden had negotiated. It was something I vehemently opposed as a senator, and now that I was president, I wasn’t going to honor it.
“You’re going to cause a lot of problems, James,” Elias told me. I called him to the Oval Office to meet with me because he played an integral part in negotiating the agreement. Now, as my newly sworn in Secretary of State, he was going to have a hand in its undoing.
“I’m not going to give millions of dollars’ worth of military equipment to a group of poorly trained rebels. That spells trouble for me. We don’t know for sure if we can trust them, and I am not about to have this agreement come back and hurt us. It’s happened once, and it’ll happen again.”
“You’re the president now, so this is your call.”
“You’re right. I am the president. Please, trust me on this.”
Some of the military’s top commanders joined us because even with my experience in combat and my membership on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, I couldn’t break this deal without their input. There were varying opinions, but no one could confidently tell me these groups were trustworthy and that they wouldn’t ultimately use our own weapons against us.
“What does your gut tell you, Mr. President?” one of the commanders asked.
“That this is a really bad fucking deal. I’m not President Arden; it’s not about the almighty dollar for me. It’s about saving lives and making sure lives aren’t needlessly lost.”
“Okay then, let’s come up with a new plan.”
We spent hours working on something new to present to these rebel groups. I wasn’t just about to take away the deal they negotiated with Arden; I had to put something new on the table. If they didn’t like the new deal, then that was on them.
Throughout the day, I received updates from Sean on the confirmation of the members of my cabinet. Everything was running smoothly, except for Maxwell Edison. Reluctantly, I nominated him, but his committee hearing wasn’t for another week or so. His ongoing divorce wasn’t the issue, though; it was his involvement with Global Education Initiative. They were now under federal investigation, and before Edison could be confirmed, or even go before the committee, he had to divest himself of his interest and be cleared by the investigators. I thought about something Governor Neill said, about the best coming with baggage, and it seemed that Maxwell Edison had certainly arrived with his fair share.
I also received several messages that Georgie was trying to get in touch. This must be difficult for her not to be able to communicate instantly with me. We’ve always had constant contact, but now that wasn’t necessarily possible.
“Check with Ms. Washington to see if there’s an emergency,” I informed Lauren, my deputy communications director. “If there is, let me know and I’ll handle it right away. If not, let her know that I’ll be in touch as soon as possible.”
Lauren smiled politely. “Of course, Mr. President.”