Jameson
“He’s taking a fucking deal?” I roared into the phone at my lawyer who was probably cowering in his office. I didn’t lose control often, but when he called to tell me that Russell Hunt accepted a plea deal rather than face a trial … well, I exploded. I glanced behind me at Georgie, who sat stoically on our bed. Her blank expression revealed nothing.
I turned away because watching Georgie, who turned into an emotionless robot the moment Russell Hunt dropped his bomb after the arraignment, gutted me. She hadn’t left the bed in days. We watched the press conference together, and when it was over, she collapsed in a heap. I carried her upstairs to the bedroom, where she remained.
“Take some time to think about this, James,” my lawyer, Ron Engle, urged. “Think about what a trial might entail once you’re elected. Think about what Georgie might go through.”
Ron was right. As president, a trial would be extremely complicated and messy. Not to mention, Georgie had been through enough. Did I want to put her in a courtroom with the asshole who not only sexually assaulted her but also tried to kill her? I didn’t think it would be possible for me to be in the same room with him. Every time I think about what he did, what he tried to do, my hands flexed with rage.
And the fact he was unapologetic about it? Russell Hunt should be grateful that the firing squad was no longer an acceptable form of punishment.
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I said, my voice low. The call ended, and I set my phone on the dresser. Gathering my thoughts, I steadied myself before turning to face Georgie.
I approached her slowly, fearful she might retreat and shut me out completely. She stared out the bay window at the gray and rain-splattered morning, totally oblivious to me or anything else. I sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hands, grasping them lightly. I lifted the left hand in a familiar and comforting gesture, kissing her ring finger. The emerald was still there, but like her eyes, its shine was gone.
“Georgie,” I said softly. She finally turned her head and looked at me. Dark circles dominated her face. Her creamy skin had lost its glow, and her golden waves lacked their luster.
My own personal guilt started to creep over me. I bore some of this responsibility because I’d wanted to be president so badly, I was willing to pay someone to become my fiancée. DeWayne West, my running mate, doubted me but still went along with my plan. I was too cocky to think our secret would never be revealed. Then once we fell in love, I figured the way we met wouldn’t even matter. God, I was such an arrogant asshole.
“I have to go to the campaign offices today. The Republicans are meeting today, and we need to start working on a plan for whoever they pick.”
Our gazes connected, and I was positive she was listening, but she didn’t say a word in response.
“Georgie, are you going to be okay? I hate leaving you alone.” Letting go of her hands, I reached up to cup her cheek. She nuzzled her face into my palm, which gave me some encouragement.
I leaned forward and brushed my lips gently across hers. When Georgie came back for a second-helping of kisses, I knew that my feisty girl was still inside; she just needed some time.
“My mom will be over in a little while. She’s going to teach you how to make her top-secret lobster chowder.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Jameson,” Georgie finally said, her voice thick and heavy. Two steps forward, one step back.
I leaned back to give her some space. I should have known better. When it came to Georgie, I was completely transparent.
“I know you don’t, Georgie. But I hate leaving you here by yourself. I just …” I didn’t know what else to say. My phone started ringing, and I stood to silence it. I didn’t want her to think I was ignoring her. I returned to the edge of the bed and slid my hand across her cheek, threading my fingers into her hair.
“I love you so much, little darling,” I finally finished.
“I know, and I love you too,” she replied.
I stood and kissed the top of her head. I grabbed my suit jacket from the gray chair in the corner and slipped it on before leaving the bedroom.
Downstairs, I paused at the front door. Once I opened it, I would be unsealing the cocoon we’d been wrapped up inside since the announcement was made. While Georgie remained in her self-imposed exile, I’d conducted all campaign business from home. But today, my business required me to leave the house.
I took a deep breath before gripping the doorknob, then I stepped into the alcove. One more set of doors separated me from the hungry wolves who waited with their questions.
The shouting started as soon as I opened the doors. It was a deafening roar. My Secret Service agents were there, waiting to clear the walkways for me. Keep your head down, I told myself.
I started forward, ignoring their questions, keeping my eyes trained on the black SUV idling at the curb.
“Senator, is five-million dollars the going rate for pussy these days?” I stopped and turned, glaring at the gaggle of reporters who now fell silent.
My Secret Service agents stepped between me and the reporters.
“Do not engage, sir,” one of them muttered under his breath.
I wanted to engage. I wanted to engage so fucking badly. My nostrils flared as I huffed out a breath, and my fists flexed instinctively. I felt hands urging me toward the car. The back door opened, and I reluctantly climbed inside.
“You’re lucky,” I said to the empty car. “Whoever the fuck you are, you’re lucky.”
I looked up at the house through the heavily tinted windows. Georgie stood in one of the windows on the top floor, looking down, watching the scene below. I wondered if the reporter’s question had been loud enough to penetrate the walls of the house. I closed my eyes and hoped she hadn’t heard.
I was starting to regret asking her to agree to such a ridiculous bargain.