Jameson
“Jameson.” Georgie’s soft voice stirred me from a fitful sleep. I groaned and turned away; I wasn’t ready to be awake yet.
“Jameson.” She poked me in the back, her voice more insistent. I swatted at her hand.
“Jameson, wake up.” Georgie’s poke turned into a shove, and I practically rolled right off the bed.
“Damn, Georgie. Can’t you let a guy sleep?” I grumbled.
“I can’t sleep anymore. My stomach is growling.”
After a few days of dealing with the flu, that included puking up everything she tried to eat, Georgie’s appetite was slowly starting to return.
“Do you want me to get you something to eat?”
“Please,” she cooed. As if she had to try very hard; I’m man enough to admit to being wrapped around her finger.
“What would you like?”
I turned over to face her, and I couldn’t contain the grin that exploded on my face. Her eyes were gleaming wickedly, and she bit her lower lip. I reached up and pulled her finger away and then I stretched to kiss her lightly.
“How about a piece of that cake your mom made?”
Clearly, Georgie’s sweet tooth wasn’t impacted by her illness. I nodded and then rolled out of bed. I didn’t even bother putting on a pair of lounge pants even though it was freezing outside. I padded out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen where I sliced a “Georgie-size” piece of cake and placed it on a plate.
Before I headed for the stairs, I grabbed the thick envelope that arrived this morning. With the holidays and Georgie’s birthday approaching, I wanted to take her someplace special. We’d had a rough few months, and after the New Year, our lives would become even more chaotic.
When I returned to the bedroom, Georgie was sitting up in bed, the comforter pooled around her waist. She wore a navy blue long-sleeve thermal, and I knew her legs were covered in flannel pajama bottoms decorated with prancing reindeer. Her amber-colored hair was messily piled on top of her head, and she was staring down at the screen of her phone.
“I have a surprise for you,” I announced.
“Is it two slices of cake?”
I set the plate down on the bedside table next to her and perched on the edge of the bed. “Easy there, little darling. You just got your appetite back. Let’s not overdo it.”
She pouted briefly until I placed the thick envelope in her lap. “What’s this?”
“Open it. It’s your birthday and Christmas present.”
Georgie practically became giddy as she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope. When she had it opened, she dumped out the contents, which was a pile of brochures. Instantly, she looked confused. “What is all this?”
I rifled through the pile until I found the specific brochure for the exclusive Hawaiian resort where I was taking her. “This is where we’re going in a few days. And these are all the different things we can do. Or we can simply do nothing.”
“Oh my God, Jameson! Are you serious? Hawaii for my birthday?”
“And for Christmas and for New Year’s.” I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Happy Birthday, little darling.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Her phone beeped with a message from the covers below, and I pulled away. “What were you up to when I walked in? You’re still supposed to be resting.”
“I wanted to know how your meeting with Max went. I forgot all about it.”
There went my good mood. “Oh. Well, maybe you should eat some cake now.”
“Jameson,” she scolded me. “Don’t try to change the subject, even if it’s with cake.”
That didn’t stop her from grabbing the plate, though, and plunging her fork right into it.
“He’s got a lot of messes to clean up. Frankly, I’m not entirely certain why Governor Neill didn’t fire him.”
She frowned as she pulled the fork slowly from her mouth. “Oh. That’s disappointing. So does that mean you’re not going to nominate him?”
“I have a conference call scheduled tomorrow with Governor Neill. I won’t make a decision without talking to her first.”
Georgie nodded, and I could see the disappointment written all over her face. I wondered who let her down—me or Max Edison? I took the plate from her and gently set it down.
“Let’s go back to sleep, okay? We’ll discuss this after I talk to the governor.”
“Okay.” Georgie found her phone and didn’t even bother checking it before she placed it inside the drawer of her bedside table.
Georgie slid down beneath the covers, drawing them up to her chin, abandoning her barely eaten cake. I watched her carefully, taking note of the way her color was returning as her illness faded from her body. By the time we left for Hawaii, she would be one-hundred percent better, and we could enjoy a few weeks in paradise.
* * *
Paradise couldn’t come soon enough. When I finally woke and left Georgie in bed to sleep, an urgent message from my lawyer, Ron Engle, was waiting for me. That was never good.
“Hello, Ron,” I said in greeting. I hadn’t even had coffee yet, but something told me that I was going to need something much stronger.
“Good morning, Jameson. I’m sorry I’m not calling with happier news.” He sounded flustered, which meant this phone call had something to do with Russell Hunt.
“What’s going on? You never call this early.”
“The judge is supposed to sentence Hunt and the other two men today. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”
“Any indication of what they’ll get?”
“I’m guessing that the other two gunmen will receive life. Russell Hunt, though …”
“Spit it out, Ron.”
“Thirty years, maybe.”
“That’s still a long-ass time.”
“With the possibility of parole,” he added cautiously.
“FUCK! Can we petition the judge to deny him parole?”
“Unfortunately, no. You can petition the parole board, though, when the time comes for a hearing.”
“That’s something, then. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll call when there’s news.”
I grumbled out a goodbye and then walked over to the coffeepot. Today, I was going to need more than just one cup.
I still had a few hours before my phone call with Governor Neill, so I caught up on some of the more mundane tasks of the transition. Georgie wanted my opinion on several pieces of art, so I flipped through the binder she created and placed markers on all the pieces I liked so she could acquire them. Then there was a folder of more design bullshit that I didn’t really want to bother with, so I just tossed it aside. She could do whatever she wanted in the White House as long as she was there. I called the storage unit in New Hampshire and made arrangements for her father’s desk to be picked up and shipped to D.C., then I called the antiques dealer who bought Georgie’s family heirlooms and arranged to purchase them back. She’d have to sort through them and determine which ones she wanted in the White House and which ones would return to her family home.
All these mundane tasks were just distractions to keep me focused. I wasn’t too worried about my conversation with Governor Neill; in fact, I was looking forward to it because I wanted Max Edison to check out, for Georgie’s sake. I could handle my jealousy, but I hated seeing Georgie disappointed.
The news that was coming, though—Russell Hunt’s sentence—kept nagging me, working its way to the front of my mind. The only silver lining to this whole shit show was that the families of the two agents who were killed filed a civil lawsuit against Russell Hunt and against Governor Lamar Huntley. I wasn’t entirely certain if that part of the lawsuit had any legal legs to stand on, but I was thrilled to see Lamar face the consequences of his buried secrets.
I made my way to my office, still worried about Hunt’s sentence, and prepared for my conference call. I had a list of questions for Governor Neill; namely, how the hell she managed to bury all this personal bullshit that seemed to come pouring out as soon as we began digging deeper.
“Good morning, Governor,” I greeted her warmly.
“Good afternoon, Senator Martin. Or should I call you Mr. President now?”
“Jameson is fine, Marianne. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me today about Max Edison.”
“Certainly. I’m not too happy that you’re stealing my Secretary of Education to be yours. He’s really transformed our schools.”
“So I’ve heard. And honestly, Marianne, if I was basing my decision solely on what he did for your state, I would have zero reservations. But his personal life is a shit show. He’s got some questionable involvement with Global Education Initiative, which is now under federal investigation. I want to know how all that hasn’t leaked into his job.”
“Jameson, Max is nothing if not professional. I understand your reservations about him, though, because, at the federal level, his personal life is under much more scrutiny. As are his connections. I can honestly say that what he’s dealing with personally has somehow fueled him. He’s a workaholic. This business with his ex-wife seems to be driving him. I’m not sure why; maybe because he can control work. But I don’t see it hurting him in the long run.”
Too many good politicians were brought down by a woman. Not that Max Edison was a good politician but even his stellar performance in California was in jeopardy of being tainted by his ex.
“And Global Initiative? What are your thoughts about his involvement with them?”
“We’ve talked about that, and I wasn’t pleased when I learned about it. However, his involvement pre-dated his position with the state of California. Once he became Secretary of Education, he assured me he was nothing more than a silent partner in a firm trying to achieve similar goals.”
“He’s promised to divest himself of his shares if I nominate him.”
“Is that good enough for you?”
I sighed heavily. Was it? “That’s the biggest red flag for me, Marianne. That firm is absolute shit, and he’s just funneling money into it. I don’t understand how he can be a part of it, professionally or financially, and still spout his reform message.”
“That’s something he’ll have to answer in his committee hearing.”
“I don’t want to look like an incompetent asshole. I want the best.”
“But what if the best comes with baggage?”
That was an excellent question. Could I overlook personal baggage in order to have the best in my cabinet? No one was perfect, and I knew that better than anyone else. Our phone call ended, and I headed down to the lower level of the townhouse to continue thinking about my decision.
“Jameson?” I heard Georgie call from the floor above. Ron still hadn’t called with an update on Russell Hunt’s sentencing, and now that she was awake, I was going to have to prepare her for the outcome.
“I’m down here,” I yelled from the base of the staircase.
A blond head appeared above me, and it was hard not to smile at the sight. “I was thinking about going into Boston Commons and doing some Christmas shopping since we’re not going to be home for the holidays.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang. A chill ran through my body. I didn’t have to look down at my screen to see who was calling. I knew it was Ron. I turned my back on Georgie, knowing she was going to follow me down the stairs.
“Tell me,” I said without preamble.
“The other two shooters received life without parole.”
That bit of news was acceptable. That was still justice in my eyes, and I think Georgie shared a similar opinion.
“And Hunt?” Behind me, I could feel Georgie. I turned and saw her standing in the doorway, the color drained completely from her face. I held out my hand to her, which she took reluctantly, and then I wrapped her against me tightly.
“Thirty years. He’s eligible for parole in ten.”
“Son of a bitch!” I roared, making Georgie cringe and cling tighter to me.
“I understand how you feel, Jameson. I’m sorry we didn’t get better results.” He paused momentarily before adding, “There is a light at the end of the tunnel.”
“It’d better be a pretty fucking massive light, Ron, because I’m going to have to break this to Georgie.”
“The civil lawsuit is still moving forward and could go to trial. There’s still a chance that justice could be served, at least monetarily.”
“Will Georgie have to testify?”
“If the lawyers subpoena her, then yes. But there are ways around that.”
“Okay, thank you, Ron.” I sighed, ending our call. Now came the hard part. “Let’s go sit down, little darling. I’ve got some things to tell you.”
Georgie nodded, and we moved across the room to the plush sectional. We curled up together in the corner, and I kissed Georgie on top of the head. I relayed the information about the sentencing of the two gunmen, which melted some of the tension from her body. I hated that she seemed so relaxed in my arms when I was about to tell her that in ten years, Russell Hunt might get parole.
“Hunt got thirty years, but in ten, he’s eligible for parole.”
Georgie said nothing. Within the confines of my arms, her body trembled. Was it anger or anguish?
“That’s not going to happen, Georgie. Do you hear me? He’s going to serve that thirty years. I promise you, little darling, Russell Hunt will serve his full sentence if it’s the last thing I do.”
Another promise made but this was one promise I intended never to break, no matter what.