Jameson
Georgie sounded angry. Her jaw was tense, and her eyes were trained on the wall across the room. She fell back against the bed and then rolled to her side, away from me. Where did this emotion come from?
I placed a comforting hand on her shoulder and gently turned her so I could look into her eyes and find the source of this new rage.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
An unexpected tear rolled down the side of her face and disappeared into her hair. I wiped away what remained.
“What if other people knew what Russell Hunt was going to do? What if they knew, and they didn’t stop him? So much hurt, so much pain could have been avoided if only someone had stopped him.”
Georgie lay on her side, facing me and pulled the top sheet up to her chest. She fiddled nervously with the edge until I placed a hand over hers, stopping her. Her eyes met mine and I didn’t look away until she knew what I wanted. Honesty.
“What if the only reason you love me is because Russell Hunt hurt me?” I sucked in a sharp breath. I hadn’t expected a confession like that to escape her lips. I had no idea Georgie even thought something like that.
I slid down until my body was flush against hers. I cradled her in my arms and stroked her hair. “Is that what you really think, Georgie?”
“A part of me does,” she admitted. I felt the wetness of her tears hit my bare chest. Her body trembled against mine, and I held her tighter.
“I fell in love with you the moment you walked into that hotel suite and demanded a cabinet pick. You could have asked for more money or something totally extravagant, but you didn’t.” I bent my head to place a kiss on her hair. “How could I not love you after that?”
The rest of our night dissolved into quiet murmurs until Georgie was asleep in my arms. Georgie had always been honest with me, but tonight, I was stunned by her brutal admission. How could she even doubt me? At times, I felt like she knew me better than I knew myself, yet a part of her thought I only loved her out of what? Pity? She had been pitied for years because of the tragic deaths of her parents. Maybe she’d expected the same from me.
I watched her sleep while my brain kept working, processing the events of the day. Eventually, my body relaxed, and I fell into a dreamless, fitful sleep.
I stopped fighting with myself just as dawn broke the horizon. Georgie remained curled up in a messy tangle of blankets while I slipped from the bed and started my day.
Today was the second full day of the Republicans’ hastily thrown together convention. Party establishment was meeting, plus any delegates who could manage a last-minute trip to Washington. I had plans to meet with several policy advisors to keep working on my own agenda.
Sean arrived early in the morning because we were working from my home office today. There was no point in going down to campaign headquarters when everything could be accomplished from the comfort of my favorite armchair.
“That was quite the performance from Georgie,” Sean commented once we settled down to begin working.
“She’s angry, and you know how she feels about being manipulated. Plus, she’s scared,” I added.
Sean’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Scared? What is she scared of?”
“A lot of things. But mostly, she’s scared that I love her for all the wrong reasons.”
Sean blew out a breath and looked away. “I don’t know anything about that, man.”
“I know, man. You wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she showed up naked in your bed,” I replied.
“You know what? You’re an asshole, but you’re probably right.”
“That’s sad, Sean. We need to fix that. I know some escorts who might be willing to help you out.” I winked, and he reminded me of my position in his life with his middle finger.
“At least, you can joke about it now.”
I heard the distant clanking and clattering of dishes in the kitchen, signaling Georgie was awake. I knew her well enough now to know that she wasn’t a morning person and needed a good hour to “wake up” before she was even approachable. So Sean and I kept planning the remainder of the campaign.
“When do you think they’ll have a decision made?” I asked Sean.
He glanced up from his phone with a frown. “I’m not sure. If they pick Garcia, like we suspect, he might take a while to accept the nomination. He didn’t want to run. Why would he run now?”
That was the million-dollar question. Why would Elias Garcia suddenly agree to run, when he so adamantly said he’d never run before the primaries?
“We need a plan for that. I can feel it in my gut that he’s going to be their nominee. Let’s start campaigning like he’s going to be their pick.”
Lewis and Jenkins, two campaign advisors who now worked as presidential advisors, were summoned, along with a few other key players in the campaign. DeWayne arrived to the conversation via video chat and we all sat around my office brainstorming.
“He’s Hispanic, so he’s going to appeal to the immigrant vote and to the Latinos. We need to visit those states where their voice is loudest,” Sean offered.
Everyone agreed. That meant going back West. I didn’t think Georgie would have a problem with this new plan, but I’ve learned enough to know that she needed to be consulted. After everyone left, hours later, I found her curled up in a chair in our bedroom, staring out the bedroom window. Her posture and expression were eerily similar to how she looked only days ago, that I immediately thought something had happened.
“Georgie? What’s wrong,” I asked cautiously. I approached slowly, and she turned to face me, finally. Thankfully, her green eyes shimmered with life.
“Nothing. Did everyone leave?” She seemed a little out of it, and I took note of the laptop at her feet. She had a terrible habit of browsing gossip websites even after I told her not to, and I was starting to think that I needed to make good on a previous threat to block those sites.
“Yes. We’re planning on leaving for the West Coast tomorrow. Is that all right?”
“If that’s what you think is best, then it’s fine. I’ll start packing.”
Georgie stood and started to walk past me, but I slipped a hand across her waist and held her. “Whoa, little darling. Not so fast. I have a very important question to ask you.”
She smiled. This was a familiar game, one that we hadn’t played in what felt like ages. “Okay.”
“Do you love me?” Normally, I asked her about a favorite song by a particular artist, but tonight, I wanted to hear those three little magical words.
“Yes, Jameson.”
“Then say it.”
“I love you.”
“Good. Now tell me your favorite Eric Clapton song.”
She laughed, a hearty sound that seemed to come from deep within and travel up. “My favorite Eric Clapton song? That’s really tough because my dad absolutely loved him, you know?”
“No, I didn’t. Thank you for telling me,” I said softly. It was rare for Georgie to discuss her parents, and when she was willing to part with some morsel of information, I was more than eager to listen.
Her eyes grew wide with a memory, and she smiled brightly. “I’ve got it! My dad used to listen to ‘I Feel Free’ all the time. I think it would have to be that one.”
“I Feel Free” could not have been a more a perfect choice for her. “Come on, little darling, let me bask in the sunshine of your love before we have to get on the road.”