Georgie
An unsettling feeling deep in the pit of my stomach churned to life, and I stirred awake to find myself alone in bed. I sat up, holding the top sheet up to my naked chest, and blinked the sleep away. Jameson sat at the desk in the suite’s bedroom, his head cradled in his hands. The room was still dark, but I could see night beginning to lose its battle with day through the drapery. I looked back at Jameson, his posture broadcasting defeat, and I knew. The Republicans picked their man. They chose Elias Garcia.
Swinging my legs to the side, I planted my feet and wrapped myself in the sheet. I padded over to where Jameson sat and placed a comforting arm across his back. He sucked in a sharp breath and then swiveled in the chair, his head still hung low. He gripped my hips firmly and placed his head against my stomach.
“I just want to be president. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted, and now, I feel like it’s slipping away.” He didn’t mean to offend me, and I tried not to take exception to what he said because I knew how he felt about being president. He desired it enough to seek out a woman to pretend to be his fiancée. I still hoped he wanted me just as badly as the White House, though.
I ran my fingers through his inky black hair and then down to his shoulders, where I rested my hands. “You will be, Jameson.”
“How do you know?”
“What is that thing Lewis and Jenkins are constantly reminding us about? Most voters have already made up their minds. You’re just battling it out for the Independents. And that’s why we’re here, in Nevada. That’s why we’ve never stopped campaigning. So we earn every single vote.”
Jameson sat back and looked up at me with smoldering blue eyes. “I love you so fucking much, Georgie.”
“We can beat him. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” I placed reverent kisses on both of his cheeks before brushing his lips lightly with my own.
We returned to bed and curled around each other, watching the hotel suite fill with sunlight. We waited until the last possible moment to climb out of bed and get ready to leave. It was time to leave Nevada and head to the Midwest.
Jameson made great progress during the few campaign stops we made, talking to college students and immigrants. I played the observer during this trip, watching the crowd and gauging their reaction to the pledges he made them. Did they believe him? I wanted to ask them myself, but new fears and anxiety had me thinking twice.
Before Memphis, I wouldn’t hesitate to go out into the crowd and talk to them. I wouldn’t even blink an eye at the Secret Service hovering because the voter was the only thing that mattered. After Memphis, I hesitated to get lost in the crowd and talk with them. My assigned agents were always close, ready to reach out and grab me when the anxiety of being in a crowd would seep between the cracks of my armor and settle. The desire to hear the stories of voters gave me strength, though; I needed to hear what they had to say now. They shared their concerns with me, and I was cognizant of the awesome power they were placing on Jameson’s shoulders. These people, whose lives were vastly different from ours, believed him when he promised them they could stay and build their lives here.
In the Midwest, Jameson would once again offer himself up to the masses. Our first stop was Minnesota, where DeWayne and Avon would meet us. The plan was to divide and conquer—Avon and I were scheduled to speak at separate events. But that no longer seemed like the right thing to do.
We had ten days. A week to fly through these scheduled campaign events, and then the third and final debate. After the debate, America only had a few days to make up their minds before Election Day. Ten. Days. So much could happen in such a short amount of time.
“Cancel all my events,” I blurted out. Jameson and I sat in the back of an armored SUV with heavily tinted, bulletproof windows. Security became even tighter after the shooting.
“What?” Jameson’s mind was clearly somewhere else. He looked at me with a furrowed brow.
“I want you to call Sean and cancel all my events. We need to stick together.”
“But we have so much ground to cover.”
“That doesn’t matter, Jameson.” It was difficult for me to explain how I felt. I couldn’t just say “woman’s intuition” and leave it at that. “The Republicans want us to split up. They want me to be alone and vulnerable. But if we’ve learned anything during these past few months, it’s that we’re stronger when we’re together. This is when you need to call in every single favor and get your surrogates out there spreading your message. America needs to see that we’re completely united. We might be engaged, but there’s still a chance our relationship might end.”
Jameson shot me a pointed look that said, “Don’t you ever say something like that again.” I held up my hands in surrender.
“We’re not married. There might be some voters who are cautious about voting for a man who was desperate enough to hire a fiancée.” A low growl escaped Jameson’s lips, and I chuckled. “It’ll be a fantastic story to tell our children one day, but you have to admit, you didn’t think everything through before you agreed to that plan.”
It was almost comical to imagine the five of them—Jameson, Sean, DeWayne, Lewis and Jenkins—sitting around a table in a dark office, beating their chests like a bunch of cavemen over this plan. Only a group of men would fail to see all the flaws in the original arrangement, and even I had to admit that my feelings for Jameson blinded me to some of our plan’s weaknesses.
“Speaking of our agreement,” I said, reaching into my bag and pulling out a magazine with my top choice for Secretary of Education, Maxwell Edison, front and center on the cover. “You should read this.”
Jameson took the magazine from me and studied the cover before flipping to the article. He made a “hmm” noise as he skimmed the article, his brows scrunched together with concentration. “Education wunderkind? Is this who you want to nominate?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding my head excitedly. “What he’s done in California is so amazing. It’s revolutionary. I’ve been following his career for a while.”
He closed the magazine and studied the cover. “Are you sure he’s not just another pretty face with deep pockets?”
Maxwell Edison was quite handsome, with sandy brown hair, sky blue eyes, and a Cheshire cat smile that filled his entire face. In another lifetime, a man of his caliber might have sparked my interest, but all I had to do was look over at the man next to me to realize there wasn’t anyone else but Jameson. He was made for me.
Before I had the chance to respond, Jameson’s phone interrupted us. I rolled my eyes and turned away; the closer we got to Election Day, the more his phone rang. This was his job, though; he couldn’t just turn it off, and I understood that well enough. And once he was president, it would ring damn near every hour of every day.
“I’ll read this on the plane.” Jameson’s voice caught me off guard, and I quickly turned back to look at him. I hadn’t realized that his call ended. He held up the magazine, and I nodded.
“Well, while you’re reading that…” I let my voice trail off as I dug into my bag for the folder that I started with copies of articles on Maxwell Edison. “Here are a few more that you should read.”
“You’ve been doing your homework, haven’t you?”
“I get one pick, Jameson. I can’t screw it up.” He laughed lightly and held firmly to the folder I gave him with one hand while holding my hand tightly with the other. This was how we were now, always connected. He never let go, and truthfully, I didn’t think I wanted him to.
I slept on the flight to Minnesota because I knew that as soon as we landed, we would immediately head to a campaign rally. As we deplaned, Jameson handed me back my folder and said, “I took notes and wrote down a couple of questions. He’s a possibility, but I want you to pick a Candidate B.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a firm nod.
When we arrived at the location of the rally, a high school football stadium, it was cold, but I was happy to see Avon and DeWayne. The crowd was huge and roared loudly, filling my ears with an almost inhuman sound. My skin prickled with a thousand emotions at the welcome we received.
As we approached the stage, the music changed and Eric Clapton’s “Lay Down Sally” began playing.
“This is my favorite song,” Jameson practically shouted before taking me in his arms and twirling me across the stage. His smile and energy were contagious, and before I knew what was happening, we were having an impromptu dance in front of thousands of people gathered to hear him speak. But the crowd loved it. From the corner of my eye, I saw DeWayne spinning Avon in a similar fashion.
“What’s gotten into you,” I murmured, snuggling closer to Jameson as we rocked and swayed with the music.
“Nothing but a fighting spirit.”