Page 13 of Presidential Bargain
We boarded the elevator car and Jameson hit the button for the top floor. The silence between us was awkwardly comfortable. “Did you have dinner?” he finallyasked.
“Sort of,” I replied, thinking of my pitiful,childishmeal.
“You can order room service if you’re stillhungry.”
“Thank you.” I wasn’t necessarily hungry, but I wouldn’t turn down a bottle of red wine and a slice of chocolate cake. Or a whole chocolate cake, if theyhadit.
The elevator car finally stopped and the doors opened. As we stepped out, I immediately noticed the increased security presence, something that my floor seriously lacked. Jameson nodded at the men standing guard in the hallway as we made our way to the door of his suite. It was hard not to notice the way the khaki material hugged his perfect backside as he pulled the plastic key card from his back pocket and openedthedoor.
I followed him inside the expansive suite, which had a large living area with bedrooms on either side, and a wall of windows at the back end that opened to a large balcony. Jameson headed toward one of the bedrooms while I headed to thewindows.
Sprawled before me was New York City, lit up with millions of twinkling lights. I had never seen anything so gorgeous before. Modern high-rise buildings towered over ancient brick apartment buildings. Cars honked loudly, infiltrating the quiet with their garish sounds. Below us, endless trails of red brake lights and white headlights illuminated the citystreets.
“Is this your first visit to New York City?” Jameson’s voice, at times, was smooth as velvet and his deep baritone was soothing as it slid acrossmyskin.
“No. My parents brought me when I was ten. They took me to every museum. To Ellis Island. To see the Statue of Liberty. The customaryBroadwayplay.”
“Cats,Les Mis, orPhantom?”
“Les Mis, probably.” I smiled at the memory of walking through the Museum of Natural History with my father, the ancient bones of a tyrannosaurus rex towering above me. “I haven’t been back since,though.”
“Let’s talk about your schedule.” This was work Jameson now, the Jameson whose sole focus was winning the presidency, no matter what. I followed him over to a plush couch and sat down next to him. He had a calendar spread out on the coffee table in front of thecouch.
“Lewis and Jenkins thought you might like to visit a few schools, so we’ve added that to the schedule, but not for a few weeks. For now, you will accompany me to events we’ve alreadyplanned.”
“I appreciate that. But what am I expectedtodo?”
Jameson sighed but remained focused on the calendar in front of us. “You’ll give short speeches to introduce me. You might answer a few questions but mostly you’ll just sitthere…”
And look pretty, I finished mentally. “Of course.” I smiled tightly and blinked away a few stray tears. I didn’t think my role at these events would be significant, but I felt insulted. I didn’t agree to be Jameson Martin’s arm candy; I agreed to become the next First Lady and it was time to act a littlepresidential.
“My mother had breast cancer. I’d like to make a visit to a few hospitals and visit patients and their families. Finding a cure for cancer is just as important to me as fully fundingeducation.”
“I’ll talk to Sean about it tomorrow. There’s, uh, one other thing we need to discuss.” He sat back, crossing one long leg over the other and stretching out an arm across the back of the couch. “Several media outlets have asked for us to do exclusive interviews.People,US Weekly, evenGood Housekeeping. But there’s one that I think we should seriouslyconsider.”
“Whichone?”
“Vanity Fair.” Was he being serious? Jameson wanted to be in an issue ofVanity Fair? It was almost laughable until I saw his serious expression. “They’ve contracted Sierra Simmons to do an exclusive portraitseries.”
I swallowed hard. Sierra Simmons was pretty much the photographer that celebrities were dying to work with. If Sierra Simmons photographed you, then you were special, and she made all her subjects look breathtaking and surreal. There was such a raw edge to her style that I had always admired. If the magazine wanted Sierra Simmons to photograph us, who was I to turnitdown?
“All right. I’ll agreetothat.”
“You’re being very amenable this evening.” His smile was a little uneven, one corner twisting crookedly. He reached out and caught a lock of my hair between his fingers. He played with it, twisting it around his index finger before he let it go. I held my breath the entire time. The gesture was oddly intimate and the way he looked at me in that split second made my entire bodyshiver.
“I’m tired. I’m more agreeable when I’m a littlesleepy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He looked at me with a sly, wolfish grin and those devilish blue eyes. “Thank you for today, for makingiteasy.”
I was taken aback. I made this easy? It seemed like I was making his campaign more difficult, like I was some sort of necessary evil that he needed in order to win. He was hot and cold with me and, right now, he was very, very hot. “You’rewelcome.”
“Go to bed, Georgie.” His voice was a hoarse whisper, his gazeheated.
“Okay.”
We stood slowly, together. He took my hand, the one with his ring, and kissed it again. Then he brought his lips to my cheek, lingering there a little too long. I inhaled his clean, spicy scent and closed my eyes. Oh, why couldn’t this be real? Why couldn’t I actually be engaged tothisman?
I turned and disappeared into the room where he had put my suitcase. I was pleased to find my favorite pair of black yoga pants and a soft, oversized gray T-shirt were included in the items that had been packed for me. There were new bottles of shampoo and conditioner, as well as all the other essentials. There were also new clothing items—casual pieces to wear but still maintain an effortless ‘First Lady style’. And my laptop was tucked away in an insidepocket.
