Page 58 of Presidential Bargain
“I hope you like all of the renovations. I’ve seen a few pictures and it looksamazing.”
I desperately wanted to ask to see the pictures, but I restrained myself because I wanted to be surprised. I bounced in my seat anxiously as we drove through the narrow, winding roads that would take me back to a place filled with so much love and so manymemories.
The brick Tudor I called home came into view as we drove down the long, tree-lined driveway. The brick looked refreshed and the cream stucco looked brighter. The SUV stopped just in front of the house, which was anchored by a heavy, red wooden door that had been freshly lacquered so the red was a bold, vibrant shade. I quickly exited the car the minute it stopped, but came to a halt when I realized I no longer had keys. I gave them to Jameson months ago, when he announced he formally hired contractors to begin renovations. His strong arms wrapped around me and he dangled the keys in front ofmynose.
“I know New Hampshire is very safe, but I made sure the door was locked,” hechidedme.
I snatched them out of his grasp and made quick work of unlockingthedoor.
I stepped into the expansive front living room, which was both disgustingly bare because I had sold all the furniture, but also gleaming and gorgeous. The hardwood floors sparkled under a fresh coat of stain and the beams in the ceiling had also received a similar treatment. The paneling that once lined the walls had been removed and the room was now painted a soft, creamy color. I wasinawe.
I turned back toward Jameson, who stood in the entryway, filling it with his large body. Tears stung my eyes, ready to fall, and my bottom lip quivered under the weight of my emotions. He smiled and gestured with his hand to urge me forward. I nodded in understanding and turned back, heading toward the kitchen I lovedsomuch.
It had been completely gutted. The old, golden pine cabinets had been replaced with beautiful white ones and the countertop was now a shiny, black granite. I looked down at the slate tile that covered the floor and then at the professional-grade appliances that filled the spaces where my ancient ones used to be. It was all so overwhelming, and yet, exactly what Iwanted.
Large piles of mail waited to be sorted, but that could wait. I turned back toward Jameson, who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He was back to watching me like a hawk, his expression thoughtful. I grabbed his hand and dragged him up the back staircase. I was eager to see him in my bedroom, the only place other than the kitchen where I trulylived.
I stepped foot into a room I didn’t recognize. The floors had been refinished with a dark stain and the trim was a bright white. The walls were painted a rich shade of gray that had a hint of purple, and the rickety ceiling fan had been replaced with a stunning chandelier. Gone was the ancient mattress and box spring I slept on and in its place was a massive bed. The headboard and footboard were upholstered in a creamy velvet and it was covered in plush bedding, with piles of pillows. The entire room was so cozy and romantic, and I wanted to get lost in its beauty withJameson.
“Aren’t you going to check out the bathroom?” Jamesonprompted.
I had completely forgotten the requestI’dmade.
Eagerly, I walked toward the door that led to the master bathroom and squealed with delight. It was exactly like Jameson’s; white Carrera marble everywhere, a gigantic soaking tub, a massive glass enclosed shower. The only difference was the pale pinkwalls.
I turned back toward Jameson, ready to tackle him, but found him sitting on a bench at the foot of the bed. He was looking at his phone, his face contorted into a troubledexpression.
“Jameson? Is something wrong?” I asked delicately, walking slowly back intotheroom.
“I’m so sorry. Sean has been texting me like a fiend. I need to call him,” he explained, waving his phoneatme.
“Not a problem. You can use my dad’s study. I’ll be in the kitchen sorting throughthemail.”
Jameson stood and slid his phone into his back pocket. He approached me and placed his hands on my hips, pulling meclose.
“Are you happy with therenovations?”
“Yes. The house is magnificent, Jameson. Thank you so much.” I tilted my face and our lips met in a short but searing kiss. We parted and I directed him toward the study before walking downstairs to thekitchen.
I wasn’t looking forward to sorting the mail. I was sure it was nothing but bills, bills, and more bills. Jameson and I needed to talk finances because clearly, I could no longer accept the money heoffered.
A large, manila envelope caught my attention. The address had been handwritten in a feminine-looking script, and there was no return address. Curious, I flipped it over and slid my finger under the flap, careful to avoid giving myself a paper cut. I opened the envelope and reached inside, pulling out the contents. Photographs. A single piece of stationary was placedontop.
This is what your fiancé is up to when your back is turned. A sense of dreadfilledme.
My hand shook with fear as I looked through the photographs, one by one. Each picture was of Jameson and various women. Having dinner. Laughing over conversation. His hand placed on the small of their backs or wrapped around them intimately. He wasn’t alone with them in any of the pictures, but there was a sense of familiarity in eachphotograph.
My fingers felt another sheet of paper in between the photographs and I pulled it free. It was a copy of an article and I could see that the article was dated for tomorrow. “D.C. Escort Tells All, Implicates Democratic Candidate Senator Martin in Sex-for-Hire Scheme.” I immediately dropped the photographs and the article onto the floor and covered my mouth, suppressing the terrified gasp that threatened toescape.
“Georgie, we need to talk.” Jameson had entered the kitchen and his voicewascold.
“You need to leave,” I demanded in a shakyvoice.
“Georgie? What’swrong?”
I felt him behind me. He placed his hands on the countertop, caging me withhisbody.
“I said, leave. Please, Jameson. Just go.” I couldn’t bear to look at him. His hands left the counter and he bent to pick up the photographs that littered thefloor.
