Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  “He’s the Secretary of State for Culture, isn’t he?” Janie replies.

  “Yep. And the woman next to him—Miranda—is Secretary of State for Health. They’re both strong politicians on paper. Both married, couple of kids each, no blemishes on their CV.”

  “Sounds kind of boring.”

  “That’s what I thought, so I had Terrell dig a little deeper. Turns out they both had affairs.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess that sort of thing happens.”

  “With each other,” I add. “Which still wouldn’t bother me, but I guess it didn’t end well, because now they hate each other.”

  “Wow. It’s a good thing they don’t need to work together.”

  “Like I said, some people are really going to hate today’s meeting.”

  I get the meeting underway with some pleasantries, telling everyone what a good job they’re doing and how happy I am with them. They’ve barely had a chance to do anything yet, but it doesn’t hurt to give them a little ego-boost. Besides, most of them have done a good job. The rest… I don’t want to fire them, but there are other ways of getting rid of these problems.

  “As you know, we’re getting some grief over our policy on supporting sports centers in low-income areas,” I continue. “Frankly, I’m not surprised. Our policy is… you know what, I don’t even really know what our policy is on this. That needs to change and soon. Sam and Miranda, I want you two to work together on this and produce a report within a month. I need to know what our policy currently is—if we have one—and what it should be. Think you can manage that?”

  They don’t have much choice of course, but it’s all about keeping up appearances.

  Sam and Miranda don’t even look at each other, but they both grumble a ‘yes.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I see Janie cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

  “What’s next,” I say, pretending to look at notes as if I don’t know exactly what I want to say. “Oh yes, there’s going to be a bit of a reshuffle. Carl, you’re now Secretary of State for Transport. Ramesh, you’re now Secretary of State for International Trade. Any issues with that?”

  “No, sir,” Ramesh says quickly.

  “What the—”Carl begins before I interrupt.

  “No? Excellent.”

  Carl turns red with anger and looks like he wants to punch me. My God, I’d love it if he did. I’d love him to try, anyway. His fist would never make contact with my face, but if he swings at me I have a reason to swing at him. I won’t miss.

  Transport Secretary is a thankless and stressful job, that doesn’t come with anywhere near the same level of prestige as International Trade Secretary. Carl’s going to hate it, and I’m going to love that he hates it.

  I quickly go through a list of laws I want to be reviewed or possibly scrapped. We have control of the House of Commons, so it shouldn’t be difficult to get my agenda through. The last government did so much crap, it’s going to take me months just to identify the rules I don’t like. How they had time for such petty bullshit while they were supposed to be running the country, I’ll never know. Speaking of which….

  “Someone needs to instigate a bill scrapping the restrictions on the types of porn that can be made in the UK,” I say, with a straight face. I meet with a wall of silence from my Cabinet. “It’s ridiculous. The last government acted like the moral police and banned fetishes they didn’t like.”

  “I agree,” Sam says. “But, well, now the restrictions are in place, they’re difficult to remove.”

  “Why?”

  “Because then you’re going to be labeled as the Prime Minister who is into these… activities.”

  “I’m not into them,” I reply. “Not all of them, anyway. I just think it’s ridiculous that we are telling people what porn they can and cannot make and consume. As long as it’s safe for the actors involved, we shouldn’t have a problem with it.”

  “Think how it’s going to look in the press. You’re going to specifically permit videos featuring the abuse of women.”

  “Only between consenting adults,” I object. “Trust me, we’re going to come down like a ton of bricks on anything that isn’t consensual, but this isn’t helping.”

  “The opposition will say you don’t care about abused women.”

  “Let them. They’ll look like idiots when I unveil the plan to treble the number of domestic violence shelters in the next year. Let’s focus on men and women who are actually abused as opposed to those who are just acting in movies.”

  “This won’t win you any support with women.”

  “You might be surprised to hear this, but some women like being dominated during sex. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about these days.” I look around at my Cabinet, but not one of them responds.

  “I’m fine with it,” Janie says quietly. Everyone turns to look, apparently noticing her for the first time. “Not that I’m actually into it myself. But as a woman, I’m still fine with it being a thing. A thing that other people do. Not me.”

  God, I hope she’s into a bit of subservience. She’s blushing bright red and is easily embarrassed, but that doesn’t mean she’s shy in bed. In my experience, there’s little correlation between a woman’s confidence in public and in the bedroom. If anything, it’s almost the opposite.

  By the time the meeting is finished, every member of my team has a long list of work to be getting on with. That should keep them quiet for a while. Everyone keeps telling me five years is plenty of time to get things done, but I’m well aware that public perception could change at any moment. When it does, I’ll suddenly find my own party’s MPs turning against me and it will get harder and harder to shape the country in the way I promised during the election campaign.

  Janie follows me back to my office after the meeting. It only lasted an hour, but it felt like three. I guess I’ll have to get used to that.

  “Thanks for backing me up,” I say to Janie.

  “That’s okay. I agreed with you.”

  “You think I’m doing the right thing? Removing restrictions on kinky porn wasn’t exactly why I became Prime Minister, but I hate the idea of the government being in people’s homes like that.”

  “You’re definitely doing the right thing,” Janie says. “Your Cabinet is right, though. This is going to look bad to the public. The opposition will end up framing it as a risk to women and families.”

  “Probably. It’s so fucking hypocritical. If you knew half of what I did about the opposition MPs, you’d know they weren’t in a position to be so judgmental.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Reckon you can spin it?” I ask.

  “Sir?”

  “Can you write a press release that makes this sound like a good thing?”

  “Isn’t that the job of your press secretary?”

  “My press secretary is a fifty-year-old man who stutters and looks away every time he has to so much as speak the word ‘porn’ out loud. He’s not really cut out for selling this to women. You, on the other hand, are the perfect fit.”

  “I guess I can try.”

  “Excellent.”

  I shouldn’t be assigning political work to my secretary, but other than Terrell, she’s the only person in this building I can trust to get things done. I’ve recruited some great people to work in 10 Downing Street, but I don’t know them well enough yet. And then there are the ones counting down the clock to retirement. Not exactly ideal when you want to reshape the country.

  “Sir, there’s some time blocked out in your diary from seven o’clock until midnight, however, it’s marked as private. Do you need any assistance from me?”

  Shit, I forgot about tonight. I’ve been putting it off for weeks, but it’s important and I can’t cancel again because she’s leaving for America in a few days.

  “Yes, I’d like you to stay late,” I say to Janie. “I have a date.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Janie

  Shit, he has a date. Of course he has a date.
He’s the Prime Minister. Every single woman in the country wants him. I should be thankful that I’ve been with him for over a week without a string of women going into his bedroom.

  “Are you sure you want me around for your date, sir?”

  “I’m expecting a call from the Canadians in the evening,” the Prime Minister replies. “It’s supposed to be before the date, but knowing them, they’ll call late. At first, I thought they were rude, but I think they’re just laid-back over there. Anyway, I need you there for the call.”

  He still hasn’t told me who the date is with, but the rumors all center around Emilia, and she just so happens to be in London for her new movie. I don’t believe in coincidences like that.

  I’m surprised by his date, but I shouldn’t be. I want to believe the alternative—that he’s interested in me. It’s embarrassing to admit, but yeah, I guess for a second there I thought maybe he liked me. I’m not arrogant; I know I’m not good enough for him. It’s just the way he talks to me. He makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world. He wouldn’t be the first man to talk nice to a woman to get his own way, but I can usually tell when they’re doing it. The eyes are always a big giveaway, but Wade’s eyes look sincere.

  Maybe Stephanie’s right. Stephanie is convinced Wade has conned the public with his charm and good looks. We all like to think we’re too clever to be taken in by a con, but perhaps not. Could Wade really have fooled the country like he fooled me? It seems a lot more possible today than yesterday.

  At least if that were true, I could reassure myself that I’m not the only gullible idiot in the country.

  I really need to find out what’s in those locked drawers.

  Wade’s date is here.

  I haven’t seen her yet. She snuck in through the back entrance, and was quickly escorted upstairs to the residence kitchen. The two of them are up there now enjoying dinner cooked by some of the best chefs in the country. His date is presumably used to special treatment, but even so, eating in the private residence of 10 Downing Street is an experience few people are treated to.

  I gather up some papers the Prime Minister needs to sign, and head into his office to leave them on his desk. He prefers to do this in person, but I’m just looking for an excuse to hang out by his desk and examine the drawers. Stephanie reckons lock picking isn’t all that difficult and she gave me a few links to websites that teach the basics. I might manage eventually, but I’d much rather find the key.

  The desk is old, and the lock looks like the original. My dad had a desk like this. The lock was opened by a heavy brass key, so if I am going to pick this lock then I’ll need more than a hair clip.

  I give the drawer a tug to check he’s not left it unlocked. I’m expecting the drawer to stay firmly in place, but instead it comes flying out until it kicks in place against the rails. It’s unlocked. I can barely believe my luck.

  Beneath a scattering of pens, paperclips, and elastic bands, there are three vanilla folders with no markings on the front. That’s unusual. I open the folder and scan the first page. It’s about an operation in Iraq. I’m not much of a military buff—despite having a military father—so the acronyms and terminology go over my head. It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to understand it now. I quickly run back to my desk and grab my phone from my purse, before darting back into the office before Jackson can even look around to see me. My phone’s camera lens is focusing on the page when I hear footsteps approach.

  Shit.

  I quickly slip the phone into the pocket of my pantsuit, and shove the folders back into the drawer, slamming it shut just as Terrell walks into the office.

  “The Prime Minister wants to see you,” Terrell says.

  “The Canada call?” I ask.

  “No, it’s not that. He just asked to see you.”

  “Okay, I’ll head up to the kitchen.”

  “Actually, they’re in the bedroom now. Uh, probably best to knock first.”

  The kitchen is empty and a solitary guard stands watch outside the Prime Minister’s bedroom. I hear laughter from the bedroom. There are worse sounds to hear, but it still makes me feel sick with jealousy.

  I knock quietly on the door, but they laugh again and don’t hear me. I knock louder, and this time I hear “come in” from inside the room.

  I prepare myself for the worst. They’re presumably in bed at this point, and probably slick with sweat from whatever it was they were doing beforehand. I’ll consider myself fortunate if I don’t see used condoms and handcuffs strewn over the floor.

  When I step through the door, I see the Prime Minister and his date on the bed, not in it. They’re fully dressed, and resting against the headboard, a few feet gap between them as they watch something on the television.

  It is Emilia—the rumors are true.

  The dinner and wine lie untouched on a small table near the bed. Maybe his date doesn’t like the food. Emilia doesn’t have a reputation as a diva, but I guess you never really know.

  “You asked to see me, sir?” I ask nervously.

  “I did. I want you to meet Emilia.”

  Emilia gets off the bed and walks over with her hand outstretched for me to shake. Her smile seems genuine, but she’s an actress, so I can’t read too much into that.

  “Nice to meet you,” she says.

  “You, too,” I reply honestly. Meeting her would have blown my mind a few weeks ago before I started working for the Prime Minister. Now she’s less famous than my boss, and to make matters worse, she’s sleeping with him.

  “Can you keep a secret?” Emilia asks me.

  “I bloody hope she can,” the Prime Minister says. “Otherwise I’m in a lot of trouble.”

  “I’m good with secrets,” I reply.

  “Wade and I aren’t actually on a date,” Emilia says. “This is just a… mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  I’ve heard about them. “You mean, like, a friends with benefits thing?”

  “No,” the Prime Minister says quickly. “Nothing like that. Emilia and I are only pretending to be dating. It gives the media something to talk about, and stops them speculating about my love life every time I smile and shake hands with a world leader who happens to be female.”

  “And let’s just say I don’t mind the extra publicity; especially when I have a new movie out.”

  A wave of relief washes over me, and I can’t help but smile. Emilia notices, so I pretend to be laughing at something I’ve seen on the television which is still playing in the background.

  “That’s some early footage of the next season of my show,” Emilia says, when she notices what I’m looking at. “As you can tell, it’s still in the early stages of production.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, as I watch Emilia’s character talking to a man in a green suit.

  “There will be a man made of ice there in the final cut,” Emilia says. “I look ridiculous now, but it gets worse. You should see the footage of me riding a dragon without the dragon there. Talk about embarrassing.”

  “It’s weird seeing it like this,” I admit. “Maybe I shouldn’t watch any more. I hate spoilers.”

  “Good idea,” Emilia replies. “Anyway, I’m going to head out. I’ve been here long enough to be noticed, and the staff here gossip like schoolgirls.”

  “That’s the plan,” the Prime Minister says.

  Emilia says goodbye and leaves me alone with the Prime Minister. In his bedroom.

  “Should I have the kitchen staff take the food away?” I ask, motioning to the untouched meals on the table.

  “God no, I’m starving. Hopefully, you are too.”

  “Sir?”

  The Prime Minister motions for me to take a seat at the table. “Who did you think the second meal was for? You’re not a vegetarian are you?”

  I can’t help but look over at the bed every ten seconds. That’s where the magic happens. I briefly think about who else has slept in that bed and then quickly think about something else. Not all fo
rmer prime ministers are good to imagine naked. It’s probably a new bed. I’m sure it is. A new mattress, at least.

  “You don’t mind being in here?” the Prime Minister asks.

  “Not at all.”

  “It’s a little forward for a first date to be in the bedroom, but we can’t do this out in the kitchen in case someone sees.”

  First date? Did he just say this was a first date?

  “The gossip would be insane.”

  “I’m not embarrassed to be seen with you,” he says. “I want to be clear about that. But you haven’t worked here for long and it might look a little convenient for this to start so soon after.”

  He keeps talking about ‘first dates’ and things ‘starting.’ I’m just trying to focus on getting the food into my mouth without making a fool of myself. It’s amazing how even the most simple things in life become difficult when you’re trying not to look stupid in front of the man who runs the country.

  “I’m okay being secretive,” I say. “My best friend will kill me, for one thing.”

  “She didn’t vote for me?”

  “Oh, she voted for you. She texted me immediately after, to tell me that she had put an X in your box, and she hoped you’d make your mark in her box one day.”

  “She’s a little more forward than you, then?”

  “She’s more forward than most people. Probably not a good idea for you to meet her. Not without a full security detail anyway.”

  The Prime Minister smiles and takes a sip of his wine. He’s the rare man who looks just as comfortable with a glass of wine as he does with a pint of beer or a glass of whiskey. He could be drinking Mountain Dew from a jug and he’d still look smooth doing it.

  How did I end up sitting next to him on a date? It all happened so quickly, I didn’t even stop to think. An hour ago I was rifling through his private files hoping to dig up some dirt on him. Now I’m a few glasses of wine away from ending up in his bed.

  He smiles again and stares at me as if I’m the most important thing in his world right now, even though I know that’s crazy.