Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

  “It improves flexibility and strength,” I add. “And it’s actually incredibly beneficial for men of your age.”

  “I’m strong enough, thanks.” Lionel jokingly flexes a bicep to prove his point. He does still have some muscle under there, but it’s surrounded by more soft tissue than it would have been twenty years ago.

  “Flexibility is important. Plus, it has been known to improve virility.”

  “Virility?”

  “Let’s just say, I’m sure Mr. Roberts will appreciate it if you dabbled with yoga a few times a week.”

  “I’m more interested in having him do it.”

  “Make it a group activity.”

  Lionel waves me through without having to answer a joke, which means he’s at least considering it. That’s one man I’ve convinced to do yoga today. The next is going to be an even bigger challenge.

  “No way. I’m far too busy to lie around on a mat for an hour.”

  “You have an hour free,” I protest to the Prime Minister.

  “Don’t I have a meeting with the German ambassador?”

  “It’s been moved to tomorrow.”

  Because I rescheduled it.

  “I still don’t have time.”

  “Yes, you do,” I insist. “You need to de-stress, and this is the best way to do it. And trust me, you won’t be lying on a mat for an hour. I’m going to have you dripping with sweat within twenty minutes.”

  “That’s a lot of humming.”

  “It’s not… just put these on.” I hand the Prime Minister some workout clothes that Terrell pulled out of his closet for me.

  Wade moans in complaint but starts getting undressed anyway. I turn away when he starts to open his shirt, although when I hear his pants drop to the floor, I’m seriously tempted to turn around and take a peak. I’ve looked at his crotch enough times to notice the bulge around his groin. It’s like the wonky ‘O’ on the front door of 10 Downing Street—when you’ve seen it once, you can’t help but notice it every time.

  “Come on, then,” Wade says. “Let’s get this over with.”

  His arms and chest are stretching the shirt to breaking point. He’s not going to have a problem with the strength part of yoga. Making him sweat might be a challenge, but it’s one I relish.

  I arrange the mats on the floor and have him sit down facing me. I usually like to start with thought exercises, but Wade will only sit there and roll his eyes. We get straight into it.

  “Watch me and do what I do.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I do a few stretches, and then quickly move into a downward-facing dog.

  “Whoa,” Wade remarks.

  “You’re not doing it,” I say, as I look up from between my hands to see Wade still standing in front of me.

  “Maybe I would learn better if you were facing away from me. That seems to offer the best view.”

  “Nice try. Come on, I’m not starting the clock until you’re in position.”

  Downward facing dog is one of those positions that’s a lot harder than it looks. It’s easy to get in the right pose, but holding it forces the body to engage all the arm and leg muscles at once. It’s a great way to teach doubters that yoga can be physically challenging. Annoyingly, Wade holds the position with ease.

  “Okay, now I’m going to start teaching you the basics. Watch me the first time, and then do it along with me.”

  I slide from downward facing dog into a plank, then lower myself down before rising up into a baby cobra, and finally returning to downward facing dog.

  “With me,” I command.

  Wade follows my moves with ease, although his form isn’t great. When we’re both in baby cobra pose, he glances down at my chest.

  “I like this one,” he says. “Nice view.”

  “It’ll be a lot easier to relax if you stop thinking about sex.”

  “It’d be a lot easier to stop thinking about sex, if you weren’t looking so damn hot right now.”

  I quickly move back to downward dog so he can’t see the smile on my face. I hold the position and for the first time, I start thinking like a man during yoga. I imagine Wade coming up behind me and pressing his body against mine. His thick fingers sliding under the waistband of my skintight yoga pants, pulling them down before sliding my panties to one side and having his way with me while I stay firmly in my pose.

  We repeat the routine a few more times, with Wade checking me out whenever I give him half a chance. I add variations of downward dog, with alternating legs in the air to test his strength and balance. Still no sweat. He’s lasted well passed the twenty minutes I predicted.

  “Can we listen to music?” Wade asks. “This gets kind of boring.”

  “You’re supposed to be tuning out your mind. Focus on your breathing.”

  “I don’t need to focus on breathing. I’ve been doing it most of my life.”

  “Inhale,” I command, as we move through the poses again. “Exhale.”

  Wade follows my instructions, but I can tell he’s still bored. I move on to a new routine. If this doesn’t make him sweat, nothing will.

  “Come forward on your right leg and bend at the knee. Keep your left leg out straight behind you. Now clasp your hands together and rest the outside of your right elbow against your right knee and look up to the ceiling.”

  Wade watches me and copies the moves almost perfectly. We hold the pose until I can barely take any more and then switch to the other side.

  “You’re sweating,” I point out.

  “Didn’t want you to feel bad.” His breathing is a bit labored now, but then so is mine, and I’m supposed to be good at this.

  We move through some sun salutations until there are only twenty minutes left. I like to reserve ten minutes for exercises on the back to ensure a good balance of stretches and five minutes for rest. That leaves time to see what Wade is really made of.

  “I want you to practice the crow pose,” I say, as we shift back to downward dog.

  Wade’s arms are shaking a bit now as he struggles to hold the pose. “Lead the way and I’ll copy.”

  “You won’t be able to copy this one, not first time. It requires balance and a lot of upper body strength.”

  “Uh-huh. No offense, but if you can do it….”

  Such a typical man. This is going to be fun. “Watch and learn.” I bring my feet forward and take a few calming breaths, before pushing my legs up into the air and resting my shins on my upper arms.

  This is my favorite pose, because it reminds me of how far I’ve come. When my teacher first showed me this pose, I flopped around a few times and either fell back on the floor or went over in a forward roll. My balance was awful and, on the rare occasions I managed to get in position, I didn’t have the upper-body strength to hold it.

  Now it’s second nature. I can hold this pose for five slow breaths and it’s one of the most calming things I know how to do.

  “Your turn,” I say to Wade as I gracefully bring my feet back down to the mat.

  “Looks easy enough. You use the same muscles as press ups.”

  “Off you go, then.”

  My confidence puts him off slightly, as if he’s expecting a trap. He plants his hands on the mat and pushes his legs up. They come right back down again. He tries a few more times, getting closer and closer to the correct position.

  “It just takes a bit of practice,” he says. This time he pushes his legs up. He goes too far and ends up crashing down on his head, before flopping over in a heap.

  I don’t bother to hide my laughter. Serves him right for being cocky.

  “I can do it,” he insists and gets in position to try again.

  “That’s enough for now. Lay on your back.”

  “Oh yeah? What are you going to do?”

  “Lie on my back.”

  “How about I lay on my back and you—”

  “Wade, you have to take this seriously or it won’t work. If you really don’t like it, then we won
’t do it again. I just want you to try once.”

  I must sound serious, because the smile quickly disappears from his face and he lies on his back and follows my instructions.

  “Now for the good part,” I say, after a few back stretches. “Put your arms by your side, close your eyes, and relax.”

  “How long for?”

  “Until I tell you to stop.”

  I keep my own eyes open until I’m sure Wade has shut his. I felt great after my first ever yoga session, but my problems were never quite the level of Wade’s. I’d been stressed about exams; he’s stressed about taking out foreign leaders.

  When I open my eyes, it’s only been three minutes. I keep an eye on the clock until Wade has had the full five minutes.

  “Okay, you can get up now,” I say, as I stand up and stretch. I always stretch after yoga, which seems weird considering that’s most of what yoga is. It would be like going for a run to cool down after a run.

  Wade doesn’t move.

  “Wade?”

  No response. He’s asleep. I should wake him up. He has an afternoon full of meetings. But he does need the sleep. Screw it.

  I sneak out of the office and make a few calls. People expect to get rescheduled by the Prime Minister, and when they do see him, he’s going to be a lot more refreshed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wade

  When women dream of dating a man like me, they probably have fantasies of helicopters, Michelin star restaurants, and glitzy, red carpet treatment.

  “Is Chinese okay?” I ask Janie.

  “Perfect.”

  That’s the fantasy. In reality, I can’t do grand displays of wealth. Not with public money. I could probably do a Michelin star restaurant, but only if I’m prepared to accept the publicity that comes with it. Janie and I are trying to be discrete, and that means I need a little help from a friend.

  “Alison and I go back years,” I explain in the car on the way to the best Chinese restaurant in London. “Her mum had a head full of the best Chinese recipes you’ve ever eaten. She passed the recipes on to Alison, and Alison used them to open a restaurant. You’re going to love it.”

  “I’m starving. That yoga session really gave me an appetite.”

  I smile and nod. We don’t talk about the yoga session. Talk about embarrassing. I fell asleep in the middle of my office on a yoga mat. For three hours. Janie insists that she didn’t let anyone in to see me, but Terrell gave me funny looks all afternoon, so I’m sure he knows. I’m just waiting for Janie to start rubbing it in. I made a huge fuss about yoga being a waste of time, but in the end, I got a great workout and an even better nap at the end of it.

  I’m practically bouncing off the roof of the car with excitement and energy, although a good chunk of that is because I’m going on a date with Janie. It’s real now. Kind of. This is an official date, but we’re keeping it off the books. It’s official between us, but as far as anyone else knows, it’s a working dinner.

  Unofficially official, as Janie calls it.

  The car pulls into the dark alley at the back of Alison’s restaurant. She’s closed the place for the night, after making me promise that I would come back here in an official capacity one day, preferably with the Chinese President. I can swing that; he hates the Chinese food prepared at Downing Street.

  We step out of the car and quickly hurry into the restaurant. I’ve managed to come out with minimal security: just a driver and two security guards. I trust them with my life, so I assume I can trust them with this secret as well. One guard insists on coming inside, but he stays in the kitchen after Alison makes him promise not to get in the way.

  “So good to see you, Wade,” Alison says, once we’re all settled at the table. Other than closing the restaurant, she’s gone to no special effort for us at all, which I absolutely love. “You missed Damon’s birthday party.”

  “You wouldn’t want me at a kid’s birthday party these days, Alison,” I reply. “Not unless you want lots of men in suits standing around.”

  “My husband’s an accountant. Half the people there were in suits.” She turns to face Janie. “You must be Janie.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “I went to school with Wade. I’ve known him since he was five years old.”

  “You’re not going to bring out photos, are you?” I ask, nervously.

  “No, I wouldn’t want to put her off. Do you know what we used to call him?”

  “Oh God,” I mutter.

  “No,” Janie says, excitedly. “What?”

  “Willy Wade.”

  “Do I want to know why?” Janie asks.

  “He used to poke his willy through his flies and run around the playground shaking it like a helicopter.”

  “I was six years old,” I add quickly.

  “Seven.”

  “And I did it because you dared me to.”

  “I hope you don’t give in to peer pressure so easily these days,” Alison says. “You could do a lot worse than flash your penis.”

  “The North Korean leader is egging me on to nuke the US, but I’m standing firm for the time being.”

  “Don’t even joke about things like that. I still can’t believe the boy I used to skip school with is now leading the country. Does Janie know how you lost your virginity?”

  “No, but she would love to,” Janie replies excitedly.

  “I stuck my dick in a woman. End of.”

  “A mature woman,” Alison adds.

  “There was an age gap,” I admit. “Alison, don’t you have food to cook?”

  “That’s what my chefs are for. They’re all excited about cooking for you. I suppose some people dig the whole power thing. Is that what you’re into, Janie?”

  “No, not really.”

  “If she was,” I say, “you wouldn’t be helping my case much.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Prime Minister,” Alison replies. “Better?”

  “It’ll do. Now leave us in peace, or I’m going to bring the American President here instead of the Chinese one.”

  “Christ, okay, okay. Have a lovely dinner.”

  Alison smiles and winks at Janie. I’ve no idea what that means, but it can’t be good.

  “Sorry about her,” I say. “She’s just annoyed because I don’t reply to her emails as quickly these days.”

  “I love her. I get the distinct impression that one hour with her would reveal more about you than your entire Wikipedia page.”

  “One hour with her, and you’d never want to speak to me again. Wait, I have a Wikipedia page?”

  “Of course you do. You’re the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.”

  “Shit. Can I edit it?”

  “That wouldn’t be a good look. Besides, it’s mainly positive. Nothing in there about your thing for older women though. I’d remember that.”

  “I don’t have a thing for older women. There have been a couple, but there have been plenty the same age or younger. I like to mix things up.”

  “Any secretaries in there?”

  “No, not yet.”

  One of the waiters starts bringing over plates of food and it occurs to me that we never actually ordered anything. Apparently, we’re getting everything on the menu.

  Janie wasn’t kidding when she said she had an appetite. It’s not often I have to fight for food, but by the time I’ve scooped up one piece of sesame chicken with my poor chopstick control, she has nabbed most of the shredded beef and spicy tofu.

  “If I ever move countries again, I’m going to China,” Janie says assertively, with a mouthful of string beans. “Best food in the world.”

  “I have a trip to Beijing scheduled in eight months. I could use an assistant.”

  “I’m in. You should bring Alison. She can be the interpreter for us.”

  “No chance. She’ll mistranslate me on purpose. I’ll end up offending the President and hitting on his wife without knowing it.”

  “I imagine it’s important to stay
close to those who know you best. Otherwise, you’ve got a very lonely job.”

  It should be impossible to feel lonely when you never get any time to yourself, but that’s not true at all. Security guards outside the bedroom don’t replace having someone next to you in the bed. A waiter bringing you your food doesn’t replace someone to share the food with. However, a good secretary can make the world of difference.

  “I’m too busy for friends,” I admit. “I’ll make it up to them when I’m out of office.”

  “That might be fifteen years away.”

  “God, don’t say that. I won’t last that long. If I’m still in the job after ten years, I’ll quit. Did you see how much Tony Blair aged? I don’t want to go gray for another twenty years at least.”

  “You’ll go gray much sooner than that if you don’t learn to relax.”

  “Are you trying to get me to do yoga again?”

  “Yes, but I also want you to open up to others. You don’t have to make every decision yourself. What about Terrell?”

  “He’s my Chief of Staff. He advises me on the political consequences of what I do, but he’s not a decision-maker.”

  “He’s also your friend. Didn’t you two serve together?”

  I nod. Terrell and I were together in the Army before we both got recruited by the SAS. That’s already public knowledge. A couple of newspapers jumped on the chance to accuse me of appointing friends to high positions, but Chief of Staff isn’t a public facing role, so the public didn’t care much.

  “You should confide in him more,” Janie says. “Even if he doesn’t make the decisions, it might help you to talk things through.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You talk to me about top secret stuff.”

  “I trust you.”

  Janie frowns. “You don’t trust Terrell?”

  I pause for a few seconds and then nod my head again. “Yes, of course.”

  Terrell was there that day. He went rogue with me and disobeyed orders. If we’d been caught, we’d both be in prison right now. If Terrell hadn’t been on top of his game, I’d be dead and so would Alec Costa, the man we rescued from an Iraqi prison. Terrell didn’t have to help, but I asked him to and he didn’t hesitate.