Mr. Prime Minister

by Jessica Ashe

“No,” Lionel replies. “If I had my way you’d have to answer a joke to leave, but it’s considered a fire hazard. Bloody Health and Safety.”

  The two of them sound like old friends, but presumably they’ve only met once, maybe twice at most.

  “Is the car on its way?” I ask.

  “It’s thirty seconds out. Are the two of you going anywhere nice?”

  “The car is just for Janie,” I reply reluctantly. “She’s worked late, and I want to see she gets home safely.”

  “Very good, sir. Is there anything else I can get you tonight?”

  “No thank you, Lionel,” I reply.

  “How was your first day, ma’am?” Lionel asks Janie.

  “It was… eventful.”

  She looks at me briefly, but if she’s annoyed at me for keeping her late then she doesn’t show it. I shouldn’t have involved her in the security briefing, but it helps to talk things over with a ‘normal.’ Not that Janie is particularly normal. She certainly doesn’t look normal, but it’s the ability to name drop foreign leaders that has me thinking there’s more to her than meets the eye. I hadn’t even known the name of Zawahiri’s predecessor until I got this job and sat through a few security briefings. Admittedly, I suck with names, but even so, for a secretary to know that off the top of her head seems a little unusual.

  I’ll have to keep my eye on her. We might be wasting her as a secretary. Maybe I could promote her to consultant. A consultant who needs to sit in my office.

  The car pulls up and Janie steps inside, illuminated by the street lights. I stare at her arse as she climbs into the car, until I remember Lionel is right next to me.

  “She seems like a fun girl,” Lionel says, as the car pulls away.

  “Definitely.” I watch the car until it is completely out of sight, lamenting the fact that I’m not in there with her.

  “Long day, sir?” Lionel asks.

  “They’re all long days, Lionel,” I reply. “Speaking of which, why are you still here?”

  “I’m covering another shift.”

  “How do you still sound so cheerful after a long day?”

  “It’s an honor to work for you, sir.”

  “Uh-huh. What’s the real reason?”

  “No matter how late I work, I know that I will be going home to the man I love. It’s amazing what difference a good man—or woman in your case—can make.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

  My bachelor status is the subject of constant speculation in the press. Apparently being single is a liability. Depending on which papers you read, I’m either going to end up married to a Russian spy or won’t be able to do the job because I’m constantly chasing the next piece of arse. I like to think I’m clever enough to avoid a Russian honey trap, but it would be nice to have sex as often as I used to. Preferably with someone discrete and available at short notice when the urge arises. Someone like my secretary perhaps.

  “Janie seems nice,” Lionel says with a hint of a smile on his face. “And single, unless I’m not very much mistaken.”

  “You’re about as subtle as a Michael Bay movie, Lionel.”

  “Subtlety’s overrated, sir. If the two of you need some discrete alone time, that could be arranged. Just say the word.”

  That’s a tempting offer. Janie might go for it, but it’s difficult to tell. I used to be an expert at knowing when women wanted me, but now it’s not so easy. Nearly all women look at me with at least a hint of lust in their eyes, but I can’t tell if it’s a lust for my power and title, or my cock and what I can do with it. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I’d rather screw women who want my dick and a good orgasm instead of the ones who want to say they’ve fucked the Prime Minister.

  I have a chance with Janie, but I need to lay the groundwork first. And I can’t go talking about it with security guards. I don’t even trust my own Cabinet, so I certainly shouldn’t be talking to Lionel about this.

  “Before you leave, sir,” Lionel says seriously. “Quick question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What do you call a police officer in bed?”

  “An undercover cop,” I reply immediately.

  “Damn, you’re good.”

  “That’s not a skill I take any pride in. Good night, Lionel,” I say calmly, as I head back to 10 Downing Street.

  I need sleep. Everyone tells me sleep is important, and I know they’re right. It doesn’t mean I do anything about it. I walk the long way back to make the most of the fresh air. There was a time in my Army days when I would’ve craved an office job, but now I miss being outside. London is far more pleasant than Iraq though.

  My security guards follow me, keeping ten feet back at all times, as I stroll around to the back entrance. I’m not the only one up late. My Chancellor of the Exchequer is standing at the back entrance to 11 Downing Street welcoming someone inside.

  Meetings at this time of night aren’t unheard of, but they aren’t exactly common either. As Gwen’s guest steps inside, he passes under a light for a few seconds. I don’t see much, but it’s enough to set my heart racing.

  No, it can’t be him. That’s impossible. Gwen wouldn’t be stupid enough to invite him to her home. Surely not.

  I step indoors and find Terrell in his office packing up to leave.

  “Does Gwen have a meeting tonight?” I ask Terrell.

  “There wasn’t one in her calendar this morning, but she often adds in appointments at the last minute. Why do you ask?”

  I should tell Terrell. I can trust him. He’s one of the few people I can trust. He was there with me in Iraq. We disobeyed orders together. He saved my life and I saved his. I have no reason to doubt him. And yet….

  “No reason,” I reply. I can’t tell him. He’d accuse me of being paranoid. If Gwen were up to something, she’d be more subtle about it.

  “How’s the new secretary working out?” Terrell asks.

  “She’s… good. I think we’re going to get along well.”

  “Thank God for that. It wasn’t easy finding someone I thought would be a good fit for you.”

  “I’m not that hard to work with, am I?”

  “Actually, yes. You keep everyone at a distance.”

  “I’m the Prime Minister. I need to maintain boundaries.”

  “No, you need people you can talk to. People who will call you out on your bullshit.”

  “Isn’t that what I have you for?”

  “I can’t be with you all the time. Speaking of which, I’m off. You need anything else?”

  I shake my head and Terrell walks out leaving the residence deserted. Except for the cat. Sorry, the ‘Chief Mouser.’ He’s always there, skulking around and looking suspicious.

  My bed is far too big for one person, but the empty space next to me isn’t as depressing as usual. At least now I have someone in mind for that space. I want Janie in here with me. I’ve no idea how I’m going to go about that, but having something to aim for gets my blood pumping again. Pumping to one place in particular. I’ll deal with that before I go to sleep. I got a glimpse of her bra, and saw part of her thigh. Where Janie’s concerned, that’s more than enough to get me off. The whole package is going to be worth the effort, no matter how long it takes.

  Chapter Nine

  Janie

  I feel dirty, and not in a good way.

  By Friday afternoon, I almost forget that I only got the secretary job to spy on the Prime Minister.

  Stephanie insists on meeting ‘for a chat’ on the weekend, so we end up back in the quiet coffee shop in Canary Wharf. It never ceases to amaze me how quiet central London is on weekends. Once all the Monday-to-Friday, nine-to-five workers have disappeared, the place is largely deserted except for tourists, and they aren’t particularly interested in taking pictures of investment banks.

  Stephanie and Meghan are already sitting at a table when I show up. They’ve ordered me a coffee and an apple danish. The niceties should worry me, but
I’m starving and in desperate need of caffeine.

  “Did you get in okay?” Meghan asks. “I heard there were engineering works on your line today.”

  “It was okay,” I reply. “Took ten minutes longer than usual because we had to single-track at one point, but that’s all.”

  Meghan looks at Stephanie. She’s done her part to create small talk, and now it’s Stephanie’s turn. She’s never been very good at it.

  “So, um, did you get settled in okay?”

  “Yes, thanks. It all went rather smoothly, considering.”

  Stephanie nods and looks back to Meghan for help. They haven’t called this meeting for a casual chat, but they don’t want to put too much pressure on me. The silence is excruciating, so I put them out of their misery.

  “I haven’t found anything yet,” I say. “There are a few locked drawers in his office, but I don’t know where the key is. Anyway, I doubt he keeps anything sensitive in them.”

  “What do you make of him?” Stephanie asks. “Do you think he’s a fraud?”

  It’s Stephanie who thinks he’s a fraud, not me. I admit, I’m a little suspicious about his rapid rise to power, but this assignment was very much Stephanie’s idea.

  “He’s telling the truth about being in the military,” I say. “I sat in on a security briefing and he really knew his stuff. He didn’t sound out of his depth.”

  “You sat in on a security briefing?” Meghan asks.

  Shit. Probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

  “Nothing interesting,” I lie. I’ll break national secrets if I absolutely have to for a big story, but that’s not what this is. Not yet.

  “I don’t doubt that he served in some capacity,” Stephanie admits, “but that doesn’t mean he’s telling the truth about it.”

  “How so?”

  “I have military contacts. A couple of them trained with him, or crossed paths at some point during his career.”

  “That proves it then,” I say, somewhat relieved. “Clearly he’s not lying about being in the military. He would never get away with that anyway.”

  “He’s not lying about being in the military, but he’s covering something up. The dates don’t add up. There’s a three-year period when he claims to have served, but which no one can verify.”

  “You think he was dishonorably discharged?” I ask.

  “I looked into that,” Meghan says. “If he did, I can’t find any record of it. We think it’s more likely he got assigned to something ‘unsexy.’ You know, like kitchen work or something unglamorous.”

  “He doesn’t look like much of a chef,” I argue.

  “He sure as shit doesn’t look like a Prime Minister,” Stephanie says.

  “Maybe we should give him time. He hasn’t done anything unfitting of the office.”

  “So you trust him?”

  I take a bite of the danish to buy myself time to think. Wade hasn’t done anything to make me doubt him, but I’ve not known him long enough to trust him yet. What I don’t trust is the situation. I can’t get my head around it. A guy with no experience in politics whatsoever comes onto the scene out of the blue and is Prime Minister within six months. It’s unheard of, and just because I happen to like the guy doesn’t mean I should leave my journalistic instincts at home.

  “I’m not sure,” I reply. “I guess not. Not yet.”

  “Then you need to keep looking. The whole country has turned a blind eye to this because he’s got a nice smile and a half-decent body—”

  “Half-decent?” Meghan says, smiling at me suggestively.

  “Whatever,” Stephanie continues. “The fact is, he might be in someone’s pocket. He threw money around during the campaign, so he must have big backers.”

  “Are you taking plenty of notes?” Meghan asks. “Obviously we’d like to get unequivocal evidence that he is up to no good, but notes are better than nothing.”

  “I’m taking notes, but getting them out of the building might be complicated.”

  “Take pictures of your notes, and any other evidence, with your phone,” Meghan says. “But make sure your phone isn’t connected to the Wi-Fi there.”

  “Getting in those locked drawers would be a good start,” Stephanie says. “Focus on that. I’ll get in touch with someone who knows a thing or two about lockpicking.”

  “Okay,” I mutter in reply.

  This feels wrong. It always felt a little wrong, but that stemmed from the illegality of the whole thing. My stomach tied itself into knots because I didn’t want to get caught breaking such important laws. Now the sickly feeling in my gut is guilt. I need to betray a man who so far has been nothing but nice to me.

  My career is on the line, but so is his. It’s safe to say that his is more important.

  “I can’t believe you’re working for Wade Chambers.”

  So much for meeting with Abigail to take my mind off work. I don’t even bother to ask how she found out. I’ve only told a handful of people, but these days a handful of people is all it takes. One stray word on Facebook or Twitter, and suddenly all my connections know I’m working as a secretary at 10 Downing Street. I can’t deny it or keep it a secret. I’m a civil servant—even my salary is public knowledge.

  “I’ve only been there for a week,” I reply. In other words, don’t ask me loads of questions.

  “I’m so jealous. I mean, it sucks that you couldn’t get a job as a journalist, but come on, Wade Chambers’ secretary? That is, like, my dream job.”

  “You already have your dream job.”

  She’s an auditor for a large accounting company. Not exactly my idea of fun, but each to their own.

  “Sure, in fifteen years when I’m partner it will be my dream job, but right now it’s a chore. My boss is a guy who spends all his time trying to demean me by telling me how many mistakes I’ve made. Often while looking down my top. I’d love to work for a guy like Wade. He’s more than welcome to tell me off and look down my top while he does it. I’d enjoy it.”

  “He’s a nice man,” I admit.

  “A nice man? That’s understatement of the century. You know, I almost didn’t vote for him because being Prime Minister puts him out of reach. Not for you, though.”

  “Pretty sure being his secretary makes him out of reach. Plus, you know, he’s one of the most powerful men in the world.”

  “You should get in there quick before someone else snaps him up.”

  I’ve always loved Abigail’s optimism and confidence, but when it comes to men, she doesn’t realize that I’m not like her. When she sees a guy she wants, she goes up and gets him. No matter how many times she sees me standing quietly next to her while she flirts with guys, she doesn’t notice that I’m not as confident.

  “I’m not going to hit on the Prime Minister. I’ll lose my job.”

  “I’d take the risk. Although there are those rumors about him and that actress. Emilia thingy. The one from the show with lots of tits.”

  I take a sip of coffee, as a stupid and pointless bout of jealousy courses through me.

  “What rumors?” I ask. I’m sure my jealousy is obvious in my shaky tone of voice, but like I said, Abigail isn’t all that observant.

  “She was in London a few weeks ago promoting a movie, and she ‘bumped into’ Wade outside the Houses of Parliament.”

  “That’s not a lot to go on,” I say, hopefully.

  “They then bumped into each other again in Leicester Square, just before the premiere of the film. You don’t just bump into the Prime Minister. You certainly don’t do it twice in two days.”

  “They’d make a cute couple.”

  Much to my annoyance, that’s definitely true. They’re both super sexy, and his power combined with her insane wealth would make a good combination.

  “I take it you don’t have any gossip to spill?” Abigail asks.

  “No, not yet.”

  “Talk to the lower-ranked staff. The higher-ups won’t tell you anything, but the kitc
hen staff will know the score. If you’re not going to make a move on the world’s most eligible bachelor, I want to know who is.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  It’s stupid, but I’ve never really thought about the Prime Minister dating other women. He’s so busy, and none of his life is private. When would he even get the chance? Not to mention, the press would be all over it. The papers consider it a matter of public interest and when the British media gets their teeth into something they usually sniff out any scandal.

  What happens when he does start dating someone? Will I have to help cover up the relationship? Maybe he’ll send me on errands. I might be the one to buy her flowers and chocolates. Hell, he might even have me buying the condoms. It’s not like the Prime Minister can stroll down to the nearest Boots Pharmacy and get them himself.

  Taking this job was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

  Chapter Ten

  Wade

  “Janie, can you accompany me in the car please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I usually like making the short car ride from Downing Street to the Houses of Parliament by myself. It’s one of the few moments where I can completely relax, and stare at normal people as they go about their lives.

  However, today I want Janie in there with me.

  Janie follows me into the back of the car, clutching the pen and notepad that I’ve never seen her without.

  “What do you think?” I ask. She’s been in one of my cars before, but this is the car. It’s not quite a limo, but it’s as close as you can get without appearing overly extravagant to the British public.

  “It’s smaller than I thought,” she replies.

  “I can assure you, I’m not used to hearing that.”

  I catch her glancing briefly at my crotch and the beast immediately stirs to life. I don’t bother hiding it, but I look away from Janie so as not to encourage it. This is a short car journey, and the last thing I want is to stand at the dispatch box for Prime Minister’s Questions with an apparent desire for the Leader of the Opposition.