Yoga usually helps, but not today.

I always try to work out in the evening and, taking into account all the stress from this ‘fake fiancée’ play, I decided to go for an evening yoga class. I was hoping it’d help me get my mind off Austin, but what do you know? It didn’t work.

But what was I expecting, anyway? After what happened inside the limo, he’s been on my mind every waking minute. And, just between you and I, he’s also been inside my dreams … and they always end up being the scorching kind of dreams, if you know what I mean.

The kind that makes you sleep naked because you know the panties will be drenched when you wake up.

Stepping outside the building where I had the yoga class, I swing my gym bag over my shoulder and look at the black SUV already waiting for me. There’s one buff secret service guy waiting by the passenger door, and I can’t help but sigh heavily; having a security detail of your own isn’t as glamorous as it might seem. It’s just annoying, really. Although I appreciate what they do for me, I hate being followed around every minute of the day.

“I’ll be walking home,” I tell my secret service guy as I tie my hair into a bun.

“I strongly advise against that as--”

“It’s just a few blocks away,” I cut him short, already starting to turn my back to him. “You guys can follow me in the car.”

“Very well,” he replies apprehensively, clearly not happy with my decision but obliging all the same. I strut down the sidewalk, just another commoner blending in with the crowd. Everything’s fresh on people’s minds and, even if anyone recognizes me, they probably won’t believe it’s that Ashley from TV, the one about to become the First Lady. Supposedly.

I let my mind drift back to Austin, and to how my opinion of him is slowly changing. Did I really believe him to be such a bad guy? Because, really, he doesn’t seem that bad. I know, I know… he’s probably just a master manipulator, but if helping him somehow helps the country… I’m all for it. And, besides, whoever he is underneath his presidential facade, at least I know he’s fun. And by fun I mean... well, you probably know what I mean, don’t you?

I think back to how he handled me back in the limo, and to how he wanted more… and, really, I wanted more as well. But I’m still a virgin, and I’m not about to offer that virginity on a silver platter to Austin just because he’s the President. Okay, the fact that he seems to know what he’s doing helps, but still…

To make matters worse, soon enough I’m going to be stuck with Austin on a plane. Yeah, I know, Air Force One is supposed to be huge, but I guess I’ll be seeing enough of him during the flight to Arizona, his home state. I spent the whole day preparing for the trip, and all I could think about was the fact that I’m going to be stuck on a plane with him. God, how do I make this madness stop?

Turning onto my block, I can already see my apartment building rising in the distance. I start walking at a brisk pace, and that’s when I feel a heavy hand landing on my shoulder. I told the Secret Service to hang back, but I guess they simply couldn’t resist following me this closely. I turn around and—oh shit, this isn’t the Secret Service.

Facing me is a tall guy in a hoodie, overgrown stubble covering his cheeks and reaching down onto his neck. His eyes are bloodshot and he reeks of alcohol.

“The ring, give it to me,” he growls, his eyes falling on the hideous ring on my finger. Seriously, I’m being mugged because of this stupid tacky thing?

“Fuck off,” I growl right back at the mugger while I reach inside my purse, trying to fish my mace from the inside. But, before I can do it, the man pulls a knife from inside his jacket. Oh, shit.

I look over his shoulder, but I can’t see the Secret Service SUV anywhere. Things aren’t looking good, but I’m not giving this asshole the ring. As tacky as the ring might be, I’m not in the custom of being robbed quietly.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” I start screaming, and the mugger’s eyes widen in surprise. I half-expect him to turn on his heels and start running down the street but, instead, he pushes me against the wall next to me and brings the knife up to my neck. I feel the cold kiss of the blade against my neck and I hold my breath, my heart pumping adrenaline through my bloodstream.

I try and kick the bastard between the legs, but he just jumps back to avoid my feet, his knife still against my throat.

“Gimme the fuckin’ ring, you bitch!” he growls once more, but his voice is drowned by the sound of heavy engines coming up the road. I look over the man’s shoulder to see the presidential motorcade turning onto my block, a door in the president’s limo swinging open fast.

“The ring, bitch!” The man shouts again, but I don’t even hear what he’s saying. My eyes are focused on Austin, watching as he jumps out from the still rolling limo and starts running down the street, closing the distance between him and I.

The moment the mugger is within his reach, Austin just grabs him by the collar and yanks him back. The knife leaves my neck as Austin pulls the mugger away from me, and that happens because the bastard spins around fast and tries to stab Austin.

Sidestepping him, Austin grabs the man by the wrist and just turns it back harshly; the knife drops to the floor and, at the same time, the nauseating sound of bones breaking reaches my ears. Cocking his arm back, Austin then rams his fist into the mugger’s face, and a heartbeat later the man is laying on the ground unconscious, blood dripping down his broken nose.

“Are you okay, Ash?” Austin asks me, coming up to me and placing one hand on my face and the other on my waist. Only then do I realize that my hands are shaking.

“I—I think so,” I tell him, brushing my fingers over my neck, right on the spot where the blade was just a few seconds ago.

“Sir! Are you okay?” A small army of Secret Service agents comes up to us, and they quickly form a perimeter around Austin and I.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Austin tells them casually, waving his hand around. He jumped out of his limo so fast that the Secret Service didn’t have any time to catch up. A man of action, that much is true.

With both his hands on my shoulders, Austin lets his eyes roam up and down my body, trying to check if I’m hurt. As he’s doing it, a few cop cars park close to the presidential limo, and the police hauls the unconscious man up to his feet and then drag him inside one of the cars. The man just made an attempt on a sitting president; I guess it’s going to take a while before he’s out on the streets again.

Parking just before the police cars, a few dozen vans from the local press show up in a flash. They were probably following the motorcade, and they were drawn here by the sudden stop. The Secret Service didn’t have enough time to set a big perimeter, so it doesn’t take much time before Austin and I are huddled together inside a small circle of agents in black suits, a crowd of reporters shouting questions in quick succession.

“Ashley, did you --”

“Mr. President, can you give us a comment?”

“Are you hurt?”

“Did you knock out that man, Mr. President?”

The questions are so many, and they’re coming so fast, that all I can hear is an angry buzz, almost as if the reporters have turned into a swarm of wasps. Running one hand through my hair, I take a deep breath and think of what my next words are going to be. This is an excellent opportunity to show the White House that the millions they’re paying me are well worth it.

“Thank you for your concern, everyone,” I say, raising my voice and looking at the reporters with a smile. “If it weren’t for Austin, I have no idea what might have happened. Just goes to show that he wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be tough on crime,” I chuckle softly, grabbing Austin by the arm and pulling him into me. I look at him with a growing smile, hoping that some journalist will snap a picture of my loving look toward the President. Only then do I realize that I don’t need to pretend that I feel thankful toward Austin… He saved me, he protected me, and I’m truly grateful for it. Because, just like I told the reporters, I have no idea what might have happened.

“Let’s go, Ash,” Austin whispers, lacing his arm on mine and trying to guide me toward the presidential limo.

“I guess it goes to show that the President isn’t only a man of his word; he’s also a man of action. I feel safe in his hands, and I think that the American people should also feel safe under his presidency,” I continue saying into a microphone that someone shoved into my face, taking small steps as I follow Austin back to the limo. Yup, I’m inspired right now, and the reporters seem to be eating it up.

“What were you thinking, Ashley?” Austin asks me as we step inside the limo, one of the Secret Service agents closing the door behind us. “You can’t ditch your security detail. You know it’s dangerous,” he continues, but I just lean into him and lay my head against his shoulder.

“Just take me home, Austin,” I whisper.

“I will,” he replies softly, placing one hand on my head and leaning in to kiss my forehead.