"This is my decision, not yours, Miss Weston. Tell me again what your job is."
"To assist you, sir," she answered softly.
"And how do I expect you to fulfill your obligations to me?"
"By following your orders."
"Correct. So, get out of the car and allow David to escort you inside. Since this is not a request, Miss Weston, I expect you to follow my instructions without comment or delay."
Ironically, a part of her wanted to stick her tongue out at his bossiness, but she refrained and accepted David’s helping hand. Mr. Peterson was domineering, for sure, but he was also looking out for her in a way that made her feel safe and secure. Cared for, even.
David followed her to her apartment door, while Mr. Peterson asked what she had in her refrigerator for dinner.
"I can heat up a frozen meal."
"Don't bother. I'll order something and have it delivered in fifteen minutes."
"You shouldn’t waste your money, sir, I'm perfectly capable of—"
"Stop right there, Miss Weston, or you are going to get into trouble. I will decide what is best for you." She harrumphed. "Not allowed," he answered, but she sensed he was smiling again.
"You're a bossy boss," she teased with a half-smile as she handed David her keys.
"Oh, Miss Weston, you have no idea.
CHAPTER THREE
The moment they stepped into her apartment, Pam's phone rang. "Excuse me," she murmured to both David and her boss as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Give David back his cell. You won't need it any longer," Robert Peterson ordered.
With a shake of her head, Pam disconnected the other call and returned the security guard’s device. "Thank you, David."
"Not a problem, Miss Weston," he replied, backing out of her entranceway. Her home phone was cordless, so she followed him and locked the door, as was her habit.
"Good girl," Peterson praised. "Now sit down and talk to me while we wait for your dinner to arrive."
She gave another harrumph, but obeyed.
"That's two, my dear. Keep it up and you're going to get a lesson in manners a lot quicker than I planned."
"What are you implying?"
"Never mind. We’ll discuss everything tomorrow. I'm just warning you, I consider eye-rolling and harrumphing as forms of disrespect, for which I possess zero tolerance."
"You're right," she admitted, realizing she was being ungrateful after all he'd done for her. "I'm sorry. I'm being too familiar."
"No, Pam. That's not it. As we get to know each other better, I'll expect you to call me Rob when we're alone. So, it isn't the lack of formality I object to, it's the disrespect inherent in your actions. You're saying you'll do what I ask because I'm the boss, but since you don't agree with my reasons, you dismiss them as mere nonsense."
"So, I'm not allowed to disagree with you?"
"Okay, you're splitting hairs. Of course you may disagree with me, if you are so inclined, but I expect—no, I demand—you do so respectfully. Understand?"
"No, sir."
"You will. I intend to make all my expectations abundantly clear, so you’ll recognize when you cross a line that will get you in trouble." The doorbell rang. "That will be your dinner. It's paid for, and the man has been tipped, so all you need to do is accept it. Put the phone down. I'll wait."
"Yes, sir," she murmured, careful to hold back her exasperation, though he no doubt sensed it anyway.
Opening the door, she recognized the logo of the five star restaurant at the other end of town and gasped at the number of bags the gentleman carried. Mr. Peterson had purchased enough food for an army.
"I was ordered to set this up for you, ma'am. Where would you like it?"
"The kitchen?" she suggested, directing the waiter to her small table where he unpacked and served up a meal that seemed more suitable for a romantic rendezvous than a nosh in a dinky blue and green eat-in kitchen. When he was finished serving, several containers went into her refrigerator, and he even shifted items around to make sure everything fit. Once the food was laid out and a bottle of chilled water poured into a glass with a slice of lemon, he bowed and departed. Following him, she bolted her door again.
Pam stared at the gourmet spread with her mouth open then recalled she’d left the CEO of her company holding. Scurrying back to the living room, she picked up the phone she’d abandoned.
"Hello?"
"I'm here. So tell me what they sent."
"Since you ordered this massive banquet, I believe you already know the answer to your own question, sir."
He waited, saying nothing.
"Sorry," she mumbled, walking back to the kitchen. "I don't know why I'm getting so snippy with you. I'm not usually this rude with people."
"I'd say it's because you're feeling more secure with me, so I'm going to let it go for tonight. Just don't get into the habit. I will call you on it in the future."
"And what will you do?" she huffed. "Spank me?"
"Yes. Among other things."
"What?" Her feet stopped as if her shoes had been nailed to the floor.
"Calm down. Now," he insisted in a quiet, but firm tone. "I said we will discuss this tomorrow. If you’re still suffering qualms over my intentions after we talk, I will find another place for you to work."
Tears instantly sprang to her eyes, and she swiped them back angrily. This wasn't at all what she'd expected. None of it. He was being far kinder than she deserved, but the thought of being physically disciplined, especially by him, made her stomach clench.
"You worry too much," he scolded. "Tell me what the restaurant sent."
She listed off the entrees and side dishes.
"What did they give you to drink?"
"Bottled water."
"Good, I'm pleased. I’ll stay on the phone with you while you eat, if you want company."
He’d already wasted far too much time and money on her, so she needed to let him go. "No, I'm fine."
Silence.
"What?" she snapped, having realized by now that his silences indicated disapproval, which put her on the defensive.
"You're lying," he said simply. "Fair warning. Telling fibs will earn you a trip over my knee faster than anything else."
She sat down on one of her kitchen chairs and clapped a hand over her mouth. Every muscle in her body tensed as if in preparation for a physical battle. A total overreaction, but one she couldn't help.
Once she managed to quell her shaking, she whispered, "I'd best hang-up. My food is getting cold."
"Fine. Go ahead and eat. We'll talk tomorrow." She disconnected the call then fell to her knees and sobbed. She felt lost, afraid, confused, and overwhelmed as various emotions tumbled about her mind like sneakers in a dryer. At some point she stopped crying long enough to notice the firm pounding at the door, and she knew. My God, was the man psychic or what? He presided over two multi-billion dollar companies. What was he doing spending so much time with a loser like her?
After she pulled herself up, Pam grabbed a napkin to dry her tears and blow her nose. Then, she walked slowly to the door.
"I'm fine," she called out, refusing to let him in.
"Yes. I can hear that. Open the door, Pamela, or we will begin your lessons tonight."
His threat should have sent her scurrying to barricade her entrance, but this man had bought her dinner after he spent a half hour talking her down from a full-blown panic. So, despite the unease his words engendered, she drew back the bolt and opened her door.
Though he'd changed into jeans and a collared polo shirt, Pam still had difficulty accepting the fact her crisp, handsome, sexy, larger-than-life boss was standing in her dinky little apartment. Uncertain what to do next, Pam locked her door.
When she turned, he stood facing her with his arms crossed. His expression one of tired patience, he exhibited no anger or exasperation over her childish reaction, but she understood he was more than a little put out with her.
"Would you like some dinner?" she asked softly. "A nice man ordered far more food than I could ever possibly eat, so there's more than enough to share."
"Is there?"
"You're angry with me." It was a statement, not a question. Though he didn't show it, she'd disappointed him by pretending to be fine when she clearly wasn't. Why he should care, she couldn’t imagine, but she suspected he'd be showing his disapproval with a firm hand on her rump if she agreed to his arrangement. The idea she even considered entering into such an agreement made her question her sanity, and if he'd made even the tiniest move toward her, she would have bolted. As it was, he merely stood with his legs akimbo and back straight, regarding her through intensely dark eyes that sparkled in the light.
"I'm not pleased with you at the moment. And, I would normally counter your pretense with a consequence, but I won't touch you until you agree to my conditions. Once you do, our arrangement will be mutual."
"What? I get to spank you, if you do something I disapprove of?"
The corner of his lip turned up slightly. "Brat."
"Bully."
When his smile broadened at her quip, Pam’s breath caught in her throat. Why on earth was she pulling the tiger’s tail? How could she even consider participating in some sort of dominant/subordinate relationship with this man?
Keeping his intense gaze fixed on her face, he bowed from the waist. "Thank you for the dinner invitation, Miss Weston. I shall be honored to accept."
His charm and teasing loosening a knot in her stomach, Pam did her best not to be embarrassed as she led the CEO of Peterson Enterprises into her small, inadequate kitchen. "There's not much room, I'm afraid, and this is way too much food."
He sat down in the chair she indicated and grinned up at her. "Since I wasn’t sure what you liked, I decided to order a little bit of everything. Sample whatever appeals to you, and we’ll save the rest or distribute it tomorrow."
After Pam handed Mr. Peterson a plate and a couple of slotted spoons, he served himself from the covered dishes laden with a variety of different meats, vegetables, and starches.
"This undoubtedly cost a fortune," she whispered, amazed once again by the quantity of food he’d ordered as she started to eat.
"Not your concern, Miss Weston," he murmured politely, before casting another blinding smile in her direction. "Trust me. I shall give you more than enough to worry about, so don't expend your energy fretting over something that’s beyond your control."
"I hate waste," she admitted.
He gave her a small nod as his lean fingers expertly handled her cheap flatware to cut a piece of sautéed chicken. "Oddly enough, so do I. What you can't eat, and prefer not to save for another night, I will order taken down to the homeless shelter. The food will not go to waste, I assure you."
She set her knife down on her plate and stared at him. "Why are you doing this? I'm a lost cause, Mr. Peterson. Haven't you figured that out, yet?"
"I believe I already mentioned my opinion on self-denigration, did I not?"
"I can't help it if it's true."
He met her gaze. "Fallacies only seem real if you give them credence, and I intend to prove your assumptions are incorrect."
"How?"
"Are you asking out of idle curiosity, or do you wish to begin our discussion tonight?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, it's more than idle curiosity, but I'm not sure I want to get into a detailed conversation regarding your proposal this evening."
"Your choice. For today."
"Are you saying after we talk my preferences won’t matter?"
"Of course not." He popped a buttered carrot into his mouth. "But your choices will be greatly reduced once we have an agreement."
After taking another bite of her beef stroganoff, she asked, "Will I need to sign something?"
"Only if you prefer it. This is between you and me. Obviously, Krista knows, but, if anything, she will be protective of you. She won't say or do anything to harm either of our reputations."
Pam suspected he was right. So, she had her rich, executive boss sitting in her kitchen telling her if she didn't follow his rules, he'd spank her. Even her mother hadn't spanked her. Her stepfather…. He didn't spank, he whipped.
Still, that raised another question in her mind, so she took a deep breath and charged ahead.
"Will you expect me to sleep with you?"
He cleared his throat as though something had lodged in it then took a sip of water. "If you're asking whether I will expect you to spread your legs or any other part of your anatomy for me as a condition of your employment, the answer is no. If you're asking whether I would like you in my bed at some time, I would have to say yes. However, not as a condition for your employment."
"But the other would be ‘a condition of my employment’? The spanking part?"
"Yes. I fear that piece is non-negotiable. Disobey me, defy me, disrespect me or yourself, and I will punish you for it."
"How?"
He regarded her carefully. "I tend to let the punishment fit the crime, and I'm very creative, though my preference will be to take you over my knee. Should I feel stronger action is required, I may order you to bend over my desk."
A chill containing a mix of terror and another emotion she couldn't quite define ran the length of Pam’s spine. "In the office, sir?"
"Yes."
"Won’t everyone hear me? What if I scream and cry?"
"I expect you'll cry, but I sincerely doubt you'll scream. My intent is to correct undesirable behavior, Miss Weston, not draw blood, bruise, or wound you in any way."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"Yes, actually, it does. No one will hear you even if you should throw a tantrum, which you most likely will at some point, and I will respond with equal firmness. Temper tantrums have no place in the office, so they will not be tolerated. I can prove that tomorrow also, if you like."
She lowered her eyes. "I'm not sure I can do this."
"You can. The question is whether or not you're willing to trust me."
"What does trust have to do with this?"
"Everything. Trust between us is essential if this is to work. Without it, we are both doomed to fail."
Pam laid her fork beside her knife then glanced at the kitchen clock and gasped. It was ten to midnight. She'd had no idea it was so late.
"Thank you for dinner," she murmured softly.
He smiled. "You're welcome."
"I'm feeling a bit drained at the moment."
"Yes, I imagine you are. Why don't you get ready for bed while I wash the dishes?"
"No! I can't let you do that. I'll clean up."
"All right. It is your home, so I won't insist, but I will help."
"No, it’s—"
"Pam? Do you seriously want to waste time arguing with me? Has nothing I've said this evening convinced you I will persist until I get my way?"
Grinning despite her unease, she admitted, "Actually, everything you did tonight has exhibited that trait."
"Then why argue?"
She shrugged. Yup, having the CEO and her boss cleaning up her kitchen with her was not the way she'd expected to end this day. They worked side by side, with little conversation, which was refreshing as well as a little eerie. It was as if they'd been doing this for years.
When the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, he said, "Bring the food you don't want to the office tomorrow, and I'll make sure it's properly distributed."
"It's going to be difficult carrying all this on the bus."
"Ah, yes. Glad you mentioned that. I'm sending my driver, Paul, to pick you up at seven thirty. That should give you enough time to finish the Hemley file so you won't be upset or distracted by an unfinished assignment while we—chat."
Being driven to work in his limo would only cause unwanted gossip. She shook her head. "No, I can—"
"Miss Weston, I am this close"—he held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart— "to
turning you over my knee tonight, despite your lack of agreement. So, I suggest you not press me further."
She swallowed, but knew she was ill-equipped to win the argument. "I don't know what to say."
"A simple thank you would be a refreshing change."
"I thanked you for dinner," she objected.
"Yes, you did, but that's not what I meant. Rather than argue or provide me with a list of reasons why I shouldn't send a car for you, I'd like you to say, 'thank you, sir.'"
Dipping into a mock curtsey, she murmured, "Thank you, sir."
Then he stepped closer, and her breath escaped her in a rush. "Relax, kitten. I'm only going to give you a friendly kiss good night. Very impersonal, I assure you."
Pam doubted anything about this man would be impersonal, and even if he viewed his kiss as a friendly gesture, she feared it would awaken desires within her that weren’t entirely appropriate for their relationship, or the workplace, either.
"You worry too much," he scolded, bending forward to mold his lips to hers. Releasing a groan, Pam pressed fully against him and gave herself over to his gentle persuasion.
Though he only deepened the kiss a bit, it was enough to make Pam clutch his shoulders as if he could anchor all her turbulent emotions. Her body tingled with tiny shivers as she grew increasingly lightheaded. This man was more than a contradiction, he was an oxymoron personified. Then, he released her mouth and held her while she trembled in his arms.
"You're safe, kitten. I promise, as long as you remain with me, no harm will come to you. I will protect and care for you, as I believe my actions demonstrated tonight."
"Will every night be like this?"
"Yes. Every night you need to be like this, will be exactly like this."
She drew back. "I still don't understand why you're here. Or why you insisted upon the limo, the dinner, the reassurance. Why me?"
He lightly ran his thumb across her lower lip. "You harbor doubts I don't possess. You will come to fully comprehend my reasons, in time, and, by then, I hope you will see yourself as I do."
She lowered her arms. "None of this makes any sense, but I do trust you."
"That is all I ask for now." He bent to give her another light kiss. "Sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."
Lessons in Love Page 3