He ran his fingers through his hair. "No. I'm upset with myself for getting distracted. I didn't intend to digress onto the subject of Celine. She isn't relevant to your situation."
"Is Caroline?"
"What?" He scowled at her.
"Caroline, your former assistant. Is she relevant to our discussion?"
He rose, strode over to his desk, and pushed a button on his phone. "Krista, would you come in here, please?"
Alarmed, Pam stood. "I didn't mean."
"Sit down," he ordered, the words emerging in a low growl.
The knock at the door was tentative but clear.
"Come in." When Krista stepped in, he said, "Shut the door." Looking a little pale, Krista did as he requested then turned to face him.
"Why did you think Pam needed to learn about my previous admin and our relationship?
"I—"
"She was trying to tell me about your system, so I would understand what to do," Pam interrupted.
"Quiet. I am not addressing you. Krista?"
"I thought—"
Pam leapt to her feet. "She's not to blame. She only wanted to help me."
"This is your last warning, Miss Weston. Speak out again, and I will take action."
Pam opened and closed her mouth, then, turning, she walked around the table, flung open the door and found herself trapped in a pair of strong arms, drawn back inside, and the door quietly shut behind her.
Without further discussion, Peterson led her behind his desk, where he pulled a thin wooden fan-like paddle from his top drawer.
"No!" Krista cried. "You can't do that to her. Pam, did you agree to this?"
Tears filled Pam's eyes as she regarded the unsmiling man looming over her. She could sense the anger in him, but he did nothing to restrain her. He even released her arm when he sat down, but his eyes never left hers.
Her stomach dropped to her feet. He intended to paddle her in front of Krista. She shook her head but didn't move.
After a moment, his gaze returned to Krista. "You know my rule about gossip, Krista, so I want you to pack up and go home."
"No!" Pam protested, swamped with guilt. "I'll agree. Don't fire her."
He swiftly redirected his attention to Pam. "This doesn't concern you, but to be clear, I am not firing Krista, I am sending her home for the day, without pay. Get your things, Krista, inform Adam of my instructions, and leave. Tomorrow, I hope you will see things in a clearer perspective."
"Yes, sir," Krista replied, her voice soft and her eyes moist. Then, with a quick turn, she opened the office door, stepped out, and shut it again.
"As for you. I won't take your passionately spoken declaration as consent to the relationship I wish to have with you, but I will take it as your agreement to accept this one punishment at my hand. Go put your nose in the corner by the door and think about what you did. When you're prepared to speak more rationally, we'll discuss it. Now go."
Confused as to why he ordered her to face the corner, Pam walked to the spot he indicated and stood with her nose almost touching the wall. She felt like a small child being given a time-out, and perhaps that's exactly what he wished to impart. She could quit and walk out, but she didn't want that either. True, she had spoken out of turn, twice, but she was only trying to defend her friend. Tears continued to pour down her face, and he hadn't even touched her, yet. She'd agreed to this one spanking, and he'd warned her he had zero tolerance for disrespect. But a paddle? She hung her head and sniffed.
He moved in behind her, close enough that she could sense his heat, and handed her a box of tissues. She took a couple then said, "Thank you, sir."
He strode over to the full-length couch and sat. "When you're ready, I want you to come over here and tell me why you're being punished."
She turned and faced him but didn't move any closer when she spotted the paddle resting by his right hip. "For being disrespectful."
He nodded once. "How?"
"I cut you off and spoke when you warned me to be silent." She met his eyes then. "I didn't mean to be rude."
"No, I'm sure you didn't. However, that doesn't excuse your behavior, does it?"
Pressing the tissue to her nose, she shook her head.
"Do you think I'm being cruel or unreasonable by insisting on this?"
"No, sir. Though I never expected you to use a paddle."
"Do you wish to object to the paddle?"
Surprised, she glanced at him. "Is that allowed?"
"Not always, but I will allow it this time."
"I would prefer you only use your hand, sir."
"Exception noted."
His expression was grim and resolute but not unkind as he extended a hand to her. "Perhaps it's best we get this over with. I sense this aspect still upsets you, so once you gain a better understanding of what to expect, you won't continue to be plagued by doubts over the unknown."
"Is there any chance I could get a reprieve, sir?"
He lowered his arm and regarded her a long while. "I think that would be a mistake. I can tell you're scared, Pam, which is understandable, but I don't think this will be as bad as you've made it out to be in your mind."
"No paddle?"
He nodded. "No paddle. My hand will suffice this time."
"You won't…. I mean…. I can stay dressed, right?"
"Yes. Given this spanking is a one-off, I will administer it over your clothes."
She swallowed. "I'm not sure I can do what you want, sir."
"You can, and you will. You may not want to, but you will."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I already sense a part of you is resigned to this in order to keep working with me." He extended his hand again. "Come here, Pam."
She shook her head. "I can't."
"I warn you that, in the future, such hesitation will add to your punishment." At her wince, he added, "Your obedience to me is not optional, Miss Weston. Now, do as I say and come here."
Her feet obeyed despite her mind screaming they were fools. Seconds later, her knees were lined up before his right thigh and knocking against his leg. He pulled her over with a gentle tug then inched back so she could stretch out on the couch with her stomach resting over his thighs. She pressed her hands to her mouth to stifle a small sob as his left arm drew her in close.
"You interrupted me three times, so you will get three swats. I expect you to count them aloud as I deliver them."
She tried to turn, but he held her too firmly in place. "I can't."
"You can, and you will. This will proceed at your pace. I won't let you up, but I won't give you another swat until you've called the number of the previous one. Understand?"
"Please, Mr. Peterson. I'm sorry. Please don't do this."
"That's enough, Pam. This is going to happen, so resolve to accept it."
His hand moved over her backside in a gentle, soothing motion. Though his stroking was incredibly intimate, she didn’t think he did it to arouse her. Rather, he simply wanted her to know he was there and very aware of her. "Lie flat and give me all your weight. Rest your head on your arms and try not to tense."
Pam let out a soft snort at that, which earned her a light smack in response. "Behave."
She was tempted to call out ‘one’, but suspected he would only swat her harder to prove his point. When nothing happened for a few moments, she found herself starting to relax as he stroked her. She wasn't uncomfortable, although embarrassment still had her tensing her legs and backside, but as his hand continued a slow, circular movement from the tops of her thighs to the small of her back, she released a breath, unaware she'd been holding it out of fear.
"Good," he said, continuing to rub as though he had nothing better to do all day long than give her an intimate massage. His hand slid up to her shoulders and rubbed. "Relax."
She inhaled deeply and consciously eased the tight muscles. "Very good."
Then his fingers shifted to her neck and arms. "Head and arms loose." She
lifted her head and winced at the pain in her neck. "You're holding yourself too tightly, Pam. Close your eyes and listen to my voice."
"Are all your punishments like this, sir?" she couldn't help asking. It seemed more like spending a day at the spa than getting reprimanded for rudeness.
"Quiet. You are not to talk. We are doing this because you refused to heed my warnings. So, as part of your lesson, you need to not only hear my words, but listen to the intent behind them. If you'd listened, you might have realized I wasn't firing Krista, I was sending her home to reflect on her misdeeds. I already told you I admire her and value her opinion. So, why would I fire her for speaking out of turn with you?"
"Because you have zero tolerance for gossip," she answered, wincing slightly at the sharp smack he gave her.
"What did I say you were to do?"
"Listen, sir. But…."
"Go on."
"I thought you'd asked me a question. And you said—"
"Point taken. I will stop phrasing my words in the interrogative so you can just listen." His hands continued to rove from her neck to her calves as though testing for resistance. Closing her eyes, Pam gave herself over to the man holding her and listened to his words.
"Better. This is the mindset I prefer you to be in, although I know it won't always be possible for you to be this willing and obedient, but, at this moment, you are doing precisely what I ask, and that pleases me."
She sighed. His approval meant a lot to her, and she reveled in the warmth of his praise.
"Perfect, Pam." His left arm tightened its hold, but she forced herself not to tense. "Good." Then his right hand came down with a resounding smack that brought her head snapping up from her arms and tears to her eyes."
"Oww!" He didn't return to the stroking, which she missed. Soon the sharp sting mellowed to a warm tingle. Not entirely unpleasant, but tender nonetheless. Nothing more happened, then she recalled what she was supposed to do, except saying the word would only bring his hand down again. She clutched the tissue to her nose. Ridiculously, she wanted to cry. He hadn't hurt her, but she still wanted to cry. Finally, her breathing slowed, and she lowered her head again. Eyes closed, she murmured, "One."
The second strike seemed even harder than the first, and she kicked out with a sob.
"Ow. That hurts."
He said nothing, nor did he move until she tried to rub her throbbing butt. Capturing her wrist, he restrained it at the small of her back.
"No. Hands stay forward. You are not to reach behind you or touch your bottom in any way until I give you permission to do so."
"But it hurts."
"I realize that, but, while the sting dies down, think about how stinging your disobedience was to me as well."
"Not that bad," she countered.
"I refuse to argue the point. You have your instructions, and I expect you to follow them, even if you don't want to."
Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them with her free hand. She had just one more to get through, and this punishment would be over. Except this was only the first of many yet to come if his warnings weren't exaggerated. Emotionally, she felt raw and exposed, while his silent presence shielded her from feeling abused and mistreated. Though his swats weren't gentle by any means, his voice and quiet remonstrance was.
The stinging slowly subsided. Just one more, Pam. He merely wants you to learn listening and obeying are not optional. He's not at all like Stanley. He's not taking a belt to you, and his objective is to teach, not hurt. Eyes scrunched closed, she said, "Two."
The third swat was the hardest yet, and it brought a flood of tears to her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be disrespectful. Please don't hate me."
"I don't hate you, Pam. However, I still need you to give me the count. You will remain in this position until you do."
"Three," she cried, and within seconds he had her enfolded in his arms.
"Shh. It's over. All is forgiven, and you were very good about it. I'm proud of you."
She clutched his shoulders and sobbed harder than she could recall crying in her life, and yet, despite the slight tenderness in her backside, she felt amazingly free. Almost light. He rocked her until her tears finally subsided then reached for the tissues and helped clean her up.
She laughed a little at the scene she'd made. Though she'd cried like he'd whipped her bloody instead of giving her three firm smacks with his hand, his soft reassurances soothed her more than anything else could.
When she'd finally settled, he carried her back to the table and eased her into a chair.
"Sore?"
"Tender," she admitted with a smile, which he promptly returned.
"All right. The first time is always the worst, though usually the lightest."
"That was light?" she choked out.
"Relatively speaking, yes."
"It hurt more than I thought it would."
He rose and went to his desk, where he pulled out a sheaf of papers. "These are the rules I've established. You already know most of them and any you aren't aware of, I'll let slide the first time."
Swallowing, she glanced at the stack he held. "That's a lot of paper."
"True, although much of what the document contains is common sense. You will be my personal assistant, answerable only to me. As such, I will want and need you to do some things you might find objectionable at first."
"Like what?"
"Like I will want you to purchase a whole new wardrobe, at my expense. I want to send you to a woman who knows my tastes, and she will outfit you. I will also insist you go to the hairstylist to receive a more professional cut than your current style. Even though I find ponytails cute on you, I do not find them acceptable on my executive admin. In addition to the haircut, I will request they give you a manicure." He examined her hands. "You bite your nails?"
"Only when I'm nervous."
"Not anymore. Nail biting is now a punishable offense."
"What?"
"Not getting enough sleep or failing to eat properly will become a punishable offense."
"Are you planning to control my entire life?"
"In essence, yes, I am. I will be the final arbitrator of all discussions, and I decide what is best for you."
"I'm not a child, Mr. Peterson."
"I believe we've already established that fact, Miss Weston. As my admin, you represent me, and I have standards to maintain."
"What else can I get spanked for?"
"Poor attitude, for one. If you're ill at ease, or premenstrual, or just plain cranky, I expect you to tell me as soon as you realize you're not up to par. I will determine how to handle your mood."
"You'll spank me if I'm cranky?"
"Not necessarily. I may hug you, kiss you, or even make love to you, if we get to that stage. I might choose to send you home for a nap. If you're out of sorts because you neglected to get enough sleep or failed to eat properly, I will punish you then do any of the things I mentioned earlier, depending on the problem."
"So when does this start? You being a control freak, I mean."
"That's an attitude which would earn you a swat, so be careful."
"Sorry, but I didn't think you'd try to take over my life. I expected you'd want to give me a dress code without trying to fit me out like a store mannequin."
"You're treading a fine line there, kitten. I intend to fit you out like an executive assistant in keeping with your personality and my image. You won't look like anyone's store mannequin."
"Yes, sir," she replied, though less than thrilled at the thought of being made over into something she wasn't. "If I'm so piss poor at picking out my clothes, arranging my hair, and doing my nails, why did you hire me?"
He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hands. "Calm down, last warning. I'm not doing this because I think you're not good enough, or pretty enough, or stylish enough. I'm doing it because I hire professionals who understand my likes and dislikes, and they are excellent at wh
at they do. They will help bring out the best in you."
"Right." Her scoff was barely out of her mouth before she found herself draped over his knees again. "No, wait. I'm sorry."
"So am I, but three warnings is all you’re getting today. In the future, consider yourself lucky if you receive even one." His hand came down hard enough she cried out in protest.
"No, please. No more. I didn’t mean—" she sputtered, already seated in her chair before she'd finished her litany. Surging to her feet, Pam rubbed her sore behind, but he drew her back onto his lap.
"No. You let that bottom sting for a while until you learn to curb your tongue better."
She glared at him for a moment then, realizing she was acting like a brat, she relaxed her rigid pose and relented. "I'm sounding terribly ungrateful, I know, but—"
"But all these changes are feeding your insecurities, as though you failed before you've even begun."
"Yes, sir."
"You haven't. My job is to help you become the best person you can be both on the inside and out. I am able to do that because I have the money and resources necessary to effect the transformation. What I'm offering is no reflection against your abilities, or on how desirable, sexy, and attractive I find you. All right?"
"Yes, sir," she mumbled against his neck. Somehow, when he held her, the insecurity she struggled with seemed to shrink from a screaming meme to an annoying buzzing.
"Want to have dinner with me tonight?" he inquired, pressing a kiss to her hair.
"I have more than enough food at my place. Want to come over?"
He chuckled. "The way I'm currently feeling, I think it would be best if we go somewhere public. I'm finding you far too tempting at the moment."
"Okay."
"So, Miss Weston, will you agree to be my personal assistant given all the conditions I've outlined?"
Drawing back a little, she frowned at him. "Do you think we'll be subject to a lot of gossip?"
"I'm sure there'll be some, but if you're bothered about it, I want you to tell me. Don't try to deal with office politics on your own. I'm the boss. So I carry more clout than you do.
"This is your company, sir. I'm nobody. I'm not even considered employable by most companies. You're sure you want me?"
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