"I know you said you didn't want to hear it, but I still want to tell you what I found in the Koppler file."
He tapped her nose. "Not necessary. Adam told me he scoured through both companies' records again and discovered Koppler reported the same revenue from NIS, Ltd. as Hemley did, but under a different account classification, falsely inflating their balance sheets. I gather that's what you wished to tell me?"
"Yes. Exactly. I wasn't positive about the connection, since I only had the Koppler file with me, but I'm glad Adam was able to verify it."
"No comment," he replied, letting her know he still wasn't pleased she took the work home with her.
As the silence lengthening between them heightened Pam's anxiety, she swallowed and asked, "So, what happens next? I mean, between us."
"For the moment, you and I are going to take each day as it comes. The first items on our agenda are to get you sleeping properly and eating well. Once you're better, we'll talk."
"And by talk, do you mean sit down and have a polite discussion?"
His smile broadened. "This time, yes. That's what I mean. Nothing I do will take you by surprise, Pam, I promise. You'll know in advance if I intend to punish you for your misdeeds."
Considering his words, she lay back and stared at the ceiling. "Your coffee is making me hungry," she admitted after a moment.
"Well, I'd say we need to do something about that, then." He picked up the phone and dialed. "Could we have a menu brought into room 304, please? Thank you."
Pam made her selection with Rob's assistance, of course, and he called it in for her. Afterward, he asked, "Would you like to watch TV for a while?"
She shook her head then turned her face away from him. However, the moment his fingers touched her hand, she confessed, "I hate hospitals."
Just then a nurse came in to take Pam's vitals. Pam didn't resist, but she held Rob's hand throughout the ordeal. If the woman noticed, she didn't comment, though she did say Pam's blood pressure was 120 over 70, which was much improved over the 90 over 50 she'd registered a few hours ago. Then, she asked if Pam's headache had lessened.
"It's better. Thanks."
"Your meal should be here shortly. Just ring if you need anything."
Pam nodded, and waited for the woman to leave before she glanced at Rob. "I need to get up." She indicated her IV. "Fluids."
He helped her to her feet and assisted her with her pole, but when he hesitated at the bathroom door, she said, "You don't plan to stay, do you?"
The eyebrow arched again. "No. But call me when you're done."
"I can manage—"
"Pam, I'm not going to argue with you. Either you agree, or I will stay and watch."
"Fine. I'll call you."
He remained standing in the doorway, waiting.
She closed her eyes. "I don't like this. I feel hemmed in on all sides."
"Kitten, if you want to know what 'hemmed in' feels like, I'll show you, and you'll realize how free I've been letting you fly."
Somehow, she didn't doubt that. "I'll call when I'm done."
He gave a nod and shut the door.
She'd been on a suicide watch in prison, and, by comparison, she had to agree he was letting her fly despite the short, light tether he'd attached. A padded cell, a plastic coated mattress, no clothes, and a matron watching her every move. That was truly being hemmed in, but realizing he was offering her limited leeway didn't make her feel better.
When she was done, she stood, flushed, and called, "Rob."
He opened the door and led her to the sink so she could wash her hands.
"Lunch has been served," he said with a smile.
She nodded, yet, she no longer felt much like eating.
He helped her back into bed then slid the rolling tray table over so it crossed her lap and adjusted it to the correct height.
"Yum," she murmured without enthusiasm as she nibbled on the open-faced turkey sandwich while he unwrapped her dessert and drink.
He was acting concerned and solicitous, so why were ants crawling all over her skin. None of it made sense, and yet her body trembled as though she was preparing for a fight.
He sat on the other side of her, but remained silent until she laid down her plastic fork. "Your body was put through the wringer the last few days, Pam, so I suspect your adrenaline is up. You're itchy and cantankerous but don't want to complain."
She glanced at him, wondering how he was able to read her so clearly.
He rose to his feet. "That's what I thought. I'm going to move that table, turn you over, and spank you."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As Rob pulled her tray table away, Pam gaped at him. "Why?"
He lowered the head of her bed so she was lying flat. "So you can let go of some of that emotion bottled up inside of you."
He slid one of her pillows next to her hip and had started to turn her over on top of it when she protested. "No, I don't want this."
"Yes, you do." With that, his hand came down. Hard.
"Ow!" Pam cried out with a kick.
"Use the pillow by your head to muffle your screams. I'm going to give you ten more just like that."
"No!"
"Pillow," he ordered as the next swat fell. She wailed her objections into her pillow. He'd been so kind, but now, he was punishing her, and for what?"
"This isn't a punishment," he advised all too-perceptively while he brought his hand down a third time. "It's therapy. Go ahead and cry."
She refused to cry. This was insane. And yet, by the time the fifth swat landed, tears emerged.
"I'm sorry!"
"You have nothing to apologize for," he murmured, delivering his sixth measured strike.
"Ow! You're hurting me."
"Yes, I am. So, raise a ruckus if you want. Kick, cry, and scream into your pillow. I'm being mean and inconsiderate, so you have a good reason to object to this treatment." The strikes continued throughout his lecture, despite her feet drumming against the bed in protest, so by the time he was done speaking, he had finished her spanking, and she was sobbing.
Then he picked Pam up and held her on his lap while she sobbed in his arms. A nurse came rushing in.
"What's going on? What's wrong?"
"Nothing important. Just a little energy release," he answered, as he gently rocked Pam and rubbed her back.
"Mr. Peterson, we really wish you would—"
"She's fine. Thank you, nurse. We'll call if we need you."
Pam chuckled softly at the nurse's affront as she stomped out and shut the door again.
"They could kick you out of here for that," she murmured between hiccups. Despite the security of his embrace, her arms had wrapped around his neck the moment he'd picked her up as if they knew where they belonged.
"They can try," he corrected.
When he handed her a tissue, she cleaned up then scowled at him suspiciously. "Why did you do that?"
He shrugged. "How do you feel?"
She considered his question. "Sore, but calmer, I guess. Tired. Unsure."
"Unsure about what?"
"Why you thought I needed a spanking."
"You gave off all the signs. Hunched shoulders, clenched fingers, narrowed eyes, a desire to snap out at the nearest convenient target."
She rested against his chest. "Do you know you're the first person ever to spank me?"
"I am honored."
She snorted then shifted a little.
"Okay. I'm going to sit you back on the bed, pull the tray around to this side, and bring you back on my lap to feed you."
She shook her head. "No. You don't need to—"
"Argue with me, and I'll spank you again."
Narrowing her eyes, Pam glared at him. "What about me? Don't I get any say in this grand scheme of yours?"
"Not at the moment. So, which will it be? Lunch, or spanking?"
"Lunch sounds nice," she murmured sweetly but retained her scowl. Her butt was warmer, though not unpleasantly
so. His strokes had been firm, but not harsh or even especially painful, despite her many vocal protests. What surprised her most, however, was the calm, light euphoria they'd invoked in her. Not that she'd enjoyed the spanking while it was happening, but the pleasure she received from the afterglow of being held in his arms far outweighed any discomfort.
So, she offered no objection when he drew her onto his lap and calmly set about feeding her. She'd thought being fed would make her feel like an irresponsible infant, but, as she accepted food from his hand and listened to him talk, she basked in true contentment.
While she was chewing, he sneaked a bite of her gravy-coated turkey and shrugged. "It's not bad. Actually, the fare here is just as good as the cuisine I ate in the Chicago hotel I stayed at this last time." He eased another forkful into her mouth. "And their beds could definitely benefit from some mechanical adjustment, although the mattresses in most hospitals aren't plush." He continued discussing his trip in general terms, sticking to food and levels of comfort or discomfort until she finished her meal. Then, he pulled her close and placed a kiss on her forehead. "Good girl."
Despite the warm fuzzies his praise gave her, she grimaced. "I still don't want to be burped."
"Do you want me to put you back in your bed so you can rest?"
"I'm sure I'm heavy, so you should—"
"Pam."
"Yes?"
"That wasn't what I asked. If you're comfortable and think you can sleep while I hold you, I don't want to let you go."
"I'm comfortable."
"Good. Then close your eyes and relax. You're safe with me, and I'll take care of you."
She had absolutely no doubt he would do exactly that.
* * *
Cradled in a cocoon of warmth, a new voice broke into Pam's drowsy reverie.
"Perhaps I should come back when she's more alert."
Pam stirred and blinked at the new visitor. A young man, probably in his thirties, smiled down at her as she rested in Rob's arms. He extended a hand. "Hello. I'm Dr. Jackson."
Smiling back, she accepted his greeting. "Pam Weston."
His lips curved into a grin. "Yes, I know who you are. I was coming to ask you some questions, but perhaps it's best I return later, when you're ready to talk."
Pam shifted and Rob helped her sit up. "No. Now is fine. Are you the psychiatrist?"
He gave a short nod then gazed at Rob. "I prefer to speak with my patients alone. Would you mind leaving us for a few minutes?"
Pam promptly clutched Rob's arm. "He can stay. I'd like him here."
Dr. Jackson shook his head. "I believe Mr. Peterson is your employer as well as your guardian, is he not?"
"Yes."
"Some of the questions I intend to ask you will be extremely personal. You may not wish for your employer to overhear your answers."
Though the doctor appeared friendly and kind, she didn't want to be left alone in the room with him, but wasn't sure how to object without being seen as a borderline neurotic. Her heart started to race as she stared at Rob, unsure what to say or do next.
"Calm down," Rob coaxed. "All Dr. Jackson wants to do is ask you a couple of questions."
"Can't you remain with me?"
Rob gazed at the psychiatrist. "How about if I stand at the other end of the room? It will give you the privacy you require without depriving her of the security she receives from my presence."
Dr. Jackson shrugged. "It's her choice. I would like her seated on the bed, but I won't object if you stand near the door facing away from my patient."
"Is that acceptable, Pam?" Rob asked.
Not wanting to appear a total wimp, she nodded. She suspected her fear was irrational, and more than a little paranoid, but Rob was a known entity, while this doctor was a stranger. And having Rob nearby gave her a sense of safety that withered under the mere thought of his absence.
Rob lifted her easily and set her back on the mattress before he adjusted the bed and covered her up. "I'll be right there," he promised, pointing toward the door. Then, with a nod to the doctor, he stepped away.
Pam kept her eyes fixed on her boss while Dr. Jackson assumed Rob's vacated chair and angled it so he faced Pam more directly, no doubt to remind her where her attention should be focused. "You appear concerned about having him out of your sight. Did something happen that's made you afraid to be here without him present?"
Pam tore her gaze from Rob's back and focused on the shrink. "No. I suppose not. I was in a twilight haze for the past few days, and I'm still a little shaky about being here."
"So, can you tell me what happened?"
Pam briefly explained she'd been having trouble sleeping and accidentally mixed pills with wine.
"Have you made that mistake before?"
"No."
"So what caused you to mix alcohol and Zolpidem this time?"
"I was upset, I guess."
"For what reason?"
She glanced at Rob, but he remained facing away from her. "I did something stupid and was reprimanded for it. I was terrified I'd screwed up past redemption."
"Who reprimanded you?"
"Mr. Peterson."
"I see. Were you anxious about losing your job?"
"Not exactly. I was afraid I'd be relocated."
"By Mr. Peterson?"
When she nodded, the doctor jotted down a few notes. Pam knew she sounded pathetic, but she lacked the inner resources at the moment to put on a brave front.
"The nurses said Mr. Peterson struck you earlier. Are you worried he'll exact some sort of revenge if you don't play by his rules?"
She glanced at Rob again.
"I will ask him to leave the area if it would make you more comfortable."
"It wouldn't. I'm sorry. I'm not sure how to answer your question."
"Do you fear Mr. Peterson will hurt you in any way?"
At this point Rob turned and gave a single nod. He wanted her to tell the truth.
"Not in the way you mean," she stated with her chin up.
"In what way do I mean?"
"You're asking if I'm afraid Mr. Peterson will physically harm me, like break my arm or punch me in the face."
"And you don't think he'll do that?"
"No. I know he wouldn't do that."
"How long have you two worked together?"
Pam closed her eyes. She knew where this conversation was headed and didn't want to go there. "A week."
"That's an awfully short time for you to be so certain about a person who reportedly struck you more than once, today alone. How can you be so confident?"
"Because he's never done anything to make me feel unsafe with him."
Rob cleared his throat.
"Mr. Peterson. I ask you not to interfere in this discussion." When Pam stiffened, he continued. "I suspect Miss Weston has already developed a rather unnatural dependence on your good opinion of her, so having you present is influencing her answers."
"I suspect the fault lies in the nature of your questions, Doctor, not my presence."
The doctor shifted to gaze at Rob. "Then perhaps you should join us after all. If you intend to weigh in from the sidelines, you may as well do your coaching from where I can see you."
With a nod, Rob took a seat in the other chair and slid it closer to Pam's bed. She wanted to reach for him but feared the shrink would read more into it than a desire for reassurance. She should have known Rob would see through her unease and extend his hand to her first.
She gripped his fingers but kept her gaze fixed on the doctor.
He glanced down at his notes. "I believe Mr. Peterson was suggesting you were not telling the entire truth when you said he's never done anything to make you feel unsafe. Care to tell me what happened to upset you?"
When Pam shook her head, Rob squeezed her fingers, so she met his gaze and shook her head again. She wasn't going to give this psychiatrist any ammunition he could use against Rob to separate them.
Rob gazed at the other man. "Ar
e you aware of the term ‘domestic discipline’, doctor?"
"I've heard of it, yes. But it usually applies to a husband and wife, does it not?"
"That is a misconception, although the term itself can be misleading. Despite having its roots in aversion therapy, domestic discipline can be applied to any situation where two individuals consent to a set of guidelines where corporal punishment, along with other less physical forms of correction, are used to modify or eliminate undesirable habits, such as smoking, overeating, skipping meals, nail biting, etc."
"Behavior modification."
"Exactly."
"And you're saying Miss Weston consented to enter into this 'relationship' with you?"
"She did. However, since the practice is neither HR approved nor considered politically correct in today's socially liberal environment, Miss Weston wishes to protect me."
"So, does fear play a part in your dynamics, Mr. Peterson?"
"There's a fine line between fear and apprehension, Dr. Jackson. I need Miss Weston to want to avoid punishment, but I don't want her to be afraid of anything we might do together. Fear is counterproductive in my mind."
"I see. And yet, I sense something happened between you that caused Miss Weston extreme distress, if not actual fear."
"Sometimes prolonged anticipation can create an exaggerated aversion of the consequence. Earlier in the week, we were interrupted during a discussion, and, unfortunately, Miss Weston's imagination got the best of her. At that point, I would imagine she definitely felt unsafe."
"And that's why you objected to her statement to me?"
"Correct."
"So, what caused the episode on Thursday night?"
"I'd say her actions were prompted by a fear of failure. She chose to ignore the guidelines we established when I was out of town, and I took her to task for it, rather harshly. I even threatened to find her another position. I was angry and unintentionally set off a panic in her mind that if she failed to do what I asked a second time, I would relocate her."
"And what did you ask her to do that she found so difficult?"
"He wanted me to get some sleep," Pam muttered.
"Ah. I think I see the pattern here. Well, I can't say I agree with your methods, or condone them, Mr. Peterson, but that is not my call. Whether or not you choose to maintain this disciplinary relationship is between you and Miss Weston. My concern is whether Miss Weston continues to represent a threat to her own safety. Even you must admit her dependence on your good opinion is unnaturally strong. Perhaps unhealthy."
Lessons in Love Page 16