Sweet Submission: Jenny and Max Complete Series Plus Bonus Short Story

by Greenwood, Eden

  “Katherine, is this on the record?” I asked.

  “Only if you want it to be,” Katherine said. “Jenny, I thought you said you had nothing to hide.”

  *

  As I drove home, I kept replaying that moment in my mind, when I’d opened my mouth and said the word ‘spanking.’ Why had I said that? Why had I let my guard down? Maybe it was because I was tired of hiding who I was. Maybe it was because I wanted the world to know the truth.

  No matter what the reason, there were plenty of people who weren’t going to be happy. Mark, for one, and probably Max. He’d hated being the center of that controversy, and constantly being the target of vitriolic negativity from online commenters. Now that it was over, Max was visibly relieved.

  And what had I done? Went and stirred it all up again.

  Max was in the kitchen juicing leafy green vegetables and oranges when I arrived home. I accepted his welcome kiss, trying to act as normally as possible.

  “I have great news,” Max said. “I was asked to host a fundraising event for a charity that buys school supplies for kids in poverty. They said they read my post and loved it.” Max kissed me on the cheek. “I knew something good would come out of this.”

  “That’s great,” I said, smiling broadly. “You’ll attract some generous donations.”

  “Starting with me,” Max said. “I plan to write them a large check myself.”

  As the days progressed, Max received more and more opportunities to put his celebrity to good use, and he accepted as many as he could handle. He was so fulfilled, knowing that he was doing good in the world. His mood was light, and his joy contagious.

  Every morning I woke up with dread twisted in the pit of my stomach. Would this be the day the article was published? I wondered. I’d turn on my phone, bracing myself for what I might find.

  It had been a week since my interview with Katherine, and I hadn’t heard a peep about it. Maybe they won’t publish it, I thought, hopefully. Maybe she’s found someone else to profile, a CEO or head of state or something.

  I was assisting with stitches in the clinic when my concentration was broken from a sudden energy shift in the room. I looked up, thinking I was crazy, but then I saw that everyone was staring my way. When I saw them, they immediately looked away to the devices in their hands. My stomach sunk. I knew what they were thinking. There’s the woman who lets her husband spank her.

  Once the stitches were completed, I gathered my things and rushed out to my car. My phone had been on silent all day. With trembling fingers, I swiped the screen on. There was a flurry of activity, just like the day Max’s post had broken. There were headlines like, Jenny McCall: Abused Wife, or, The Sexist Danger of Christianity: Jenny’s Story.

  “No, no, no,” I yelled, throwing the phone in the seat beside me. As always, my expressions of faith were completely misunderstood. Now, I was being cast as the victim, the oppressed wife, when that wasn’t the case at all. I rested my head on the steering wheel in front of me. I wanted to curl up into a dark hole and never come out.

  My phone dinged beside me. I picked it up and saw a text from Max.

  Meet me at home.

  I choked back tears, knowing that Max would be extremely angry with me. He would definitely punish me, or worse. I’d damaged the career that he’d worked so hard for, and compromised his platform to do good in this world.

  The mansion seemed offensively large that day when I pulled up in front of it. Forcing myself forward, I went into the house to face Max. He was standing in the kitchen, his back towards me. I immediately broke down into tears.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I said, repeatedly. “I didn’t mean to- That reporter, she was very persuasive.”

  Max lowered his head. “Everything’s starting up again.”

  “I know, and you don’t deserve that stress.” I wiped the tears from my face. “I’ll understand if you need to punish me.”

  Max spun around, and to my surprise, he was smiling. “Punish you? Come here.” He held his arms out towards me. I walked into them and fell against his chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered in ear.

  Epilogue

  I stood at a podium facing an audience full of women. They weren’t just ordinary women, they were women like me. This was the Christian Domestic Discipline Women’s Society, and I’d been giving the honor of speaking in front of them.

  “Those on the outside looking in,” I said. “They don’t understand what they see. They see us as weak, as willing to be pushed around by our husbands. But I say to them, there is strength in submission. Through domestic discipline, we are strengthened through Him. Thank you very much.”

  The audience rose to their feet and clapped for me. I saw Max standing in the back row, and he gave me a wink. Afterwards, I sat at a table in the back of the room signing my memoir that had been published a month ago. In it, I was open about my relationship, and my submission to Max, and made no apologies. As always, the reception was mixed. But as time wore on, those who didn’t agree with me lost interest and moved on to something else. Those who believed in domestic discipline as prescribed by God stayed with me, and bought plenty of books.

  “I want to thank you so much for coming out with your story,” one woman said as I signed her book. “It’s nice to know that we’re not alone.”

  “It can seem like that sometimes,” I said. “But look around. You’re certainly not alone.”

  I wished the woman well, then looked up to greet the next person in line. To my delight, it was my handsome husband. He carried a copy of my book and opened it in front of me.

  “Make it out to Max, please,” he said.

  I laughed as I signed his book, then handed it back to him.

  “Ready to go?” he said.

  We were taking a private jet back to LA because Max had a fight the next day. As we reclined in the comfortable leather seats, sipping champagne, I wondered, like I often did, how I got so lucky.

  Max grabbed my hand and gazed at me with his loving eyes, and I finally saw the answer. My blessings in life weren’t luck at all. They were the result of following him.

  -Bonus Story-

  Lucy’s Strict Boss

  Lucy and Evan Part 1

  I checked myself in the mirror one last time. My favorite dress, the silky pink one with the small rose pattern, wasn’t failing me now. I spun around on my new tan heels, the ones I’d purchased specifically for this job, checking myself out from every angle. I’d had the dress for years. It had a flattering cut that perfectly masked my flaws. It cinched in just the right spot, making my waist look smaller, and flowed out into a structured skirt, hiding my thick thighs. The pale pink color complimented my complexion perfectly.

  Samantha waited in the living room, ready to assess my outfit. I didn’t think it was necessary, but according to Samantha, the first day at a new job was a day of first impressions, and it was important to choose the right outfit.

  I stepped out into our tiny living room, if it could be called that. It felt more like a tiny box, and me, a giant trying to squeeze around the futon, the only piece of furniture we had room for. I fluffed out my skirt and did a spin.

  “This is the dress?” Samantha asked.

  “Yes,” I nodded enthusiastically. “Doesn’t it do me a ton of favors?” I went through a few modeling poses.

  Samantha shook her head curtly. “No, that’s not right at all.”

  “Why not?” I said, slightly offended. “Doesn’t it look good?”

  “It looks fine,” Samantha said. She stood and circled around me, getting a better look at the dress. “It would work for a day in the park or something. Not for your first day going to work for the most powerful man in the city.”

  I didn’t know why Samantha kept mentioning this ‘man,’ who was so rich and powerful. I assumed she meant Evan Jeffrey, founder of JNC Industries. What I’d explained to Samantha time and time again was I was just an intern, and I’d probably never see Evan Jeffre
y. I wasn’t working for him, not directly. This was just a job, and a nonpaying one at that.

  “This is Chicago, not Dear Run, Michigan,” Samantha said.

  “Dearborn,” I corrected her.

  “The business world here is cutthroat. If you want to move up the ladder, you need to let them know you mean business, right from day one,” Samantha said. “This pretty little frock says, ‘Hi, I’m a small town girl in the big city. Please don’t take advantage of me.’”

  I twirled my fingers in the skirt, suddenly not feeling as confident in my favorite dress. It started to feel like someone else’s dress, someone I didn’t want to be anymore. Since moving to Chicago, I’d taking it all in with wide eyes and an open heart. It was a shock coming here from my small, insular hometown. In the short time I’d been here, I’d been exposed to so many kinds of ideas and people. This dress that I’d found in a thrift store in Annapolis represented a young girl with hay sticking out of her mouth.

  Luckily, I’d found Samantha as a roommate. She’d lived in the city for years and had a high powered job, thought I wasn’t exactly sure what it was she did. It was something to do with finance, as far as I could tell. We connected through the alumni network of the college we both graduated from. We hit it off immediately, and I moved in. I had my inheritance from my grandfather in the bank, which afforded me a few months to find a paying job.

  Samantha had made some calls and set me up with an internship at JNC Industries. When she told me the news, it seemed like she was more excited than I was. Apparently, JNC was a well known and respected company, and so was its CEO. Still, I didn’t know what the big deal was. It was just an internship.

  “Some people would kill for this opportunity,” Samantha had said. “The intern program at JNC is a real foot in the door.”

  Samantha led me to her closet and flung open the doors. Everything was extremely organized. Dark jackets hung on one side, and white blouses on the other. There was as section for skirts and pants, sorted by color, which varied from light gray to black. On the floor stood rows of black heels. They looked like soldiers waiting to be called to duty.

  “This is Dolce and Gabanna,” Samantha said, pulling out a black pencil skirt. “Just try not to look great in this.” She handed me the skirt and I draped it over my arm. “I especially like wearing it with this.” Samantha held up a white blouse. She ran her hand over it, admiring it. I couldn’t see how it was much different than the other dozens of white blouses. She scanned the shoes on the ground. “And...these,” she said, selecting a pair.

  I tried the outfit on and studied myself in the mirror. Samantha was right, the clothes were beautiful. I couldn’t stop touching the soft, thin wool of the skirt. The fabric was luxurious in designer clothes. I’d had no idea. I turned around in front of the mirror, admiring how put together I looked. The person I saw was completely different than the girl in the pale pink dress. Was this who I was striving to be?

  “Yes, perfect,” Samantha said when she saw me.

  Though the clothes were nice, they felt a bit stiff. I couldn’t move around like I normally did. Even when I sat, I felt like my back had to be completely straight, my hands in my lap. But Samantha was so pleased, I didn’t want to complain. Besides, she was the one who knew what it took to make it in the business world. Samantha fixed my hair by pulling it back into a neat, tight bun. She applied small amounts of blush and eyeshadow, and a light shade of lipgloss.

  “This is all the makeup you need,” Samantha said. “And no mascara.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  Samantha gave me an astonished look, like the answer was so obvious. “Because if you have to cry in the bathroom, you don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Oh,” I said. Maybe I didn’t have any idea how cutthroat this would be.

  Samantha and I walked out of our apartment, dressed for work and ready to take on the world. We parted in the subway station on the way to our separate trains. Samantha took both of my hands.

  “You’re a sweet girl,” Samantha said. “Don’t forget that.”

  I laughed. “You act like I’m going to be doing something more important than fetching coffee.”

  “It all starts with the coffee,” Samantha said, then headed off to catch her train.

  JNC Industries was housed in one of the tall, gray skyscrapers that populated downtown. All the buildings looked the same. I wouldn’t have known which one it was if it wasn’t for ‘JNC’ emblazoned in gold on the door. I asked the first floor receptionist where I should go. She instructed me to take the employee elevator to the third floor, then go to conference room A.

  As I was waiting for the elevator, a man around my age came up and stood beside me. He gave me a friendly smile, then struck up a conversation.

  “Hi, I’m Charlie,” he said, holding out his hand. I shook it, remembering to grip firmly the way Samantha had taught me. His eyes widened and he winced. Maybe I had overdone it.

  “I’m Lucy,” I said, watching him shake his hand out. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay,” Charlie said. “You have the handshake of most new interns. I assume that’s why you’re here?”

  “Yes,” I said. “What about you?”

  “I’m a second year intern,” Charlie said.

  “Really? Then you can tell me. My roommate said the work culture here is very competitive. Is that true?”

  Charlie shook his head. “That’s not been my experience at all, not with the interns, at least. We try to help each other, to build each other up.”

  “Oh, good,” I said with relief. “I was kind of nervous.”

  The elevator doors opened up for us. We walked in.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Charlie said. “Here, I’ll give you your first tip. The receptionist told you to go to the fourth floor, conference room A?”

  “No, she said the third floor,” I said. “Wait, where should I go?”

  Charlie pressed the button to the fourth floor, and then the fifth. “There’s a receptionist down there who keeps telling interns to go to the third floor, even though it’s been under construction for a month. The forth floor is where we meet now.”

  “Gee, I’m glad you told me,” I said. “I would’ve been so lost. Where are you going?”

  “Running an errand on the fifth floor. I’ll see you in the conference room shortly,” Charlie said.

  The door opened on the fourth floor. I thanked Charlie and exited. The signs in the hallways directed me to conference room A. I gasped when I saw how fancy the room was through the large window. A crystal chandelier hung over a long wooden table. There were tables set up with donuts and other treats, coffee, and bottles of water. There were a few men in suits sitting at the table. They didn’t look like interns. I thought that perhaps they were our supervisors, and that I must be the first intern to arrive.

  I took a deep breath, held my shoulders back, and entered the room. The men looked up at me while I walked to take my seat. I smiled warmly at them. The chair I sat in was so comfortable. It was soft and molded perfectly to my body. I think this is leather, I thought, touching the upholstery.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  I looked up from the chair, and locked eyes with the man at the head of the table. He was younger than the rest of them, with lush dark hair that was impeccably styled. Right away, I noticed he was handsome. His facial features looked like they’d been chiseled from stone, as if he were an artist’s rendering of a classically handsome man. I stared at him, speechless.

  “Is there anything we can help you with?” His tone was friendly, but there was no hint of a smile on his face. People here were so different from the one’s back home, who smiled to whoever they were talking to no matter what.

  “Yes, um,” I said. I didn’t realize there’d be a need to introduce myself. “I’m Lucy Carver.”

  The handsome man looked around the room. The others shrugged.

  “Lucy Carver,” he said, as if he’d heard my name bef
ore. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?”

  My cheeks burned bright red, and I took in a ragged breath.

  “Fourth floor, conference room A,” I said in a small voice.

  He let out a laugh, which seemed strange coming from his stern demeanor. “You have the wrong floor. Interns meet on the third floor, conference room A. The fourth floor is the executive floor.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, profoundly embarrassed. I stood up, nearly knocking the chair over as I did. “I’m so sorry. Sorry for disturbing you.” I gathered my things and started making my way to the door.

  “Lucy,” the man said, making me stop. “There’s no need to apologize.”

  His tone was so commanding, I was tempted to apologize again, but managed to stop myself.

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  “I’ll see you down there,” he said. He gave me a smile that cut me to the quick. My knees nearly buckled beneath me. I opened my mouth, but seemed to have forgotten how to talk.

  Without a word, I rushed out of the door.

  Charlie lied to me, I thought as I rode the elevator down. I’d been relieved to meet someone who seemed nice. This only confirmed what Samantha had warned me about. I knew this was all business, but I couldn’t help having hurt feelings. I dried the tears that welled in my eyes, thankful I wasn’t wearing mascara.

  The elevator doors opened, and I ran out. I was very, very late at this point, which for me meant only a few minutes. I quickly found the conference room and rushed inside.

  “You’re late,” a woman said when I walked in. Her name tag said Jamie Winters. I remembered reading about her on the company website.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  The room was packed full of at least fifty interns sitting in rows of folding chairs. This was a different world than the fourth floor. There was fluorescent lighting instead of a chandelier, and no tables filled with catering. This was my world, for now.

  As I scanned the room for an empty seat, I saw Charlie. He nodded at me and gave me a thumbs up. I looked away quickly and sat down.