by Fiona Wilde
Miss Parsham might forget what she had for breakfast, but she knew everything in her shop. If truth be told, I wasn't far behind. And yet, Ethan had just chanced to find, in barely two minutes, an item that neither of us remembered at all? How likely was that?
Miss Parsham thought she'd never seen the paddle before because she never had. It wasn't in the box of schoolmaster's things. Ethan had brought it into the shop with him, under his coat. I thought about confronting him, accusing him, but then I realized: Why bother?
I turned and walked back home – for good - to where my unsuspecting husband was waiting for me.
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This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
Chapter One
“Mommy, why can’t you come to my Christmas play?”
Laura McCaffrey looked down at the adorable face of her five-year-old son and felt her heart lurch.
“Because, Evan, Mommy has to work. It’s the busiest time of the year and we have bills to pay.” She glanced over at the growing stack on the kitchen counter, the source of the gnawing, ever-present worry in her stomach. “You remember what Mommy told you? That this is the busiest time of year for her?”
“Well, I think it’s stupid,” the little boy grumbled. “Why can’t people just do their own shopping?”
Laura stuffed her son’s Thermos into his lunch box and zipped it shut. “Because some people are very busy and don’t have time.” Now finish your toast. “The bus will be here in a few minutes.”
Outside it was bitter cold. Laura could have watched Evan and his friends board the bus from her apartment window, but she was too protective for that. As always, she stood on the walk, her breath coming in steamy spurts, until her bundled-up son and his friends had managed to board the bus that would take them to Little Friends Day School.
The tuition bill from the school was among those sitting on her counter. Her ex-husband had promised to pay it by last Tuesday. When the money hadn’t come she broke down and called him. His new girlfriend answered the phone and when she heard Laura’s voice slammed the receiver down on the counter and called for Clay. “It’s her,” she said.
Clay had told her not to worry, he’d send the tuition money by Saturday. Today was Monday and still there was no money. If she didn’t have it by Friday, Evan would have to leave Little Friends and the only friends he had ever known.
Laura turned and walked back into her apartment building, stopping by Mr. Harker’s apartment first to give him the rent before going back to the warmth of her flat.
Pouring herself another cup of tea, she sat down to make her list. She’d had several packages to wrap and deliver before meeting her newest client --what was his name again? She picked up her day planner and flipped to the Post-It note she’d pressed into the December section.
“Maximus Greenway.” The named sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. The man’s receptionist had called her and scheduled an appointment for 11:30 a.m. It was a downtown address; that meant a big, lucrative account.
But she knew if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t make it. After a quick shower, she towel-dried and brushed her long brunette hair and let it air dry as she wrapped presents - a pair of size 6 Ugg boots, a cashmere wrap and nine sets of Cross pens, for Mrs. Tighlman, a bleach-blonde new money socialite who lived in The Gables, a gated community just outside of town. Putting the gifts into a labeled bag and quickly jotted out an invoice, taking careful note to add the gift wrap fee before stapling a copy of the Ms. Tighlman’s charge account receipts onto the corner.
Glancing at the clock, she rushed out to load the bags into the back of her Jeep Cherokee and climbed into the driver’s seat. As usual, the aging vehicle was reluctant to start and Laura prayed for patience she needed to gently coaxing the engine to turn over without flooding it.
Finally, it rumbled to life and she pulled out into traffic, ignoring the ill-tempered horn blasts of other drivers. She breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her exit and the crush of city traffic fell away as she reached suburbia.
The Gables sat on the fringes of a cluster of working class homes. Laura pulled up to the little guard house that sat in front of the huge wrought iron entry way. A fat, red-faced man lumbered out as she rolled down her window.
“I’m here to see Clarice Tighlman.”
“Just a minute.” The guard disappeared back into his little office, picked up the phone, nodded and then waved her through. The gates opened remotely and Laura drove through. The Tighlman house was on Blue Heron Way, ironically named since the road stood on filled-in wetlands. Laura glanced as her watch as she guided the Jeep Cherokee into the circular drive. She was making good time and she smiled. Being a personal shopper was a lot more work than people realized, especially this time of year when she spent hours enduring long lines, rude sales people in quest for the perfect gift to be given on behalf of someone who didn’t care to take time to shop.
But getting paid made it all worth it. Since starting Personal Touch Shopping Service three years ago, Laura had built up a reputation for good customer service. She required her clients to at least meet with her first, to talk about the recipients, so she could best pick the perfect gift. For going the extra mile, she commanded a premium price, which she got. But she didn’t feel guilty. She worked very hard and her status as a newly single mother meant every cent was spent as soon as she put it in the bank.
A weary-looking Hispanic woman answered the door. “I’m here to see Mrs. Tighlman,” she said.
“Si - yes,” the woman said, smiling. A moment later, Roberta Tighlman came flouncing to the door, her heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Laura,” she said, with a big smile. “How are you?”
“Fine, Mrs. Tighlman,” Laura said, holding up the bags. “Here’s the rest of your Christmas shopping!”
“What a relief,” the blonde woman said. “And you caught me just in time. I’m on my way out to a Junior League meeting.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Laura said. “But…is it possible for you to pay me before you leave, Mrs. Tighlman? That’s my policy - to get paid when I deliver the gifts.”
Ms. Tighlman turned towards a mirror on the hat tree in the foyer and hurriedly put her earrings on, speaking not to Laura, but to her reflection. “Oh, dear, I wish I had known you were going to insist on payment today, but you see, these gifts are for Alan’s corporate clients, as you know. So he’ll need to pay you.” She turned to face Laura. “And he’s not here.”
Laura felt her stomach twist. “Well, when can I catch up with him?”
“Not for a few days, dear. He’s in Massachusetts setting up a new office.” He won’t be back until Friday night. And you know how the weekends are for us this time of year. Party central.” Mrs. Tighlman smiled. “Just come by on Monday and I’ll make sure there’s a check for you.” She traced an “X” across her fake breasts. “Cross my heart.”
“Oh, OK then, see you Monday,” said Laura. “I hope everyone likes their gifts.”
“I’m sure they will, dear,” said Mrs. Tighlman, taking the bags from Laura and handing them to the maid before ushering Laura out of the house. “You come highly recommended.”
Those recommendations were the only reason Laura didn’t press the issue, she told herself as she pulled out of The Gables and headed back towards the city. Word of mouth had built her business and if waiting a week to get her money kept her from getting a reputation as a difficult shopper then she’d just have to wait. It still irked her, though. Her agreement clearly stated t
hat payment must be rendered when the gifts were delivered.
She tapped the steering wheel nervously. Now she was really in trouble. Both the heating bill and Evan’s tuition were coming due at the end of the week. She’d counted on the Tighlman’s money to pay at least part of it.
She was pleased when her next three clients paid her without question. Mrs. Price, a middle-aged wheelchair bound food critic, had been one of Laura’s first clients. As always, she was complimentary and generous, giving Laura a tip in addition to her fee and a coupon from the local delicatessen. After Laura dropped off the rest of her gifts, she took advantage of the free meal before heading over to meet Mr. Greenway.
“Please let this client be the one that I need,” she prayed. “Something has got to change for the better. It just has to.”
****************
Maximus Greenway’s suite of offices occupied the entire fifth floor of the Merrick building. Laura arrived ten minutes early for her appointment, giving herself enough time to get her information together in the one bundle she’d present to her newest client.
She was surprised when she wasn’t made to wait. At exactly 11:30 sharp Mr. Greenway’s receptionist, a prim-looking young woman with short blonde hair, ushered Laura into his office. The man behind his desk was on the phone, his back to her.
“Yes, yes, I understand the wrong system was put in the delivery van, but that’s no excuse. The driver should have turned his ass back around and driven back to the warehouse to get the right one.. We both know there was no need to put the Wilcox’s off for another day.” He paused. “Yes, I know Carl has been with us for a long time, and I’m not saying this is a terminating offense - this time. But if it happens again, it will be. Our motto is ‘Security on Demand’ and that means we install when we say we will. Now, because Carl has been here so long I’m going to let it go this time, but if it happens again, he’ll answer to me personally. Got it? OK. Bye, Joe.”
The chair twirled around and the phone was returned to its cradle by the man behind the desk as he stood, smoothed his tie and extended his hand. He was a handsome man, just entering middle age. Glasses and a receding hairline did nothing to diminish his good looks. Laura thought he looked like the handsome high school principals she never realized were handsome until she reflected back on them in her adulthood.
“Laura McCaffrey, the personal shopper, I presume. I’m Max Greenway,” he said with a smile and then motioned to the phone. “I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean for the phone call to go on as long as it did.”
Laura stood and returned his smile. “Oh, no problem,” she said. “It actually helped me out. Ever since your receptionist made the appointment I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure out why your name sounded so familiar. Now I know. You’re the security guy. From those commercials - the one who says ‘Your security is my business.’”
Max Greenway laughed. “Well, that wasn’t exactly my idea. My PR guy thought it would be a good idea if the founder and CEO of Greenway Security Systems also doubled as the pitch man. I was afraid I'd come across like Colonel Sanders, or something..." They both laughed, and he went on, " ... but the ads have been effective. My only critic is my mother. She thinks I look too serious. But it’s like I’ve told her. I’m serious about security. It’s important. It’s a bad thing, feeling insecure.
Laura gave a sad smile at the irony of the comment. “Yes, it is,“ she said and then blushed and stood. “So, here’s the information on my services. I offer full service shopping, online or otherwise. Of course, I’ll need clearance to access any accounts you have at stores around town and passwords to online merchants. I’m licensed and bonded - you’ll find paperwork on that in the packet, along with references. There’s a list of fees for what I offer as well and gift wrapping is available, unless, of course you want me to book a cruise. I don’t wrap boats.”
Max Greenway looked up and grinned. “Do you charge extra for the jokes?”
Laura blushed. “No, jokes are free. Part of my holiday special.”
“That’s good to know,” he said, leaning forward and putting his hands on his desk. “But jokes aside, just because I’m hiring you doesn’t mean I don’t want input. The only reason I’m going this route is because we’re seeing an increase in business right now and the holidays have taken me by surprise. But I expect you to keep in touch with me so I can approve your purchases. And if I decide something isn’t appropriate, I expect you to exchange it so the recipient doesn’t have to.”
Laura felt a bit taken aback, but tried not to show it. What did he think she was, an idiot? “That’s why I ask to meet face to face with my clients,” she said slowly. “So I can ask questions about the people on their list and get an idea of what would truly please them.” She stopped. “I’ve been doing this for several years now, Mr. Greenway. I may not be a rocket scientist, but I’m an excellent shopper.”
His expression was unreadable. “Sold,” he said. “I like a person with some self-assurance. But I still expect you to check in with me daily. My receptionist, Jean, will get you all the information I need, and will give you authorizations to use our corporate accounts as places where we have them. But I also want you to be creative.” Max Greenway reached into his pocket and took out his wallet, and began counting out bills. He handed them to Laura. "Find some things off the beaten path. Here’s $1,500 to use at places where we don't have accounts. Make sure you ask Jean for a receipt.”
“OK,” Laura said, taking the money and trying to act as if she was handed large amounts of dollars in cash every day.
For the next hour, Max Greenway went through his list of friends and relatives, stating likes and dislikes. His 70-year-old mother was an avid reader, he said, and especially loved books on nature. Jean, his personal assistant, was about to have surgery. Laura recommended a package of comfort items so she could pamper herself during her recuperation. Max Greenway liked the idea and told her so.
“And your spouse?” Laura asked.
“There’s no spouse,” he said. “Not that I haven’t tried to find one. They just don’t make the model of woman I’m looking for anymore.”
Laura laughed. “And what model is that? Supermodel?”
“The opposite,” Max Greenway said. “I’m more interested in a homebody than a hard body. I want someone who values hearth and home, old fashioned values, the guy wearing the pants in the family…all that jazz. I can’t tell most women that without them checking my knuckles for scrape marks.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah,” she laughed. “You guys say that but just as soon as you get Mrs. Homebody you up and go leave her for Miss Hard Body. Believe me, I know from personal experience.”
Her client looked her up and down. “So which one were you?” he asked.
“What?” Laura fixed him with a puzzled look.
“Were you Mrs. Homebody or Miss Hard Body?”
Laura blushed deeply. “I was the homebody,” she said quietly. “I still am, when I have time. The only man in my life now appreciates that.”
“He’s a lucky man,” said Max Greenway.
“Yes, and he’s going to be an angry man if I’m late picking him up from school,” she said.
“Oh, you were talking about a child.” He stood as she did, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. Laura felt very small in his presence. He was a good foot taller than her, and well-built. She worked out religiously and knew a body like that on a man his age didn’t come without real work.
“Yeah,” she said. “My little boy, Evan.”
“He’s a lucky man.” Max Greenway walked over to the door and Laura was relieved he was in front of her now and couldn’t see her blushing again. She felt she’d acted more like a silly schoolgirl than a professional and felt irritated that she’d let herself be so easily flattered. But she’d landed the account; that was what mattered, and for all the hours he wanted her to put in she might just finally get ahead of the game.
******
*******
Max Greenway wasn’t born into success. He’d dropped out of college to help his mother support the family, which included him and his four younger siblings, after his father had died of a heart attack.
His mother had insisted that he stay in. She could get a job, she said. There was no need for him to give up his dream. But Max Greenway, who’d come from a long line of men who believed a woman’s place was in the home, wouldn’t hear of it. At 19, he’d become the head of the household, allowing his mother to supplement the income with at-home work.
“The little ones need you more than the shoe department at Belk’s,” he’d told her one afternoon when she insisted he at least consent to letting her work part time.
He was so much like his father - stalwart and responsible - that his mere presence around the house made his mother both proud and wistful by terms. And, infected with the famous Greenway work ethic, he took over running his father’s roofing business with such confidence that it scarcely missed a beat.
He came into the security business by accident when he began to help a friend in construction install systems he designed. For several years he worked several weekends a month, installing the systems and even helping design ways to make them better. When the man, who’d originally been a friend of his father’s, was diagnosed with cancer, he sold the business to Max and Greenway Security Systems was born. Within four years, it became far more lucrative than roofing, which was subject to the weather.
