by Evans, Trent
Or they needed their bottoms tanned.
“If it happens again, I’ll expect you to tender your resignation in writing. Immediately.”
Amity’s face reddened. “I know that won’t be necessary, sir.”
“I’m not done.”
“Sorry.” She dropped her eyes, and he wanted to do nothing more than to caress her cheek, feel the softness of her skin, the heat of her blush against his palm.
Dane took a deep breath. “In that event, you can choose to resign… or you can choose to be punished.”
Amity’s gaze shot up. “Punished?”
He gave her a solemn nod.
Steady, Dane.
Her eyebrow arched. “I don’t—how?”
“How do you think, Amity?”
“You’re not serious, are you?”
Dane’s jaw creaked as he gritted his teeth. “I’m quite serious. You screw up again, and you choose not to walk? You’ll be spanked.”
Amity’s face paled, but there were still points of color in each cheek, her eyes blinking rapidly. “I—I’m not some… little girl. You can’t do this.”
Dane unlaced his fingers, placing his palms flat on the cool table. “What I do depends on you. It’s your choice. You can choose to shape up and start doing your job, and nothing will come of this. This warning won’t even go in your file.”
She raised her chin, her eyes narrowing. “I won’t screw up. That… it won’t happen.”
“As long as you do what you’re supposed to do, it won’t.” Dane met her gaze, glaring. “But if you don’t, you’re out of here—or you take the consequences. Again, your choice.”
Amity pushed her chair back, gathering up her purse as she stood.
“Where are you going?”
Her head tilted, a thumb hooked over her shoulder. “Going… back to work?”
“Sit down.”
She hadn’t bolted, hadn’t cursed him, hadn’t called him a sexist prick, or any number of other names he’d imagined. His heart pounded in his chest, his erection not relenting one bit. He’d definitely be letting her leave the room first, because walking comfortably wasn’t in the cards for the next few minutes.
Amity frowned. “I’d like to go. This isn’t exactly fun for me.”
“It’s not for me either, but you brought this on yourself.” Dane pointed to her chair. “Sit down, Amity.”
“Whatever.” She dropped her purse on the table, sitting down, but not meeting his gaze.
“I want you to start taking better care of your appearance. You walked in today looking like you’d just rolled off of someone’s couch after a night partying. Skirt wrinkled, buttons undone. And it’s far from the first time.”
Dane wanted to tell her she couldn’t wear heels anymore either, because they made the sway of her round bottom devastatingly effective. He wanted to tell her she had to cover up her breasts entirely, because there were too many times he’d wondered what their soft, vulnerable weight would feel like in his hands. And he wanted to tell her not to look at him with those big brown eyes anymore either.
He had a feeling they had the power to bring a man to his knees.
“Hey, look at me.” He dipped his head, trying to meet her gaze. “It’s unprofessional. Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean you can get away with not even trying. Not here.”
“Unprofessional? And threatening to… spank me is professional?”
“I mean it, Amity.”
“Fine.” Crossing her arms, Amity glared at him. “Is there anything else you’d like to criticize me for? My fashion sense? Is my butt too big? Do I breathe too loudly?”
“Be quiet, young lady.”
“I—” Then her mouth dropped open, her eyes going wide, but she didn’t say anything further.
“You’re an adult. You’re going to start acting like one, one way or the other. You’re a smart girl. I know you’re better than this, so that’s why I’m giving you another chance here.”
“Yes, I am an adult.” She held up a hand, palm up. “So why are you treating me like a little girl?”
“Start giving me a reason not to, Amity.” Dane forced his voice to soften. “That’ll be all, Ms. Derrington.”
Her brow furrowed as she gave him a parting glance, her blush still coloring her cheeks. Then she got up and fled from the room.
He sat there, waiting for his cock to let him have some peace, knowing he’d be icing his balls later on for this. The last sight of her leaving didn’t help either. That dark skirt, tight, clutching that gorgeous ass in a snug embrace. He hoped he’d shocked her into behaving better, at starting to at least try. But he had his doubts. Serious doubts. And it wouldn’t do to lie to himself either.
Amity needed someone to help her; that much was true. Not for the first time, he wondered if there was already someone in her life, wondered if that man would be capable of giving her what she needed. He had some idea of what would really turn her around, and he knew she wouldn’t like it one bit. But thinking back on the sites he’d found on her traffic report, he wondered. Maybe her subconscious was telling her what she needed—but the girl refused to listen.
It was all speculation and psychoanalyzing bullshit, probably. Odds are she’d take the first option, resign, and ask Chuck Derrington to find her yet another job she was ill-prepared to hold down. Another opportunity to squander her good fortune, to fail to live up to what Dane could see was possible with her. If she’d only try! Accountability would help her in that, he knew it as surely as he knew his own name. But she first had to admit that to herself—and that was often the hardest battle.
There was at least one thing that was crystal clear here, though. Part of him hoped she’d fuck up again too. And soon.
Chapter Three
The bass was so loud the ice in the glasses atop the slate gray bistro table vibrated with it. The table area was jam-packed, drunk women and trashed guys constantly bumping them or stumbling by, the deafening music drowning out most of the conversation around her.
“What do you think of him?” Kaitlyn bleated into Amity’s ear, stirring a drink with two little black straws. She smiled eagerly, nodding her head toward the subject.
Kaitlyn’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, Michael, had decided to bring along a friend to the club. And both guys were standing near the bar, waiting to get through the crush of people to snag another drink.
The new guy was okay. Easy on the eyes. Tall and slim, with gorgeous dark hair, but when he’d shook her hand his grip had been gentle, almost soft. That closed the door right there for Amity. It was a sign—and one she’d always believed in. A handshake said something about a guy. And his told her he wasn’t the type of guy she was looking for, no matter how handsome he was. His name was Brandon. Maybe.
“I don’t know, Kate. He seems sweet. Might just be a bad night for me,” she lied.
“Well, if it’s a bad night for you—” Kaitlyn held up two shot glasses, pressing one into Amity’s hand, “—then we got some work to do, bitch!”
Amity threw back the shot, the burn spreading down her throat, heat blooming in her belly. She slapped the glass to the tabletop, giving Kaitlyn a smile. The buzz was already going, and it was only Amity’s second shot. She knew she should’ve eaten something earlier. It didn’t help either that she was practically broke. She had just enough money in her account to pay for her drinks tonight—she hoped. Then maybe a splash of gas into her tank in the morning to get her ass to work—definitely on time.
It was still something she couldn’t quite get her mind around. The meeting with Dr. McKendrick. What he’d said to her—and how she’d reacted. Should she have stomped out and filed a sexual harassment complaint against him? She guessed some would have—but he wasn’t really harassing her. Was he? He’d given her a choice. A twisted, fucked-up choice, sure, but a choice nonetheless. Not all of what he said was technically untrue, either. She knew she wasn’t really being responsible, but on the other hand, what else
was being young about? So what if he was right? How dull would life be if everyone always followed the rules, always did the ‘responsible thing’? Right?
Maybe he was just fucking with her, trying to get her to quit. But what if he really wanted her to choose the other option? Get her ass smacked. Would he actually want to spank her? Would he get off on it?
Don’t kid yourself, honey. With your ass and thighs? A guy like him can do a lot better.
Of course, in the books she read, the guys did get off on it—a lot. But that was fiction, fantasy. She’d never actually met a boy with the inclination—or the balls—to actually try it with her.
The fantasy image that conjured up caused a stirring deep in her belly. Her standing before Dr. McKendrick, her head bowed, wringing her hands in front of her while he lectured her sternly, his hand on her hip, making sure she knew she wasn’t going anywhere until he was done with her. Then, just like in the hundreds of books she’d never admit were on her e-reader, he’d draw her across his knees, fingers hooking in the waistband—
“Amity, what the fuck, girl? You’re staring off into space.” Kaitlyn’s face drew close, the thumping music swelling louder again all around them. “You need to drink more!”
“I’m blowing my last on this spread tonight.” Amity winced, knowing how long it still was until payday, with the knowledge that she wouldn’t have near enough money to make it until then. Maybe she could take the bus and eat ramen?
Yeah, just like in college, you idiot. Making great progress on building a life, aren’t you?
As if on cue, their server snaked her way through the people surrounding their table, setting her tray down and giving them a sweet smile while she unloaded another handful of shots. Her curly brown hair was pinned over in a 1920s flapper look that only really worked with women blessed with delicate, almost elfin facial features.
It worked with the server’s face—very well.
The bitch.
Laying Amity’s debit card down in front of her, the server shrugged. “This was declined. Do you have another card we could charge to?”
“Shit.” Amity opened her small clutch purse, looking for a card she knew she didn’t have.
“It’s okay,” Kaitlyn said, laying a hand on Amity’s shoulder. “I’ve got it. Just put it on mine.” She handed her credit card to Flapper Girl server, who was gone so fast it was as if she were never there.
“Thanks, Kate.” Amity could feel the heat of her blush spread up her neck. “I’ll pay you back. Promise.”
Kaitlyn grinned at her and gave her another shot. “You can pay me back by closing this fucking place down with me. Now, drink!”
As the burn of the third shot suffused her body with warmth, the swirling, acrid cigarette smoke and the booming bass making her head buzz, Amity smiled.
Fuck this ‘responsible’ shit. Time to have some fun.
* * *
The sound of pouring rain on the carport roofs outside her window woke her up.
Her head pounded so hard it felt like someone was trying to inflate a balloon inside her skull. She wiped away a partially dried slick of what she hoped was drool from her cheek. Her apartment bedroom spun slowly as she forced herself to sit up.
Something was wrong. She didn’t remember hearing the blaring alarm tone on her phone. And it was way too bright outside for six in the morning.
“Oh, shit.”
Bursting up to her feet, ignoring the momentary wave of nausea, she rifled through her tangled covers until she found her phone. She looked at the time. 7:39.
“Goddamn it!” She dropped the phone onto the mattress, bending over it, berating it as one might a dog who’d peed on the carpet. “Why didn’t you go off?”
It wasn’t the first time she’d cursed her phone for her own stupidity. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.
She scrubbed her face with her hands, trying to get her eyes to focus.
“I’ll call in sick,” she muttered, stumbling into her bathroom, tangling her feet in dirty clothes and almost sending herself sprawling. She lifted the lid on the toilet and sat, holding her head in her hands as she peed.
She knew she couldn’t call in sick now. Way too late for that. And he’d know. He seemed like the type who’d always know. Somehow, although that thought scared her, it made her feel something else at the same time. A sort of vague reassurance.
Stop being an idiot, Amity. You’re up shit creek here.
Shivering through a lukewarm shower that never seemed to warm up, she pondered her options. The thought of going back to her dad, admitting that she couldn’t handle living on her own, made her sicker than booze ever could. No, she couldn’t do that. She knew he wouldn’t help her anyway—he’d just give her that look. The ‘I knew it’ look that all parents seemed to have in their DNA. The kind of look that made her want to scream, made her want to climb the highest mountain, swim any ocean, brave any hardship, anything to show him that he was wrong.
Drying herself off, she shivered, but it wasn’t only from the cold. She had to do it. Dr. McKendrick wouldn’t really spank her, of course. It was a bluff, or a figure of speech. He’d probably just make her life hell for a week or two, write her up. The usual. Then it would blow over.
“Yeah, as long as you keep your nose clean, you stupid bitch,” she snapped, yanking up her skirt. “Good luck with that.”
As she sat in her car, letting it warm up, the rain pelted steadily against the windshield, the glass fogged almost completely up. She hit the number for the office, holding a hand to her pounding, clammy forehead.
“Doctor McKendrick’s office.”
Amity swallowed. It was Cathie’s voice.
“Hi—Cathie? It’s Amity.”
“I know.” The nurse’s voice was cold, flat. “Hang on, Amity.”
She clicked over, the Muzak like a twisted funeral dirge. She was in deep shit.
The hold music cut out. “Amity?” It was the rumbling voice of Dr. McKendrick, the deep tone setting off a subtle coiling deep within her. “Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I’m on my way.”
“Are you driving right now?” His voice raised, and she cringed.
“No! No, I’m sitting in my car. Parked.”
“Okay… good. I don’t want you using the phone and driving, Amity.”
“What?”
“You heard me. It’s not safe, and I won’t have you putting yourself or others in danger. Hear me?”
“Yeah… yes, okay.”
“Now, what happened?”
Amity couldn’t say it, knowing that as soon as she did one door would close—forever—and another would open. She just didn’t know if she wanted to walk through it or run screaming.
“I… forgot to set the alarm on my phone. Slept in.”
He didn’t say anything for several long moments, Amity’s heart pounding louder by the second until it matched the agonizing cadence of the throbbing in her head.
“I’ll see you when you get in. Obviously, we have some… talking to do today. The schedule’s too busy to do this now so we’ll wait until closing. After you lock up for the day, I want you in the conference room.”
Amity’s mouth went dry, but she nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… “
He sighed, the disappointment in his tone almost worse than if he’d been angry. “Don’t speed, Amity. And wear your seat belt.”
Chapter Four
He thought he’d be angrier than he was, but mostly what he felt was disappointment. He was disappointed that she’d decided to continue being irresponsible. And he was disappointed that he’d been right that she would.
Cathie called him as soon as Amity got in, but he let Amity be for the remainder of the day, knowing her dread of what was to come would be far worse—and more effective—than any words he could say to her. His wayward young admin was currently cooling her heels in the conference room, waiting until he finished up with Mrs. Becker, who’d come in
just before closing with Braxton-Hicks for the third time in a week.
Satisfied she wasn’t going into actual labor, he sent Mrs. Becker up front to check out with Cathie, then made his way down the hall, shutting off most of the lights in the exam area and going over what he might say, what he thought Amity might say.
And trying to not think about the choice he wanted her to make.
He walked in, finding Amity standing on the far side of the table. She’d chosen a white knit top that flattered her figure, a smooth gray skirt that tightened a little at the sweeping arc of her hips. Her dark hair was caught in a ponytail, a wisp of it falling down over her forehead.
Of course she’d have to look hot today.
“Have a seat, Amity.”
“I’d—I’d rather stand.”
He looked up at her. She met his gaze, but he could see her fingers trembling as she swept away the stray lock of hair.
“Okay, so,” he took his seat, leaning back, elbows on the arms of the chair, “is this going to be a quick meeting? Are you giving me your resignation today?”
For a moment she wrung her hands, then she took a deep shuddery breath. “No, I’m not.”
Dane almost put his hand to his jaw, sure it would hit the floor.
Here goes, Dane. You’d better know what the fuck you’re doing here.
“And you understand what that means then? What you’re choosing, rather than resigning?”
He needed to hear her say it. Dane wanted to make sure she actually was ready to go through with it. He hoped the shock of hearing her say the words would wake her up, in case she wasn’t truly serious.
“I—you’re really going to make me say this?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Fuck,” she said under her breath, glancing down.
There were other things that needed to be addressed besides her atrocious punctuality.
“If you can’t say it, then I want your resignation letter on my desk within the next fifteen minutes. This behavior ends today—the only question is how.”
