Taking His Hand (Under His Roof #2)

by Sadey Quinn

  “Good. I’m happy for you.”

  Our seafood pizza arrives, and I steer the topic back to Patrick. Sam picks up where she’d left off—with them heading to the beach soon and oh-my-God it would be soooo awesome if David and I could come along. Then she reminds me of Amanda, who’s expecting, and I tell her about Mitchell and Erin being pregnant, too.

  “Do you think you and David will…?” she begins, cutting herself off but looking at me hopefully. With Amanda getting pregnant, and now Erin, I can definitely feel my biological clock ticking away. They’re starting families, and I can’t ignore how envious I am.

  Sitting in the car after lunch, I pull out my driver’s license and study my face in the picture.

  I’ll be thirty this year, and I was only twenty-three when the picture was taken. Back then, just starting out in advertising, all I really cared about was work. Babies and husbands and a happily ever after were the last things I cared about. I figured I’d work for a few years before settling down with the man of my dreams and making a family of my own.

  My hair was different then. I had a short bob that angled down toward my chin, and I was maybe a little too into pink lipstick. I looked in the rearview mirror, seeing the me that David sees. I didn’t feel old exactly, compared to Driver’s License me. Just older. Mature. I’m successful. I’m happy.

  I’m ready for all the happily-ever-after junk to catch up with me.

  I know David has a client this evening, so when I get home I happily settle into the couch with my knitting supplies and a cup of tea. David is packing up the rest of his spanking supplies and doing whatever it is he does to prepare, mentally and physically, for a session. I asked him about that once, when I caught him sitting at the table, staring at his hands before a client arrived.

  He said he tries to think about the individual, what her needs are, and what level he should get to in order to deliver the appropriate discipline. One girl might need to be taken to the place where she’s sobbing and bruised; another might need to be restrained in a particular way. I respect how much thought he puts into each client.

  I’m curious if I’ll be able to hear what happens in the session. I doubt it. The office is far enough from the house that she’d have to yell pretty loud for me to hear anything. David says this client is a regular, and it’ll take about an hour. She’s the first woman he’ll spank in his new office.

  I relax, reveling in the fact I can stay in my house while he spanks whoever this woman is.

  I’m squinting at Stichin’ Bitch, attempting to do my first cast-on, when I hear David near the back of the house.

  “Sweetie, can you come here for a minute?”

  I set down my needles and the tangle of brown yarn, and find him at the back door.

  “C’mon,” he says, a twinkle in his eyes. “We don’t have a lot of time!”

  I giggle as he drags me across the yard to his office. He pulls me inside and, even since yesterday, it feels like it’s more finished. The electrical cords are put away and it smells lemony from whatever cleaner he used.

  “So, I couldn’t have some client be the first woman spanked here,” he says.

  Realizing what he’s up to, I stop dead in my tracks, but he holds my hand firmly and tugs me forward.

  “Relax, relax.”

  The discipline room itself is brightly lit, almost clinical. As if he’s reading my mind, David changes the light from blue to warm.

  “Depending on the client, and the punishment, I can vary the lighting,” he explains, leading me to the daybed. He sits, pulling me down and over his lap.

  “David—“

  “Shh.” He rubs my bottom, squeezing each cheek firmly before flipping my skirt up. “This won’t hurt much.”

  “David!”

  He’s fondling my ass roughly, and I can feel his eyes devouring the sight.

  “I was just thinking to myself, ‘This is the first time I’ll use my office to spank a woman. Why the hell am I not spanking my woman?’ It just didn’t make sense!”

  He grips me hard, suddenly, and I tense. Last night, during the fun, pleasurable spanking, David didn’t feel the need to hold me tight. A tight grip means he’s expecting me to struggle. This realization comes just a split second before the first sharp spank.

  I shriek, kicking my legs.

  “Shush,” he says firmly, and continues spanking.

  After twenty five swats—I was silently counting—he stops, and I roll off of his lap.

  “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you, Rachel darling, for being the very first, the very best, and the very hottest client I spank in this office.” He flips up my skirt, and pulls out his phone.

  “What are you doing?” I squeal.

  “Taking a picture. I want to save this moment for posterity.”

  I laugh and grab his phone. “Over my dead body!”

  He grabs it back from me. “Hey! I need something to hang on the walls, don’t I?” And I’m scooped up suddenly, tight in his arms, safe and laughing and loved.

  When I sit back down to my knitting, my ass feels warm and nice. And for whatever bizarre reason, I feel lucky to be the first person spanked in David’s new space.

  At work the next morning, I spend an hour wasting time with e-mail before checking in with Aria.

  Time to bite the bullet.

  I take the stairs down the single flight to Jeremy’s floor. I find her at the desk outside his office, mindlessly thumbing through Us Weekly. His office door is closed, and through the side window I can see he’s with a client. Good. He’s distracted.

  “Hey, Aria,” I say.

  “Rachel! Hey! How…how are you?”

  “I’m well. How are you?”

  “Do you need to see Jeremy? ‘Cause he told me he’ll be with this guy until, like, eleven.” She eyes the door nervously. “I don’t know if he’ll mind if you interrupt.”

  “I’m actually here to see you.”

  Aria does a little double-take.

  “Is one of the conference rooms available?”

  “Just a sec, let me check,” she says, fumbling through papers on her desk. “The schedule was right here a second ago.” More papers fly. “Here we go. Yeah, Conference Room Three should be available.”

  She sits on a wooden chair at the huge conference table. Next to her is a giant swivel chair on one side and another wooden chair on the other. I’m tempted to sit in the swivel chair—to be the boss of the conversation—but David’s face flashes in my head and I sit beside her in the wooden chair. This is not about work, after all.

  “So what’s up, Rachel?” She sounds nervous.

  “It was important to me to check in with you with the transition and all. How is it here with Jeremy?”

  “It’s…good,” she says, in a way that doesn’t sound like she means it. But I realize she doesn’t really have a reason to trust me.

  “Aria, I know how he is with women. I’ve been a little worried about you, actually. I know you might not want to seem like you’re causing trouble or anything, but I want you to know that I would back you up if Jeremy ever tries to pull anything.…” My voice trails off.

  “…out of line?” she finishes for me.

  “Exactly.”

  She leans toward me and lowers her voice to a whisper.

  “Jeremy is a great boss,” she says, cautiously. “But I have heard, since I’ve been down here, that there are some bosses in the company who don’t really give their secretaries enough to do.” She pauses and looks at the door, a worry wrinkle on her forehead. “Some bosses are subtle. They give compliments to their assistants about their appearance that could never be construed as sexual harassment, but they look a little too long when they do it. They give their girls to-do lists involving fetching coffee and filing things in the bottom drawer only.” She pauses, fidgeting with her beaded bracelet. “I dunno, though. I don’t think Jeremy’s like that. I’m still new to working with him.”

  I actually feel really bad
for her. In my mind, I run through my schedule for the day.

  “Hey,” I say, thinking fast, “do you want to help me with a client this afternoon? The meeting is at two. I’m sure Jeremy won’t mind.”

  “Um, Rachel? You remember you just fired me, right?”

  I wonder if it shows on my face that I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing. “Let me tell Jeremy.”

  I barge into his office and he looks up, startled. The client, a balding guy with a stack of purple binders on his lap, looks up at me and smiles. I feel his eyes on my legs. He’s definitely working with the right agent.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Johannes? I’m going to steal Aria this afternoon if that would be all right with you. I need her help to finish up some of the stuff she started before she made this transition. She’ll come to my office after lunch.” I phrase the request like a command and not a question.

  “Whatever. Fine.” Jeremy just gives me a little glare and waves me away.

  I’m meeting with Kate Richardson and her husband, Jacob. Kate is the CEO of a department store based in Durham, and her husband is the CFO. They’re opening up a new Asheville branch. Our firm covers their advertising in Durham, so I’ve been assigned to take care of them here. Usually corporations send representatives, but Kate and Jacob run a tight ship and apparently do almost all interactions with their contractors one-on-one.

  I’m pretty confident it’ll be an easy meeting. Hopefully Aria won’t get in the way.

  Aria’s got a straight skirt on that lands just below her knees and closed-toed heels rather than her normal strappy sandals. I wonder if she’s trying to cover up more, now that she works for Jeremy.

  “We’re just going to meet them for drinks at the Grove Park Inn,” I explain as we head to my car.

  “At two in the afternoon?”

  I shrug. “Clients’ choice.”

  We’re quiet on the way and arrive before Kate and Jacob, as expected. I order my usual martini. Aria thinks for a few moments, then looks to me for help.

  “You don’t have to get alcohol,” I offer, wondering if she doesn’t drink.

  She’s looks relieved, then nervous again. “I don’t want to seem—“

  “Can you make her a virgin cocktail?” I ask the waitress, who is probably about my age and looks bored out of her mind.

  “Yup. Want to try our virgin mojito? Mint, limeade, and soda.”

  “Please,” says Aria, settling back into her chair with a small smile.

  She brings us our drinks just as Kate and Jacob come in. They’re in their mid-forties, both very attractive, tall, and have a powerful presence. We stand to greet them and their handshakes are firm but warm. I focus on not being intimidated—I far prefer to deal with company representatives than the actual people in charge—and flag down the waitress. Jacob orders a whiskey for himself and a glass of Chardonnay for Kate, who is busy doing something with her phone.

  “Oh, you went to Duke,” says Aria as Jacob turns to us.

  I look at her in surprise, and see her gesturing toward a class ring on his right ring finger.

  “Yes, good eyes.” He smiles.

  “I hear they’ve got a great power forward this year.”

  I raise my eyebrows but hide my surprise as Aria launches into a detailed conversation about Duke basketball with Jacob, one of our firm’s most important new clients.

  I’ll thank her for that later.

  Kate’s put down her phone and is listening somewhat apathetically, but seems content to wait to get to business. I search for a class ring on her finger, or any clue on her person to help draw her into the conversation.

  But Aria beats me to it, glancing in Kate’s direction and saying, “And you? Blue Devil or Tar Heel?”

  “No, no. I was a Tiger.”

  Before I know it, there’s a fun, rather loud conversation about the ACC and every sport ranging from football to women’s basketball to swimming. I don’t have a lot to contribute, but do add that I went to Appalachian State and hide my annoyance when this admission is greeted with laughter.

  Jacob orders another round for everyone, asking the waitress to put it on his card. When I protest—our firm always tries to pick up the bill for these meetings—he waves his hand, dismissing the idea. Kate and Jacob are both leaning slightly toward Aria, their body language indicating they’re having a nice time.

  I relax, pleased.

  By the time we get around to discussing their ad campaign, I’m buzzed and push my second half-finished martini aside.

  “Well, we’ve been thinking a lot about the redesign…” Kate says, opening her own file and spreading out some design drafts in front of her and Jacob.

  Redesign? I flip open the file, trying to appear casual, and frantically scan for any note of a redesign. Maybe it was in an email I missed? Shit.

  “Is that what you use in Durham?” Aria asks, leaning over Jacob’s shoulder to peer at the papers.

  “Yes. As you can see, it’s industrial. Here in Asheville, we want hip. We want to appeal to whatever these…” Kate pauses, looking around the hotel bar with mild disgust, searching for the right word, “…whatever these mountain people seem to like.”

  “That’s really smart,” says Aria, beaming at them. Then she turns to me, eager. “So, what’d you come up with?”

  Shut up, Aria! I’m screaming in my head. Her smile fades slightly when she sees the look in my eyes.

  I decide to opt for honesty.

  “Listen, Kate, Jacob,” I say, facing them. “I apologize, but for whatever reason I missed your plan for a redesign.”

  Kate frowns, and Jacob rolls his eyes.

  “However, if you just give me a moment, I can come up with some rough ideas for you right now.”

  She looks at her phone. I’ve lost her attention. Jacob leans over and murmurs something in her ear.

  I decide to have a take-charge attitude. “This meeting won’t be a loss. Trust me. I understand that you want to change things up a bit. That’s fairly typical for clients starting up here in Asheville. So, we’ll discuss what parameters you need and I can come up with a few sketches. The only thing we won’t be able to show you today is the digital version of those ideas, but I can e-mail them tomorrow morning.”

  Jacob sighs, but goes into the rough plan they want. I listen intently, drawing as he speaks. I’m kicking myself for not bringing my laptop. I seriously thought this was just a meet and greet.

  Meanwhile, poor Aria is taking in the train wreck this meeting has turned into. She leans toward me and peers over my shoulder at my sketches.

  “What if you kept the change simple? I mean,” she looks at me apologetically, “I really like what you’ve come up with, Rachel. But another approach would keep the brand a little more solid. You’ve got strong clientele in Durham and Raleigh, and they’ll recognize your name if you can keep it mostly the same…”

  I’m trying really hard not to glare at Aria, but Kate and Jacob are listening and nodding.

  Aria grabs a pencil from the stack by my paperwork and works for a few minutes, drawing out basically the same logo as they had. She swaps the capital ‘R’ out for a lowercase one, leaving more room for a group of faceless people she’s drawing.

  I see what she’s doing. Honestly, it’s obvious. It’s smart.

  Where the hell did this come from?

  “So, Asheville people…mountain people,” she corrects, giggling, “we really like community. If we just do a slightly brighter color scheme, and add some cut-outs of people, it’ll imply that you guys are community oriented. Do you have support for your workers in any way? Or do you have any programs that are community-based?”

  “We’re employee-owned. See, sometimes we’ve put that in the ads,” Jacob says, pulling from the bottom of a stack and showing Aria a copy of a billboard.

  “Yeah, that’s great. We’ll highlight that even more with this campaign. We could make it almost like a slogan or something.”

  It’s perfect.r />
  Kate and Jacob are smiling now, and Jacob orders yet another round. Aria continues sketching until she’s done a mock-up for their simple logo, the logo with the slogan, and even an advertisement template with the logo plus a photo of company employees. On the logo and slogan, she sketches a light outline of the Blue Ridge Mountains in the background.

  While she’s busy, both chatting and working simultaneously, I snap a photo of the new logo with my phone, and do some work on the colors. By the time we’re into our third round of drinks, we’ve got basically what I would have prepared for them finished.

  Unbelievable.

  Kate and Jacob are thrilled, and when we get up to leave, they thank us as though Aria and I are both designers.

  I’m more than a little tipsy when we head out to my car. Sheepishly, I hand Aria my keys. She doesn’t so much as blink as she takes them from my hands and heads to the driver’s seat. Also, to her credit, she’s not saying a word about what I would’ve done if she hadn’t come along.

  “You were really good in there,” I say, sliding into the passenger seat.

  “Thanks.”

  “I never knew you could draw like that.”

  She shrugs. “You never asked.”

  I frown, annoyed. It isn’t my job to assume a secretary can draw. “Well. You could’ve told me. Shown me.”

  “It’s on my resume. I just never thought I could get into school, so I figured…I thought maybe if I kept it up at Lakeside for long enough, eventually I’d climb the ladder and be able to work for you…or for someone…as a designer.”

  “Does David know you want that?”

  “No. No one knows.”

  “Why not?”

  Tapping the steering wheel with her index finger, she thinks for a moment. “No one in my family has ever done anything besides work retail or other blue collar stuff. So I don’t know…I guess having a job like that is more of a dream than a reality. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I still…I still don’t want to get my hopes up.” She turns to me with a weak smile. “I really like being a secretary, too. I just really hate…”

  “Being bored?” I see it on her face.

  She sighs, but neither agrees nor disagrees. I feel a pang for her all of a sudden, like I’m seeing her for the first time or something.