by MINK
“Mr. Baxter?”
I jump and whirl around.
She’s here again, and now she’s leaning over my desk, her shirt gaping at the top and giving me a view of her white lacy bra. “You didn’t sign this contract on the third page.” She taps the empty signature line.
“Knock! I told you quite specifically that you are to knock before entering my office.” I swipe a fountain pen from my desk and scrawl my name, then shove the document at her.
She takes it. “Sorry.” Her warm demeanor falters for only a second, then her smile returns. “I like your handwriting. It’s so elegant.”
Why is she so sweet? Her father is a viper, but she’s a little lamb. Or is this an act? With the way she looks at me, I know it isn’t. She really is this pure. That bubblegum tongue darts out again, and I fist my hands.
“Go.” I turn away from her and listen for the sound of her heels to recede and my door to close.
Her insufferably sunny disposition won’t last. Sunshine can’t stay bright. Not while she’s working under me. I’ll break her down. It’s only a matter of time until she goes crying to Daddy about mean Mr. Baxter. And then he’ll know that she’s mine. She can quit, sure, but she’ll have me all over her. There isn’t an employer in this city who’ll take her on without my say-so, and I won’t give it.
I smile and lean back in my chair.
Georgia Lavine is ruined. She just doesn’t know it yet.
4
Georgia
I bet everyone here will like sprinkles. Especially Kristen from Accounting. She keeps sneaking off to the break room to get snacks. That baby in her belly is going to be the cutest, chubbiest little thing ever. I just know it. I’ll need to stop by the store on my way home to grab more sugar. My second attempt at baking cookies for Mrs. Wilson failed, and I’m out of ingredients to make new ones. For her, I think I should go a different route. I hope brownies are more her speed.
Jim pushes his mail cart past my desk. “We leave in five.”
I hold my hand up, and he gives me a high five as he passes my desk. I look around to make sure no one is watching as I tab out on my computer and click my nanny cam that I set up. Mr. Grumpy Pants sits on top of his cathouse with the sun shining down on him as he snoozes away. I jump, tabbing back out when my phone rings.
“It’s a beautiful day at Baxter International. This is Georgia. How can I help you?” I’ve been trying out different ways to answer the phone. Mr. Baxter has a detailed list of things for me to do, but he didn't say how I should answer the phone. Only that I have to answer it, and if I step away from my desk, to forward it to the seventeenth floor receptionist. So I’m taking the liberty to answer it how I feel is best.
“His food is here,” Janet from the first floor reception desk says. “I’m sending it up so we can head out. Nancy swapped lunch hours with me so I can come.”
“Awesome sauce. Down in a sec. Bye.” I hang up. Everyone here has been so nice. I’ve already made a handful of friends. Mr. Baxter is the only one who is extra prickly. I’m hoping he just has a case of the Mondays and that eventually he’ll lighten up a bit.
I did notice that not a lot of people around here are fans of his. They often refer to Mr. Baxter as him. I won’t even get into the other words they call him. I’d hate for everyone to dislike me at my office. I’m kind of hoping that maybe at lunch I can talk him up a little so some of the staff will like him more, but the man is giving me nothing to work with here. He’s short and to the point. He doesn’t even give me time to respond before he’s dismissing me. That’s okay, though. I’ve got a pocketful of sunshine that I’m going to share with him.
I stand as the man with the food comes down the hallway toward me. He looks a few years older than me with blond hair and blue eyes. He actually looks a lot like Mike.
“Hi!” I chirp, meeting him halfway. “I'm Georgia.” I smile at him and hold out my hand to shake his. I notice that Mr. Baxter always gets food from the same place, so it makes sense to know the delivery person if I’m going to see him every day. All Mr. Baxter’s lunches are preordered and delivered at the same time unless he has a business lunch, in which case I’m supposed to cancel them. That’s what the detailed instructions say anyway. I’ve read them three times to make sure that I don’t miss a thing. I mean, the section on lunch was almost a page long. I know people like to plan things, but Mr. Baxter is a little over the top.
“I’m Sam.” He smiles back at me and shakes my hand. He doesn’t let the hand he’s shaking go as he hands me the bag. “He got himself a new one?” Sam’s eyes flick over me.
“New what?” I look around.
“Assistant. I give you--” His eyes roam over me again. “You always this happy?”
“I’m normal.” At least, I think I’m normal.
“Until the end of the week.” Sam laughs. “Call me if you want to hang out,” he adds as he turns to leave. Hang out? I don’t have his number. Oh, well I guess I do have the number of the place where he works.
“We’re going to lunch in a few minutes. You can join us if you like.”
He stops, turning back to look at me.
“I really wish I could but I have work.” He winks at me before turning to leave again.
I head for the break room to plate Mr. Baxter’s lunch. On the way, I steal a flower out of one of the arrangements in the office and place it on the tray to make it pretty before taking it into his office. I stop at the open door, then remember that I have to knock, but my hands are full.
I stand in a bit of a panic at the doorway for a moment. Maybe I should set the tray down on my desk, knock, then run back and grab it. I look to my desk, thinking that it’s probably the best plan of action. I also know that I’m not the most sturdy on my feet, but it’s only a few steps. I convince myself that it’s my best option.
“Come in before my food gets cold,” Mr. Baxter says from inside his office. He’s as chipper as always. I smile as I walk in, hoping it might rub off on him. I’d even take a smirk from his angular face at this point.
“I was going to knock.”
“Now you want to knock?” His tone is mocking.
“Knock knock.” I smile bigger at him, trying to lighten his mood. He doesn’t look the least bit amused.
“Don’t bother with the sunny disposition,” he half growls at me. My smile falters for a moment, but I quickly recover. He’ll have to do a lot more than this to break my spirit.
“Is there anything else I can get you before I head to lunch?” I ask as I place the tray on his desk.
“You’re leaving?” He looks up at me for the first time since I entered his office. I almost think he was trying to avoid looking at me.
“My lunch is at noon according to my schedule.” I’m almost positive that I read that part right. I triple checked.
“Most eat at their desk.” His eyes flick to his tray. I have no idea how the other employees do lunch around here. This is my first day, and Kristen asked me to go to lunch with her. Since I’m new, I thought it’d be a great way to fit in. There was nothing in Mr. Baxter’s detailed manual about having to eat lunch at my desk. Maybe he’s not as thorough as he thinks.
“I’m going to lunch with Janet, Kristen, and Jim.” I’m not sure where we’re going, but I’m guessing they’d know the good places around here. “Sam the delivery guy can’t make it. Guess he has more deliveries to make.”
“Who?” He grabs his tray, sliding it in front of him. It’s a steak with a side of vegetables. He didn't even get himself a dessert. I’ll have to add him to my cookie list. He definitely needs some sugar in his life.
“Janet from the reception desk, Kristen from Accounting, and Jim from the mailroom.” How does he not know who I’m talking about? “I’m kind of hoping Kristen is going to let me help her with her baby shower. She was talking about all these ideas, and then I started thinking of my own. I make the best cake pops and I--”
“Stop.” He cuts me off. “We eat at our desk. Not wi
th Jim who works in the mailroom.”
My shoulders drop at the same time my smile does.
“I can’t go?” I swallow. I was making friends here. I was never great at that in college or high school. I wasn’t in with the cool crowd or any of the cliques, but here everyone seems to like me. I was finally feeling as though I was fitting in.
He doesn't answer me as he looks down at his food. I turn to leave. I guess I can eat at my desk and watch Mr. Grumpy Pants on my computer.
“Go to your lunch,” he grits out.
I jerk around to face him.
“Really?” I smile so big it almost hurts.
“Yes.”
I turn and bolt from the room, then grab my purse before he can change his mind. I’m in such a hurry that I don’t realize I forgot to forward my phone calls.
Oops.
5
Liam
Eating my lunch alone doesn’t bother me. Not at all. Never has. I slice my rare steak with a sure stroke of the knife, fork the tender piece, and put it in my mouth. My office is silent, and Georgia’s sweet, sunshine scent barely lingers in the sterile air. Good. I don’t need her perfume ruining my food.
I chew another piece and glance at the press release she drafted up concerning our recent acquisition of an up-and-coming telecom out of California. She’s done a good job, though she needs to add some parts about federal regulations. But she can write. That’s more than I can say for several of her empty-headed predecessors. Even so, Georgia isn’t who I would’ve chosen for this position. She’s too … Too. I wave my knife at the air, slashing through whatever word is on the tip of my tongue.
The vegetables are cold. I eat them anyway. Chewing mechanically, my thoughts wander to her again. She’s eating lunch with that pipsqueak, Jim, from the mailroom. Jim. I stab my steak and cut another chunk off. Who the fuck is that guy and why does he think he gets to lunch with my assistant? I stab the plate so hard I knock the flower off the tray.
Snagging it off my desk, I frown at the white rose. Georgia. It has her all over it. The thought to place it with my lunch, the smile on her face as she delivered it. I intend to make that smile disappear soon enough. This Friday, in fact, she’ll be on my arm for the charity gala thrown by her father every year at the opera house. That’s where I’ll show him his pride and joy now turned into my underling.
I lick my lips. Maybe I could do more with her than simply employ her. Not because I want her, of course, but because I want Duncan Lavine to suffer. If he knew I was putting it to his daughter, that might make my coup even more thorough.
Too bad Georgia’s not my type. Her smiling cuteness isn’t the sort of thing a man like me chases after. I sniff the air, catching her scent again, then breathe it in more deeply. Sweet and tantalizing. That’s what she is. And no, of course I don’t want her on her knees right now sucking me off as she looks up at me with her big, sparkling eyes. That’s ridiculous.
No, having her in my employ is enough. I don’t have to take this any further. No need. I spear another vegetable when my phone begins to ring.
And ring.
And ring.
Georgia didn’t forward my calls. I pull my napkin from my lap, dab my lips, and fold the fabric into a neat rectangle.
I know what needs to be done. It’s crystal clear. It’s perfectly professional and not at all tawdry or born of desire. No, this is discipline, and I’ll mete it out shortly.
She’s back. I can hear her just outside my office doors. She walks with a sassy gait, her hips swinging, her backside perfect in her almost-too-tight skirt. I’ve already memorized her footsteps.
I press my finger to her button on my phone. “Ms. Lavine, come to my office.” Rising from my chair, I straighten my tie and walk around my desk.
She opens the door and hurries in. No knock.
“Yes, Mr. Baxter?” She’s breathless, as if she ran down the hall to make it back to her desk before the hour for lunch had elapsed. She made it, though, with a minute and some change.
“Did you read the instructions on how my office is run?” I walk toward her, enjoying the view as her nipples harden.
“Yes. Three times.” She puts a hand to her cheek as I approach.
I step around her and turn the lock on my door. “Three times?”
“Yes.” She looks at me over her shoulder. “Why? Was something wrong with your lunch?”
Innocence flows from her, the wide-eyed way she watches me, the faint pink on her cheeks, the way she stands in her demure heels. How did my enemy create such a pure beauty? Surely, it’s a trick.
“My lunch was fine. It was the phone that was wrong, Ms. Lavine.”
She gasps. “Oh, no! I didn’t forward the calls. I’m so sorry. I won’t let that happen ag--”
“Shh.” I walk past her, anticipation throbbing in my veins. “It was a mistake.”
“Yes.” She nods and follows me toward my desk.
“An error.” I rub my palms together.
“Yes,” she readily agrees. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I turn to her and pat the top of my desk. “No need for it.”
“Really?” She looks at my hand, her angelic face twisting a bit in confusion. “You aren’t mad?”
“No. Not mad. But this does call for discipline.”
“Oh, no.” She hangs her head. “A note in my file. It’s my first day, and I already have a mark on my record.” Her chin trembles.
“I thought that might be too harsh for this infraction.” I try to sound concerned, though I doubt I pull it off.
“Yes, please don’t do that.” She steps back. “I mean, if you have to, I understand. But I really wish you wouldn’t. This is my first job, and I really want to do good work for you.”
“I’ve come up with another solution.” I point to the desk. “Hands here.”
She looks at my desk. “What?”
“Hands here.” I step back to give her room.
“Put my hands on your desk?” She cocks her head as if she misheard me. She didn’t.
“Yes.” I cross my arms. “But if you’d prefer a note in your file, I can always--”
“No.” She steps forward and puts her hands on my desk.
So naïve. Does she truly believe I’d send these “notes” to anyone? Do they not teach human resources practices in schools? Good. It’s best if she thinks a note in a file means something.
“Now what?” Her tongue wets her bottom lip as I unfold my arms.
“Bend at the waist.” I reach out and put a hand on her back, pushing her to the desk and forcing her taut ass to jut out.
“What are you--”
“Remember, sunshine, this will save you a write-up.” I grip the hem of her skirt and slowly pull it up. Her white panties are revealed, the lacy fabric cutting high like boy shorts along her cheeks, then delving between.
She gasps as I ease my fingertips over her soft, warm skin.
“This is discipline.” I step back and stare at what she’s revealed to me. I want to spread her legs more and get a view of her pussy, but that’s not what this is about. My cock disagrees as it stages a deathmatch with my zipper. But I’m a man of my word, and I will give her the punishment she deserves. “Do you understand that this is professional development?” I flex my fingers.
She looks at me over her shoulder, her doe eyes wide. “Yes,” she squeaks.
“Do you admit you are in need of discipline?” I meet her gaze.
“I …” She lets out a huff of breath and shifts her hips. “Yes.”
“And you prefer this to a write-up? Is that correct?”
Her hips move again, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she was turned on. That she wants me to redden her ass with my palm. And perhaps she wants me to do plenty more than that. But I won’t. After all, this is about correction, not some tawdry work affair.
“I need you to tell me you understand and that you accept this discipline. If you decline, you’ll
keep your job. So don’t worry about disappointing me.” Don’t disappoint me. Something tells me she won’t. My sunshine wants to please me.
“I accept.” Her words are breathy, sexy, and I fear I may obsess over them for far longer than I should.
“Good. Very good.” I line up, my hand already tingling in anticipation. Rearing back, I slap her ass with a hard smack and she jolts forward, her hips rocking as a delicious squeal rips from between her teeth.
When I rear back again, I smile for the first time in a long, long time, and swing at her luscious ass with a verve that I’ve never felt before. The resounding slap rockets around the room, and her cry is like fire in my veins.
I smack her round ass a few more times, though not as hard. When I’m done, I want to drop to my knees and kiss the sting away. But I don’t. Because I’m a professional. So, instead, I grab the hem of her skirt and pull it down, then turn her to face me.
She’s breathless, her eyes glossy and her lips parted. Her eyes dart to my mouth.
I step back. “You may see yourself out, Ms. Lavine. And please keep in mind that any further breaches of my protocols will result in further discipline.” I know that if I reached between her thighs right now, I’d find her warm and wet. I can feel it, but I don’t do it. This is a workplace, after all.
“I’ll just …” She takes a few steps, stops, adjusts her skirt, then walks with more purpose. “I’ll be at my desk.” Unlocking the door, she walks out.
I smirk and try to adjust my rock-hard cock so that my boxers don’t strangle it. She’ll be feeling me for a while. Let’s just see if she’s as sunshiny after her little run-in with my spanking hand.
6
Georgia
I tap my foot as I ride the elevator up to my floor. It’s my second day, and I’m more nervous today than I was yesterday. Things have changed. I don’t just mean here at the office but inside of my body. Something seems to be wrong with me. The throb between my legs is unbearable at times. It goes away for a while, and then as soon as I start thinking about what happened in Mr. Baxter’s office, it comes back again. The sting of his hand still lingers on me, reminding me of the discipline he’d given me. I’m not even sure why I’d let him do it, but I do know that I enjoyed it, and that in itself confuses me.
