Page 14 of His Naughty Girl

I nodded mutely, my throat too tight to form words. The smell of well-cooked food enveloped us as we entered the kitchen, making my stomach churn with a mixture of hunger and nausea though I knew I should have found it comforting and homey.

Greta stood at the gleaming granite island, an array of steaming dishes spread out before her. Her eyes swept over us critically, lingering on my flushed cheeks and trembling hands.

“Well,” she said briskly, “let’s get this food out while it’s hot. Lila, you take the chicken. Lydia, the dumplings. Andrea, you bring out the vegetables.”

She handed each of us a large, heavy platter. The weight of the dish in my hands anchored me, giving me something tangible to focus on. I inhaled deeply, catching notes of rosemary and onion mingling with the savory scent of perfectly roasted chicken.

We filed out of the kitchen in a silent procession, the delicious aromas wafting ahead of us. As we entered the dining room, I kept my eyes lowered, focusing on the floorboards under my feet. The low murmur of male voices fell silent as we approached the table.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Lila gracefully set the platter of golden-brown chicken in front of Devin. She moved with practiced ease, her movements fluid and demure. But as she leaned forward to place the dish, something happened that made my breath catch in my throat.

Bill, seated to Devin’s right, casually slipped his hand beneath the hem of Lila’s powder-blue dress. I watched in stunned disbelief as his fingers disappeared under the fabric, clearly caressing her thigh and then her little bottom. Lila’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but she didn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, she continued serving, her movements only slightly less smooth than before. I kept studying her face, noticing that she’d taken her lower lip between her teeth.

I felt my own face grow hot, a mixture of secondhand embarrassment and shock coursing through me. I wondered suddenly if Bill’s fingers had even gone between Lila’s thighs, to remind her of his privileges, as granted by Devin. How could Bill do that so openly? And why didn’t Lila object?

But as she straightened and turned to head back to the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of her expression. To my surprise, beneath the blush that stained her cheeks, I saw a flicker of… pride. My eyes went to Lydia, on the other side of the room. I thought I could tell that she, too, had noticed Bill’s roving hand. Was that envy in the redhead’s eyes? To have an accepted suitor, in Cato, clearly had its satisfactions alongside its indignities.

Once Lila, Lydia, and I had finished serving the men, Greta gestured for us to take our seats at the far end of the long table. I sank into my chair, grateful to be off my shaky legs. The modest yellow dress felt confining as I sat, the fabric pulling taut across my thighs. I tugged at the hem, trying to ensure I was properly covered.

Greta took her place at the foot of the table, directly across from Devin. Her sharp eyes swept over us girls, lingering on me. I felt myself wilting under her scrutiny, hyper-aware of every move I made. Was I sitting up straight enough? Were my elbows off the table? I couldn’t remember all of the etiquette rules my mother had tried to drill into me as a child.

“You may begin,” Devin announced from the head of the table.

CHAPTER 7

Andrea

The clinking of silverware filled the air as everyone started to eat. The aroma of the roasted chicken made my mouth water, but as I lifted my fork to take a bite, I felt Greta’s gaze boring into me. I glanced up to see her watching me with narrowed eyes, as if waiting for me to make a mistake. My hand trembled slightly as I brought the food to my lips.

The chicken was perfectly cooked, juicy and flavorful. Under different circumstances, I would have savored every bite. But with Greta’s constant surveillance, each mouthful felt like a test. I chewed slowly and carefully, terrified of spilling even a crumb.

At the other end of the table, the men’s voices rose and fell in animated conversation. I tried to focus on what they were saying, hoping it might distract me from my nerves. But the topic—something about the fluctuating price of feed corn—was so far removed from my city life that I quickly lost track.

My mind began to wander, drifting back to the surreal events of the day. Had it really been just this morning that I’d been in mytiny apartment, getting ready for another fruitless job search? Now here I sat, in a modest dress I would never have chosen for myself, about to be spanked like a naughty child in front of a room full of strangers. The contrast was so stark it felt almost dreamlike.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize someone had addressed me until Greta cleared her throat pointedly. I looked up, blinking in confusion, to find everyone at the table staring at me expectantly.

“I… I’m sorry,” I stammered, feeling my cheeks grow hot. “What was that?”

Dylan’s kind eyes met mine from across the table. “I was just asking if you’d heard anything about the new robofarms, living in the city,” he repeated, a gentle smile playing at his lips.

I opened my mouth to respond, but my mind went blank. Robofarms? I vaguely recalled seeing something on the news about automated agriculture, but the details escaped me. As I hesitated, I noticed Devin’s brow furrowing, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. The other men exchanged glances, their expressions darkening. Even Dylan’s kind smile faltered, replaced by a look of disappointment.

My heart raced as I realized my silence was being interpreted as disrespect or disinterest. Panic bubbled up inside me, threatening to choke off my words entirely. I had to say something, anything, to salvage the situation.

“I… I’m afraid I don’t know much about farming,” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. The words felt inadequate, clumsy on my tongue. I could feel the weight of everyone’s stares, the tension in the room palpable.

Greta’s disapproving ‘tsk’ from the other end of the table made me flinch. I gripped my fork tightly, my knuckles turning white as I struggled to continue. The yellow fabric of my dress suddenly felt suffocating, clinging to my skin as a bead of sweat trickled down my spine.

“But,” I rushed on, my face burning so hot I was sure it must be visible even in the dim light of the dining room, “I know how important agriculture is. Without farmers, none of us would have food on our tables.” I paused, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The scent of rosemary from the chicken still lingering in the air seemed to give me a moment’s clarity. “I’m… I’m really interested in learning more about it, especially the new technologies being developed.”

To my immense relief and surprise, the men’s expressions began to soften. Devin’s frown melted away, replaced by a look of cautious approval. Bill and Hank exchanged nods, while Travis’s and Ethan’s stern faces relaxed into something closer to curiosity.

But it was Dylan’s reaction that truly caught my attention. His hazel eyes lit up, a warm smile spreading across his handsome features. The sight made my heart skip a beat, a fluttery feeling blossoming in my chest.

“That’s a great attitude, Andrea,” Dylan said, his voice rich with enthusiasm. “As it happens, Selecta just sent us a new breakthrough in their automated harvesting technology.” He leaned forward slightly, his passion for the subject evident in every word. “They’ve developed a new type of combine that can not only harvest multiple types of crops, but also analyze soil conditions and plant health in real-time.”

As Dylan spoke, I found myself genuinely intrigued. The way he described the complex machinery made it sound almost magical, a perfect fusion of nature and technology. I leaned in, eager to hear more, momentarily forgetting my earlier embarrassment and the punishment that still loomed in my future.

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