Page 47 of His to Correct

“No,” he said to Bradley Verger, the VP of Assessment, “this is completely Melissa’s idea, and the initiative to flesh it out was all on her end. I have to confess that I think it’s brilliant.”

TheI have to confessmade my heart glow. The idea of this man with such incredibly high standards—the man who had taken me in hand in every way—complimenting me so thoroughly, let alone crediting me with all the work, threatened to make me swoon.

I love him. The thought burst into my mind, and I thrust it down for the moment as I responded to the focus Stuart’s comment had put on me.

“Thank you,” I said, “but I need to thank Stuart for giving me the space to work on it—and I have to thank Mandy Pollock, who worked hard on it with me, to get the materials ready for today.”

“Sure,” said Bradley, “but I’m going to echo your boss’ opinion that this is brilliant. I think only a young woman with your ambivalent needs could have come up with it.”

My tummy flipped and I felt my cheeks go hot. I knew what he meant—of course I did, because it represented the kind of language Assessment used all the time. I hadn’t really connected the idea of ambivalence to me, as silly as that failure suddenly seemed.

“So,” said John Grezili, the creative director of NMB, “really that’s on Stuart for taking Melissa for his team and developing her talent so quickly.”

I fought for my composure. I looked at Stuart, hoping I would see an easy smile and hear a dismissive remark. Instead, I saw that his expression had turned very firm.

“Actually, gentlemen, now that we’re agreed thatYour Secret Gardenis a go, we have a related matter—in the vein of Miss Mitropoulos’ professional development—to deal with.”

My face had begun truly to burn. My heart rate sped up to what felt like three times its normal rate. I looked around the big conference room table to see if the other executives’ faces held any promising signs for me—consternation, confusion, or even simple disinterest.

Instead I saw knowing smiles. Bradley, John, and Victor Maltby, the VP of Marketing, looked back at me with clear knowledge of some terrible humiliation about to befall me.

I had a moment of pure cognitive dissonance: only a few seconds before, those same powerful men had praised me to the heavens, had made it clear that my initiative’s future—and my own—were very bright. Somehow, I understood at a new, visceral level, here at Selecta, a prosperous career and abject shame didn’t stand in the clear conflict they might have seemed to create anywhere else.

Stuart cleared his throat, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent my heart racing. “Miss Mitropoulos, I’m afraid we have a serious matter to address. It has come to my attention that you took it upon yourself to discipline Mandy Pollock this morning without proper authorization. Your expression of gratitude for her help just now doesn’t set the matter in, let’s say, the most positive possible light.”

My heart plummeted. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“This is a clear violation of company protocol,” Stuart continued, his voice stern. “At Selecta, we take our hierarchies very seriously. You overstepped your bounds, Melissa.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “I… I didn’t realize…” I stammered, lying instinctively, out of sheer terror, but Stuart held up a hand to silence me.

“Ignorance is not an excuse,” he said firmly, “even if you’re telling the truth, which I doubt.” Then, to my horror, he pressed a button on the intercom. “Please send in Mandy and Sharon.”

The door opened, and Mandy walked in, her eyes downcast. Behind her strode Sharon Fagan, her face a mask of cool professionalism. My stomach churned as I began to realize the full extent of what was about to happen.

Stuart addressed the room. “Gentlemen, I know I don’t need to remind you that I take maintaining proper order as crucial to Selecta’s success—just as I’m certain you do, in relation to your own teams. Melissa’s actions may have been well-intentioned—and, as I think we saw in this meeting, effective in getting good results—but they can’t go uncorrected.”

He glanced at Sharon with a smile before he turned back to Bradley, John, and Victor. “Melissa and Sharon here have something of a history, and I think it’s important that it be resolved to some extent. So I’ve asked Sharon to handle the necessary correction. I know you gentlemen won’t be averse to serving as witnesses.”

Sharon nodded, making eye contact with each of the men in turn. Then, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light, she looked at me as she continued, though she directed her words to Stuart. “Of course, Stuart. I’d be happy to.”

I turned my own gaze desperately to Stuart, beaming a plea for mercy. His gaze softened slightly as he looked at me, but his voice remained firm. “Melissa, you need to understand your place here, in relation to superiors like Sharon. You’re not a dominant—you’re what we generally call a switchy submissive. You have dominant tendencies, yes, but at your core, you crave submission. It’s time for you to accept that fully.”

I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Part of me wanted to protest, to argue that I was more than capable of being dominant. But a deeper part of me recognized the truth inStuart’s words. I thought of how I’d felt bent over his desk, how I’d longed for his firm hand even as I disciplined Mandy.

Sharon stepped forward, her presence commanding the room. “Both Melissa and Mandy have violated company policy. Melissa’s is obviously the greater fault, but Mandy has been at Selecta longer, and she should have made certain the use of company resources—the punishment room and the time both of them took for this fictitious correction—had been authorized. I’m going to discipline both of them in front of you now, with your permission.”

I looked around the room with some vague, impossible hope that one of them would interfere with this mortifying, terrifying scene. I saw only satisfaction and even anticipation in the faces of the powerful men who sat at the conference table.

“Please go ahead, Sharon,” Stuart said, after he, too, had scanned his colleagues’ faces and received smiles in return. “I know you’ll make it memorable for all of us.”

To my surprise, then, however, Bradley cleared his throat. I turned to him wildly, hoping he might have thought of some reason I should be allowed to escape. Instead, his words only made the blaze in my cheeks—and, worse, between my thighs—burn all the hotter.

Bradley’s eyes gleamed with scientific interest, rather than mercy. “If I may, I’d like to add some context from Assessment’s perspective, for Miss Mitropoulos’ benefit,” he said. “Melissa, in case you had any doubt, our psycho-biometric analysis of your profile confirms Stuart’s informal analysis completely.”

I felt my heart skip a beat as Bradley’s words sank in. He continued, his voice taking on a clinical tone that somehow made the situation even more mortifying.

“Your neural patterns, hormonal fluctuations, and physiological responses all indicate a strong predisposition toward submission, with occasional dominant tendencies. In fact, your outburst at the orientation was a textbook example of what we callsubmissive overcompensation—a temporary surge of dominant behavior masking an underlying need for submission.”

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