Page 23 of His to Correct

“Thanks, Joe,” I told him. “I needed that.”

“No,” he said. “I mean, it’s so not-nothing that you definitely have to do something about it.”

Now I had to fight myself not to swallow hard, because to my impossibly mixed horror and delight, I could see where Joe was going. I still felt the need to push the idea back.

“Like what?” I asked, as innocently as I could.

“I think you need to ask Stuart for permission to paddle her,” Joe said, his eyes fixed on mine as if he knew precisely what kind of turmoil his words had just unleashed in my mind, my heart, and above all my body.

CHAPTER 12

Melissa

I caught Stuart outside his office, just as he came back from lunch.

“Melissa?” he said, frowning. “What’s up?”

“I don’t want to bother you,” I began, my heart pounding, “but Joe told me I should probably come straight to you.”

Stuart nodded, and I realized I’d probably been a little foolish to worry about coming to him earlier. Though, to be fair to myself, he had told me to book time with him through Mandy.

“Come on in,” he told me, holding the door for me in a way so gentlemanly I felt a distracting glow in my chest. I told myself to calm down, reminded myself that this arrogant jerk had ‘inspected’ me in the most intimate, mortifying way on my first real day on his team. I pushed away the part of that memory that had to do with my own screaming inner conflict.

When he had closed the door behind him, he turned to me. “What’s up?” he said again. He leaned back against the door, folding his arms across his chest. “How can I help?”

All of the calm I had felt a moment before, when Stuart had been so receptive to my coming to his office, vanished in an instant. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart.

“It’s about Mandy,” I began, my voice sounding small in Stuart’s imposing office, as if the incredible view of the city out the floor-to-ceiling windows had swallowed it up and made it, and me, utterly insignificant.

I recounted my interactions with Mandy—the ignored email, the personal call, the nail painting. As I spoke, I found myself growing more agitated, the frustration I’d felt earlier bubbling up to the surface. I felt some pride about how I kept my tone even, despite the emotion.

“So she dismissed me,” I finished, covering the flush in my cheeks, the anger and embarrassment, with a laugh and a shake of my head.

Stuart had listened attentively, his eyes not leaving my face. When I fell silent, he nodded slowly. “I see,” he said, his deep voice sending a helpless quiver through my frame. “And what do you think should be done about this?”

I hesitated, acutely aware of the weight of what I had resolved to say. The room suddenly felt too warm, too close. I could hear the soft hum of the air conditioning, the distant sounds of traffic far below. “Well,” I began, my mouth dry, “Joe suggested that I… that I should ask your permission to paddle her.”

The words hung in the air between us. Stuart’s expression remained impassive, but I thought I saw in his eyes a flicker ofsomething that might be amusement or might be appreciation. “I see,” he repeated. “And how do you feel about that idea, Melissa?”

I felt my face grow even hotter. The memory of my own paddling flashed through my mind, unbidden. The sting, the humiliation, the confusing arousal… I pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the present moment.

“I… well, since it seems to be part of the corporate culture here at Selecta,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I suppose I feel fine about it.”

Stuart studied me for a long moment, his gaze so intense I had to fight the urge to look away. Then, abruptly, he straightened up from his position against the door. “Take off all your clothes,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked, sure I had misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me,” Stuart said, his voice taking on a harder edge. “Strip. Now.”

My mind reeled. This couldn’t be happening. Not again. But even as I thought it, my hands started to rise, seemingly of their own accord, moving toward the back of my neck to undo the button there. “I don’t understand,” I said weakly, feeling acutely how the position of my arms thrust my chest forward, as if offering my breasts to my boss.

Stuart moved to sit behind his enormous desk, watching me with cool detachment. “It’s clear to me, Melissa, that you’re experiencing a good deal of inner conflict,” he said. “About Mandy, about your role here at Selecta, about your own desires and boundaries. We need to resolve that conflict if we can.”

My eyes went wide as I absorbed his words. My mind raced, my thoughts desperately trying to process all of the overwhelming physical and emotional effects Stuart had on me. Suddenly, though, I didn’t want to try so hard. I didn’t even want to figure it out.

I lowered my hands to my sides.

“No,” I said, my voice trembling but firm. “I won’t do it. This isn’t appropriate.”

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