Page 21 of Tame Me Daddy

"It's not just about the animals," Grant continued, his voice softening just slightly. "You put yourself in danger. Running after cattle without the proper skills or backup can lead to serious injury on a ranch."

I hadn't even considered that angle. In my panic, the only thing I'd thought about was fixing my mistake, not the risk to myself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling with genuine remorse. "I thought I could handle it."

Grant studied me for a long, silent moment. The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder in the silence, until I thought I might scream just to break the tension. Then, almost imperceptibly, his expression softened.

"I believe you're capable of much more than you showed today, Cherry," he said finally. "But something's holding you back."

He leaned forward, forearms resting on the desk, closing some of the distance between us. His eyes never left mine, and I felt pinned by his gaze—not threateningly, but in a way that made escape impossible.

"You're afraid of the animals, yes, but there's something else," he continued. "Something you're afraid to let me see."

My breath caught in my throat. Did he know? How could he? I tried to maintain eye contact, but found my gaze slipping away from his, unable to bear the weight of his perception.

"I don't know what you mean," I managed, though the words lacked conviction even to my own ears.

"I think you do."

Grant's voice was gentle but firm. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his posture relaxed yet still commanding.

"I've been watching you these past few days," he said. "The way you handle the yearlings—timid one moment, then nearly regressing to childlike behavior the next when things don't go as planned."

My cheeks burned with shame. I hadn't realized my little side had been so apparent in those moments of stress. I'd tried so hard to keep it hidden, to be the competent adult the job required.

"And then there's the way you carefully collect small toys when you think no one is watching," Grant continued, his observation hitting me like a physical blow.

The wooden horse. The toy car from the creek.

My entire body went cold with fear and hot with embarrassment simultaneously. I felt exposed, vulnerable in a way I'd never expected to be at my workplace. My parents' reaction when I'd revealed my little side flashed through my mind—their disgust,their ultimatum, their rejection. Would history repeat itself here?

"Are you going to fire me?" I asked, my voice small and defensive.

To my astonishment, Grant shook his head.

"No, Cherry, absolutely not," he replied. "I'm going to offer you a choice."

"What kind of choice?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. The room felt smaller now, the walls leaning in to hear Grant's answer. Something in his eyes—a gentleness that hadn't been there before—made my heart beat faster.

Grant rose from behind his desk, his movement deliberate but not threatening. Instead of returning to his seat, he moved to the chair beside me. The nearness of him changed the air between us—charged it with something intimate yet still professional. At this close distance, I caught the faint, woodsy aroma of his aftershave and noticed the fine lines at the corners of his eyes—marks of a life lived outdoors, facing sun and wind head-on.

"Fear needs to be faced head-on, not avoided," he continued. "Some people can do that on their own. Others . . . " he paused, studying my face. "Others benefit from guidance."

I shifted in my seat, unsure where this was going but certain it wasn't the firing I'd expected. My hands still trembled slightly in my lap.

"Sometimes," Grant said, "the most effective way to overcome fear is through controlled consequences that help build confidence."

I frowned, confusion temporarily overriding anxiety. "I don't understand."

Grant's expression remained gentle but serious. "I'm suggesting a disciplinary arrangement—a structured approach to help you face your fears and learn from mistakes like what happened today."

The word 'disciplinary' sent a jolt through me—a complex mix of alarm and recognition. Something ancient and buried stirred in my chest, a longing I'd tried to suppress for years.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "You mean like . . . punishment?" The word came out tentative, barely audible.

Grant nodded steadily, his eyes fixed on mine. "Corporal punishment, yes. But with clear boundaries and purpose." His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact. "Not out of anger or to humiliate, but to help you grow."

My mind raced, trying to process what he was suggesting. The implications seemed impossible, too perfectly aligned with desires I'd hidden for so long. The question formed in my mind and slipped past my lips before I could stop it.

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