Free Spanking Ms. Whitman (Play at Work) by Kate Richards Page B

serious, sudden tears blurred her vision. I should quit and save him the trouble of firing me. Only….
    “Why you were late this morning is not important.” He spoke low, his deep tones rumbling, a turn on despite her despair and panic. “My concern is that you have been warned on numerous occasions tardiness is not acceptable at this firm—yet you continue to ignore the rule. How many times this week…?”
    He paused and as the silence rushed to fill her ears again, a single tear spilled over and trickled down her cheek. His focus seemed to follow its progress as it rolled to her chin and dropped off onto her white button-up. “T-twice?”
    Steely eyes surveyed her, and she shrank into the chair. “Maybe three times, sir. But I’ll never be late again, I swear.” She hated the way her voice broke as the words rushed out.
    “I believe you have promised this before, am I correct?”
    “Y-yes, I did.” Lips trembling, she buried her hot face in her palms, hiding her shame.
    “Look at me.”
    She shook her head, afraid to see his disappointment.
    “Now.”
    Startled, she sat up, tears shaking loose one by one and rolling down her cheeks.
    He reached out and wiped them away with his thumb, giving her an indecipherable look that sucked all the air out of the room. She leaned into his touch….
    A sharp ringing startled her. He cursed low and pulled his phone from a jacket pocket, still watching her. “Yes? I’m in a meeting.” He listened a moment and walked around the desk, his dark silhouette turned toward the bright daytime city backdrop. “Yes, fine. Have him wait. No, don’t send him here. The conference room…fine.”
    He was leaving. Relief flooded her, followed by guilt at her selfishness. Then nervousness came flooding back; she wanted to get this over with, and she’d taken up enough of his morning.
    “I understand if you want to fire me, Mr. Marks.” Brave words, but facts were facts. He had the responsibility of the whole company on his shoulders and couldn’t spend all his time worrying about one dumb blonde who couldn’t even get to work on time.
    He faced her, eyes narrowed, but then the corner of his lip quirked. “Fire you? Why would I fire you?”
    Puzzled, her mind flew through a series of scenarios. Suspend her. Maybe? Take away her parking space? “Well, because…that is, I am late all the time. You can’t run a successful business if your employees aren’t at work when you need them.” Her cheeks heated; why hadn’t she accepted the simple truth sooner? “Are you going to demote me?” Oh, please, not that humiliation. Everyone would know he doesn’t trust me to do my job. Please!
    “No.”
    She swallowed hard. She’d spent five years in the open cubicles before he’d promoted her to management. Starting over would have been hard, but she’d do it if he asked.
    She imagined his shock if he were to discover she had long since gone beyond hero worship to stronger, more intimate feelings. A man who kept his personal life so separate from work even his secretary had little to share at lunch or in the break room—would not welcome her feelings. Super models probably lined up at his door. Just one cog in the machine that made his company run, she didn’t merit a second glance. Still, her heart refused to accept what her mind understood.
    “So I still have a job? You don’t want to put me back in the cubicles?” She winced at the tremble in her voice.
    “Demote you? Remove you from a position for which you are well qualified?” Mr. Marks took a step toward the door, then paused. “Your ability to perform your job is not in question.”
    “But I’m always late.” She began to stand, but changed her mind and sank back onto the chair.
    “And what do you think I should do about that? Do you feel I should tolerate continual defiance of one of the company’s rules?” His voice remained level, even pleasant, but his words chilled her.
    “No, sir.”
    “So,” he