Page 37 of Bronson

We all use our phones every now and then. As long as he isn’t around, we figure it’s safe to send a quick text or two.

Ding!

That would be Peter, replying to my text.

I shift my weight from my right foot to my left. Waiting for this to blow over. He doesn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” I say. I slip the phone back into the pocket of my dress.

“Too late.” His words are like ice. “Meet me in the office. Two minutes.”

He leaves. Alice is by my side. “What happened?”

“He saw me with my phone. He wants to… talk to me in his office.”

“Ouch,” she says with a raise of her brows.

Does she know? Or did she just throw the term out there, like, sucks to be you? I don’t ask, just head to the office to face my fate.

I knock on the closed door of the office. He tells me to come in. I open the door, peeking around it to see where his mood has landed.

Still pissed.

I walk into the office, hovering by the door.

“Come in and close the door,” he says.

I obey.

I sit in the armless chair, awaiting further instruction. He doesn’t speak. Just stares at me.

My hands wring in my lap. I clear my throat. “You know, Bronson, plenty of girls sneak their phones during the work day. And you don’t punish any of them⁠—”

“I haven’t entered into an agreement with any of them. I’ve made it clear to you, you aren’t just another employee. I’ve taken you under my wing. God knows, you need it.”

His words rub me the wrong way. I was doing perfectly fine on my own, before him. Wasn’t I? I say nothing. Just stare at my hands in my lap.

“Anything to say for yourself?”

“No.”

“Let me have your phone.” He holds his hand out toward me.

“Why?”

“I want you to stare at it while I punish you.”

My cheeks burn and I hand him my phone.

He takes it, placing it on the desk before him. I have no idea what he has in store for me… what he will do to me to make me remember his rules.

He stands and walks around the desk. He stops next to me, his hands behind his back.

“Bend over this desk. Present yourself to me. Skirt up, panties down.”

I want to argue. Fight. Tell him no. Instead, I find myself standing. Taking a step toward the desk. Putting my fingers in the waistband of my panties and slowly pulling them down beneath my skirt. I roll them till they are at my mid-thigh. I bend over the desk, then tug the skirt of my dress up and over my back.

I look to him and ask, “Like this?”