Page 27 of Bronson

“Sit.” He gestures to the chair—the very one he punished me on.

I sit, tugging at the hem of my short dress.

He sits on the edge of the desk, right next to me. He crosses his arms over his chest. He gives me a look that I assume women who’d grown up with protective fathers would recognize. “You are to wear that coat whenever you leave the house, and the temperature is below⁠—”

“There’s something else.”

I reach beneath the collar of my dress and pull out the butterfly necklace. I’d put it on this morning without thinking. Or perhaps I’d thought about it far too much.

I lift the chain over my head and hold it out to him.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Giving it back.”

His face hardens. “I told you to keep it.”

“You told me that after I stole it. That doesn’t make it feel like mine.”

“It was given to you.”

“After you caught me with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar. I don’t want the first beautiful thing you give me to begin with me taking something that wasn’t mine.”

The words surprise both of us.

Bronson looks down at the butterfly lying in my palm. Then his gaze returns to mine.

“Turn around.”

“Why?”

“Paige.”

I turn. He takes the necklace from my hand. His fingers brush the nape of my neck as he fastens the clasp, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Yesterday, you took it,” he says quietly. “Today, I am giving it to you. There is a difference.”

I touch the butterfly resting above my heart.

“Now it’s mine?”

“Now it’s yours.”

For the first time, wearing it doesn’t feel like winning.

It feels like being seen.

“Now, may I finish?” His dark brow narrows. My mouth snaps shut. My hand drops into my lap. He continues, “Fine. You choose the temperature, but it’s your bottom on the line.”

I shift in my seat.

“If I deem it to be weather requiring a coat, and you aren’t wearing one, I will put you right over my lap—” His open palm comes down on his thigh with a loud slap. I jump in my seat. “And soundly spank your bottom. Every time you sit down, I promise you will think to yourself, I should have worn my coat. Are we clear?”

A confusing feeling washes over me—a cross between fury and delight. I push, “It’s just that you seem to be crossing the lines of what’s acceptable as a boss. I mean, isn’t that a little, I don’t know… illegal? Spanking your employees?” I raise my brow, crossing my arms over my chest.

He says, “You aren’t the average employee.”

“To you, or in general?” I ask. I swallow hard, preparing for his rejection. I can hear my heart thumping in my ears.