Page 3 of Daddy's Firm Hand

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. A flush of shame spread across my cheeks as I realized the gravity of my mistake.

The Archer company were one of our biggest accounts. A multinational investment conglomerate with billions of dollars of assets. It was a big problem.

"I'm so sorry," I stammered, the apology rushing out in a breathless torrent. "I must have overlooked something. It won't happen again."

I knew exactly why the mistake had happened. Because I was miserable.

David leaned forward, his fingers tented together, creating a bridge that seemed to span the distance of our positions—the authoritative boss and the penitent employee. In his gaze, there was something that went beyond disappointment, a depth that hinted at understanding, perhaps even empathy.

"Errors can be corrected, Candy," he said, and though his voice was measured, there was an undercurrent of intensity that made the air around us thrum with electricity. "But they also provide opportunities to learn and grow."

The room felt too small suddenly, as if the walls were inching closer with each passing second.

"So you’re not going to fire me?”

David's fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the polished surface of his desk, the sound crisp and deliberate in the silence that followed my question.

"Ms. Kane," he began, his tone betraying no emotion, "this is not the first time your attention to detail has faltered."

My heart dropped, a leaden weight settling in my stomach. So, he’d noticed that my work had been less than stellar recently. My eyes darted away from his.

"Your line manager has mentioned these lapses before," David continued, his words as sharp and precise as the cut of his suit. "This incident, however, is far more serious."

I swallowed hard, the fear of unemployment coiling around me like a serpent. "I understand, Mr. Peters. If there's any way I can—"

"Let me finish, Candy." His use of my first name jolted me, a stark contrast to the formality of our interactions. "I have a proposition for you, one that diverges from the conventional disciplinary measures."

I blinked, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“A . . . proposition?”

"Under my direct supervision, you will adhere to a new set of guidelines—ones that will demand your utmost commitment and discipline." His eyes never wavered from mine. "Consider it . . . a personal project. An opportunity for growth and perhaps, self-discovery."

I struggled to understand. Why was David Peters—the billionaire owner of the company—taking a personal interest in me? Why on earth would he want to be involved in my discipline?

The room spun slightly as his words hung in the air. Was this a test? A cruel punishment? Or something else entirely?

"Mr. Peters, I..." My voice faltered, a mix of confusion and intrigue knotting up my thoughts. What did he mean by 'discipline'? And why did part of me thrill at the idea? “I’m just trying to understand.”

“You will report to me, regularly. You will experience discipline and support in ways that are unusual and—”

“What ways?”

“That will become clear in time.”

Dangerous thoughts flitted through my head.

Unusual discipline.

I squirmed in my seat.

“I guarantee though,” he said, “you will be free to exit the program at any time, and there will be no consequences—either personal or professional—should you decide to stop.”

“That’s reassuring.”

"Take the night to think it over," he said, standing with a grace that belied his imposing frame. "Decide in the morning."

"Okay," I whispered, the word barely escaping. As I stood, my legs felt like they might give out, yet I managed a nod, a silent acquiescence to his enigmatic proposal.

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