Bill Sullivan pulled his chair closer to his desk, focused his attention on the column of numbers scrolling on his screen, and tried to drown out the sound of his co-worker’s phone conversation.

As usual, Roger Hampton – or “Ham” as he was called – was arguing with his wife. As usual, he was losing.

“C’mon, Sarah,” Ham said, his voice cajoling. “I’ve had this poker night planned for two months. Can’t we skip the Hanson’s dinner party this once?”

Bill could hear Sarah’s shrill response over the phone, followed by Ham’s repeated entreaties of “yes, dear” and “if you say so, dear.” Finally, Ham hung up the phone and sat there, looking dejected, before turning to Bill.

“Women,” he said “can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em. What’s a guy to do, right?”

Bill looked over and offered a sympathetic smile. “Right,” he said.

But that’s not what he wanted to say. What he’d wanted to say was that 230-lb Ham was a completely pussy-whipped excuse for a man. What he wanted to say was that Ham ought to march home that very minute, burst through the door and throw that 110-lb harridan of his over his lap, flip of the nightgown she was probably still wearing and spank her until she realized who called the shots in the house.

But he couldn’t say that. For one thing, he was in the office and a comment like that would have him in sensitivity training before you could say “pantywaist.” For another, Roger Hampton was like 99 percent of men these days; too intimidated by the women in their lives to know that a good, sound spanking was what most of them needed, and at least half of them secretly wanted.

It was a philosophy that had served him well enough. Women were drawn to Bill Sullivan and he knew it wasn’t just because of his looks. At 42 he kept himself in good shape and still had all his thick, dark hair, even if it as starting to get just a hint of gray at the temples. He had a ready smile and carried himself with a confidence he’d developed from years as an officer in the Coast Guard before giving it up to become an office-dwelling landlubber. A decision he never would have made except that it kept him closer to his mother in the final year of her life.

No, what drew women to Bill Sullivan was his natural authority. He exuded it, wasn’t afraid to wield it, and in the few serious relationships he’d had in the past, he’d made it abundantly clear, from the outset, that he was the one who wore the pants in the relationship. The woman wore the skirt, and if she misbehaved she’d find that skirt lifted for a serious spanking.

Women who couldn’t handle this were shown the door, but most stayed. The most serious relationship had been with Tyra, a pretty blonde with large eyes and a sharp wit. Tyra worked as a vet tech and he’d met her when he went to take his dog Boomer in for vaccinations.

She’d been so bubbly and friendly he’d asked her out before the end of the visit. Over dinner that night Bill had learned they both shared a love of athletics and hiking. One date turned to two and then three. Two months later they were discussing the possibility of moving in together. Bill decided it was time to tell Tyra what the score was.

“You know I’m old-fashioned,” he said. “But I don’t know if you know how old-fashioned.”

Then he’d laid it out to her. He was Tarzan, she was Jane. He called the shots. All of them.  He was a fair, loving, indulgent person who didn’t make arbitrary rules, but he was used to a tight ship at sea and now that he was out of the Coast Guard he still ran one at home. She would be his first mate, and if she disobeyed he’d spank her. No questions asked. Did she understand.

Tyra had giggled nervously. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he’d said. “So if that’s not something you can deal with, let me know now so we can part as friends.”

To his relief, she’d agreed, even while feigning surprise. Most women did, but like most women, Tyra couldn’t completely hide the excitement over having a John Wayne type in her life.

Of course, the idea of spanking is always more romantic than the real thing. It was only a matter of time before Tyra got out of line, as high-spirited women can do. In her case it had been arguing with him over his rule that she get a cab home after going out with her friends instead of letting them drive. A few of the girls, he knew, were prone to having one too many.

So when her best friend, LeAnn, pulled up in the drive, laughing and talking a little too loudly as Tyra got out of the passenger’s side, Bill was sure he was waiting, sleeves rolled up, for his little blonde minx when she walked in the door.

She protested, argued, reasoned, pleaded …but none of it did any good. Rules were rules, and he pulled her over his lap right there at 1 a.m., reminding her the whole time that she’d agreed to this arrangement.

The skirt she wore was tight, form fitting and he had to wriggle it up slowly to reveal her skimpy panties. She squirmed and whimpered as he pulled them down, knowing that the effect of completely baring her was more psychological than anything else; a three-inch square of fabric could hardly protect so much bare bum.

When he raised his hand and began to spank, those whimpers turned to full-fledged cries. Bill was a serious spanker and worked methodically, reddening both firm cheeks with his broad hand. Tyra kicked and howled and sobbed as he relentlessly spanked her, alternating cheeks until the pink had turned nearly purple.

“Now, miss,” he said sternly. “Are you going to get a cab next time?”

“Yes!” she cried, hopping and rubbing her bum as he pulled her to her feet.

“Yes what?” he punctuated the question with a sharp slap to her thigh.

“Yes sir!” she cried.

“You’d better,” he said. “Now get to bed. Alone. I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

She’d cried harder, for he knew that Tyra wanted to be held and soothed. But holding and soothing led to sex and, when laying down the law, it was important for women to understand that punishment and sex were two different things. Only later – much later – as the relationship matured could they experiment with the erotic side of spanking.

Few relationships lasted that long. Most ended due to job promotions or transfers on the part of one partner or another. The downside of finding traditional women was that they often had strong family ties that made them reluctant to move away from parents and siblings. It hurt to say goodbye, but Bill understood and he always parted from his female companions on good terms.

It had been really hard to say goodbye to Tyra. But the promotion to senior accountant with Crawford, Crawford and Baines had been too good to pass up. She’d just started veterinary school – fulfilling a longtime dream he encouraged – and they both knew it would be impossible for her to continue her education so far away.

It had been a tearful goodbye on both their parts. She’d moved on, eventually. Buried in Bill’s desk drawer was her wedding photo. He could only now take it out and look at it without hurting. He was happy for her and her veterinarian husband. They were happy. A happy couple. Bill looked forward to the day when he could be part of a happy couple again.

Things were going well for him otherwise; he had a good job, a nice house, stable roots. Now all he needed was a good woman to round things out.

He turned back to his computer screen, only to be interrupted again by Ham.

“Hey.” Ham’s reached over and tapped him. “You hear anything about downsizing?”

Bill didn’t look over. “Everybody’s downsizing. Don’t you watch the news?”

“Yeah,” Ham said. “But I mean here. Here at CC&B.”

That got Bill’s attention. “No,” he said. “No one’s said anything to me. What have you heard?”

Ham leaned closer, dropping his voice to just above a whisper.

“All I know is that the partners were huddled in their office yesterday for three hours.” Ham raised three chubby fingers for emphasis. “And Mirelda, the clerk, said she saw a fax come in from Brent Steiner’s people.”

“Steiner? The hired gun?” Bill raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Yeah!” Ham said. “And wouldn’t it be just like the partners to do it that way, you know, outsource the dirty work by having Steiner’s firm come in and decide who stays and who goes?”

Bill looked towards the huge glass-sided office across the room, the one with the amazing view of the city skyline.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It would be.”

Ham smoothed his tie. “This whole thing has given me heartburn all morning.”

Bill smiled sympathetically. Ham had reason to worry. He was sloppy and had received a mediocre performance evaluation six months ago. Bill, however, had always gotten “exceeds expectations.” He knew the value of hard work, dedication, and attention to detail, not just as an employee but as an officer. It was what made him such a good accountant. He wasn’t worried about his job, but if what Ham said was true he was concerned about some of his unsuspecting co-workers.

He looked out again through the cubicle door. There was Milton Junger, a year from retirement. He’d always hoped to make partner but it had never happened. His job was probably safe; they’d not lay him off now. There was Susan Connor, her massive belly growing bigger by the day. She’d take a buyout to stay home with her twins once they arrived; he was sure of it. Then there was Chris Lundy. He didn’t care for Chris, a twenty-something Duke graduate with a know-it-all attitude and the most obnoxious southern accent he’d ever heard. Lundy came from old money somewhere down south and had an attitude of entitlement that Bill despised. Lundy talked too casually with the partners, didn’t show enough deference. It infuriated Bill that they never seemed to mind, and figured it had something to do with the young man’s family. Lundy was a mediocre accountant, despite his good pedigree, but he was a first-class schmoozer who made no secret of his ambition.

“See that office,” he’d frequently say, pointing to the glass boxes. “Before I’m thirty-five, one of those is going to be mine.”

“Over my dead body,” thought Bill.

He stood. Despising Chris Lundy always made him work up an appetite, and since he’d not given himself a break since arriving at work two hours earlier, Bill decided he could allow himself a few minutes to check out the vending machine down the hall.

He nodded to his co-workers as he navigated the maze of cubicles, smiled back at the women who coyly smiled at him, nodded at the men.

He was almost to the glass doors that separated the work area from the lobby when he saw her. She was carrying two cardboard file boxes – two large boxes – her slim form nearly buckling under the load. Quickly he rushed forward, catching the door as she tried to pull it open without dropping the boxes.

“Hey,” he said, opening the door “There you go.”

Then he reached for the boxes. “Here, let me take those for you. They look like they weigh more than you do.”

“Excuse me?” The woman looked up at him, her green eyes narrowing cat-like. In fact, that was his first impression of her – with her sleek black hair and heart-shaped face she looked almost feline. Catwoman. Angry catwoman.

She jerked the boxes back, stumbling a bit as she did, and stared up at him angrily.

“First of all, I didn’t ask for your help, either with the door or the boxes. Second of all, what a woman weighs is none of your business..”

He stepped back raising his hands in mock defensiveness.

“Whoa, there, sunshine,” he said, laughing. “I wasn’t asking how much you weighed. And you don’t need to be defensive about it. You look like you’re in good shape…”

“Now you’re going to comment on my shape?” Her eyes narrowed even more, which only had the effect of making her look even more beautiful. Bill figured it was probably not a good idea to tell her that, though.
But he couldn’t help but laugh again.

“Is something funny, Mr…”

“Sullivan,” he said. “Bill Sullivan. I’d offer to shake your hand but I don’t think you can manage those boxes with just on and it’s clear you don’t want my help.”

“You’re right,” she said. “I don’t.”

“I was just trying to be a gentleman,” he said.

“Well, you might want to try it on someone who wants to be a lady,” she shot back.

He sighed and then held the door, refusing to move.

“You know what, though, Miss…you didn’t tell me what your name was.”

“No,” she said with a smirk. “I didn’t.”

“Well, Miss Anonymous. At the risk of causing a full-fledged girl tantrum, I’m going to hold this door for you anyway. You can either walk through or you can stand there until your legs buckle. Your choice.”

She eyed him furiously.

“Sullivan, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sullivan.”

“Very well, Sullivan,” she said. “See you around.”

She walked through and he watched her go, allowing his eyes to linger on the fine figure she cut in her tailored blue business suit. Then he shook his head, laughed, and walked to the canteen.

****

Courtney Kellerman’s face was burning with anger. Who the hell did that guy think he was? It was bad enough that he acted like she was some sort of weakling, but she’d gotten the distinct impression he was picking on her, laughing at her.

That was not how she was used to being treated. Fearful whispers, excessive, phony kindness – now that she was used to. As a representative of Brent Steiner, Inc., she was like a corporate Angel of Death. The apprehension she felt in people as they sat across from her made her feel far more powerful than her 5’1” frame would suggest. She especially liked it when cocky, self-assured men were in her sites. Guys used to tossing pick-up lines or demanding dinner from their harried wives were reduced to groveling as she assessed their files, knowing their professional future lay in her hands.

Guys like that Bill Sullivan character. She smiled to herself as she made her way into the empty office the firm had designated for her use and hefted the two boxes up on the desk.

“There,” she thought. “Did it myself, you jerk.”

Courtney stood there for a moment, rubbing the twinge in her lower back. She moved  and the twinge got worse. Reaching behind her, she massaged it with her hand.

“Shit,” she said. “That’s all I need. I’ve got rock climbing tonight at the gym.”

She turned and as if by a quirk of cruel fate she saw him walking past, slowly. He smiled and held an energy drink up to her in a mock toast. Had he seen her massaging her strained back? With a scowl she walked over and dropped the blind.

“Asshole,” she said.

She walked back over to the boxes, going through them till she got to the “S” folder.

Smith, Soloman, Snyder,…here it was. Sullivan, William.

She sat down and opened the folder, going through the employment record from background check to performance evaluations. She frowned as she went. Damn. The guy was the perfect employee.

Courtney frowned, tossing the folder down on the counter. She stared at it for a moment, and then smiled. What did she have to worry about? It was her decision, completely and totally hers. It took more than just a good employment record to keep a job. This Bill Sullivan may see himself as a knight in shining armor, but she’d find a chink in that armor. And when she did, he’d see who had the last laugh.

After all, wasn’t it guys like this who were the problem in today’s workplace? Weren’t they the very reason women hadn’t completely crashed through the glass ceiling? Sullivan’s attitude alone was justification for giving him the axe, she told herself, and it’s not like she should feel guilty either. What made him any more deserving than anyone else?

“You’re here!” A voice interrupted her and Fritz Crawford, Sr. walked in, smiling broadly as he extended his hand.

“Yes,” she said. “Just got in.”

Crawford turned and shut the door. “I was hoping to keep your visit a secret, but you know how offices are. I suspect the news is already out.”

“That’s OK,” Courtney said. “It makes my job easier. People can defend their positions better if they aren’t blind-sided.”

Crawford sat down, settling himself into his chair with a heavy sigh.

“If it were my choice, I’d just leave things the way they are. But that son of mine…profit isn’t profit unless it’s big profit and he’s got the other partners on his side. Thinks we need to cut back while we’re still ahead even though these are people we’re talking about..”

The old man looked towards the office window.. “…families.”

Courtney looked at him and offered what she hoped was a sympathetic smile.

“It’ll be all right,” she soothed. “People adapt.”

He looked up at her and shook his head sadly. “Do they?”

Crawford stood. “I’m going out now,” he said. “I’m going to tell the workers that you’ll be starting interviews soon.”

Courtney felt a stab of sympathy. “You could have your son do it,” she offered.

The old man looked back at her and laughed mirthlessly. “No, no…Junior never was really very good with people.”

He walked out, slowly. Courtney watched him go, feeling a mixture of sympathy and frustration. Poor old guy. He didn’t understand that changing of the guard was necessary in times like these. Tough times called for tough people, people unafraid of withholding compassion for the good of the bottom line.

Sure, people needed jobs, but it was profitable companies that provided those jobs. The role of business wasn’t to be humanitarian, but to make money and grow. The Fritz Crawford, Sr. had lost sight of that with the softening that comes with age. The younger Crawford had a harder edge and wasn’t afraid to call in someone like Courtney to do what needed to be done.

She walked over to the window and opened the blinds. The old man was in the center of the room near the front of the glass offices. The workers had exited their cubicles, standing in small groups. He was talking to them now and, although Courtney couldn’t hear what he was saying, she could tell by the expressions on their faces that the employees’ worst fears were being confirmed.

Her eyes scanned the faces. Some of them were more frightened than others and she could read in their eyes what they were thinking. Will it be me? What about my mortgage? My car payment? My kids’ tuition? What will I tell my spouse? She looked around the room, trying to gauge who looked not just fearful but petrified. A fat man leaning against the cubicle wall blinked rapidly and began nervously clicking the ballpoint pen he held. She noted his face. People who seemed especially nervous usually had reason for it.

Some people looked relieved –a pregnant woman, an older man. They’d be easy. And grateful. Her eyes moved on. A young man with an expensive haircut smiled confidently, joking to a woman next to him who wasn’t smiling. Her eyes moved on, looking, looking until she found him.

Bill Sullivan. He didn’t look the least bit worried and just stood there, listening with as much interest as if Crawford were giving a weather report. She frowned. No, this was a man completely unafraid, even though he must have put together by now that the woman he’d pissed off moments before was the one who would decide whether or not he kept his job.

And there he stood, not caring in the least. Courtney Kellerman smirked.

“Well,” she thought. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”