She hoped so, anyway. But even as she laughed and celebrated with Meg and Berik, she still had a nagging uncertainty about Roark in the back of her mind…
Four
“Do you make it a habit to come into work hung-over, Samantha?”
Roark’s question caught Sammi off guard. She put a hand to her throat apprehensively, uncertain what to say. She wasn’t hung-over—not exactly, anyway. But the celebratory champagne had flowed a little free the night before. And it seemed like every time Sammi said it was time to go to bed, Meg proposed just one more toast.
As a result, she’d been rubbing her temples and squinting at the too-bright light over her workstation as she went over the paperwork her new boss had given her. Roark must have noticed—not that it was any of his business, she thought indignantly.
“I’m not hung-over,” she said stiffly. “I just have a headache this morning, that’s all.”
“A headache brought on by overindulgence.” There was a slight growl to Roark’s deep voice and his pale silver-white eyes seemed to skewer her in a way that made Sammi squirm uncomfortably.
“I didn’t ‘overindulge.’ I just—” she began but her new boss cut her off.
“Don’t lie to me, Samantha.” His voice was low and stern. “I can smell the alcohol on you.”
She looked at him in surprise.
“What? But I took a shower this morning!”
“And used plenty of some kind of flowery body wash—I can tell,” Roark said, his nose wrinkling. “But I can also smell the remains of the alcohol you over-imbibed last night seeping from your pores. That, added to your obvious headache and the redness of your eyes, lets me know you drank a lot last night—much more than was good for you.”
His irrefutable evidence made her stomach clench with dread but Sammi wasn’t one to give in without a fight.
“This is unbelievable!” She shook her head. “So you’re accusing me of coming to work hung over because of all these ‘clues’ you think you’ve found?”
“I am.” Roark folded his arms over his broad chest and gave her a hard stare. “So I’m asking you again—are you hung over? Before you answer, remember, I can and will punish you for deliberate untruthfulness.”
“What?” She stared at him in anger and surprise. “Did you just say you’d punish me?”
“I will, without hesitation.” He nodded decisively.
“But you can’t—”
“I can. There is a punishment clause in the contract you signed. Or did you neglect to read that part?” He raised one raven-black eyebrow at her challengingly.
“I don’t believe this.”
Sammi stood up from the small workstation he’d given her—located across the room from his large desk.
“Let me see it,” she said, stalking over to his desk and holding out her hand. “Let me see it right now.”
“As you wish.”
Roark reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the document she’d signed only that morning.
“Here you are.” He placed the thick document on the desk in front of her and leaned back in his chair, steepling his long fingers as he watched her.
Sammi snatched up the document and peered at it. She’d been fighting the headache from all that champagne Meg had talked her into drinking when he gave it to her, and she’d barely glanced at it as she signed wherever he pointed. Now she wondered what the hell it was she’d put her name on!
“You’ll find the punishment clause on page fifty-three, right after the non-disclosure agreement,” he said helpfully as Sammi paged through the dense legalese trying to find what he was talking about.
Sure enough, when she turned to page fifty-three, she saw something she definitely shouldn’t have missed when she signed. Punishment Clause—Consequences for Illegal or Unethical Behavior, read the page, in large, bold print.
“This is crazy!” she exclaimed as she read through the clause. “I thought this was just part of the nondisclosure agreement!”
“It is…in a way,” Roark remarked. “It tells the consequences if you get caught divulging confidential information. Or acting in any other unethical manner. Including lying.”
“But…but this says you can…can spank me if you want to!” Sammi exclaimed.
“Yes, it does.” He nodded calmly, as though this was a completely normal requirement of any job.
“But I didn’t agree to that!” Sammi exclaimed.
“I’m afraid you did—when you signed the contract.” He raised an eyebrow again. “So I’ll ask you just once more—are you or are you not hung-over from drinking too much alcohol last night?”
“I was only drinking to celebrate getting this job!” Sammi snapped, glaring at him.
“I see.” Roark rose suddenly and came around the desk to stand beside her—though “to loom over her” might have been a better description. He was so tall, Sammi thought, looking up at him uneasily. Almost seven feet if he was an inch! And so big and muscular too—the crisp white lab jacket he wore bulged in the biceps, as though the fabric could barely contain his muscles.