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“Yes, Sir.”
“If I have to come back here and punish you for being difficult, I’ll bring my stick. We both know you don’t like my stick, don’t we, Anna?”
“Ooh, Sir, no, you won’t have to. You’ll hear nothing but good things, I swear,” she vowed as the sting intensified.
“I certainly hope so. I might even stop by the set when I leave the office to get a first hand account,” he warned, increasing the speed and severity of his slaps. “The director will tell me exactly how you’ve behaved.”
“Ow, Sir, I’ll be good, I promise,” she yelled. “Please, Sir, that really hurts.”
“If you must make all that noise, grab a cushion,” he ordered brusquely as he reached across her body to pick up the hairbrush. “Six of the best with the brush. The first three, to make sure you keep your promise, and the second three, because there’s no food in your refrigerator. We’ve talked about that before.”
“Sorry, Sir,” she bleated, reaching for a loose cushion.
“Don’t be sorry, just do as you’re told?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Head in the pillow.”
Swishing down the hairbrush, he landed three hard, slow swats on her right cheek, eliciting a muffled yelp after each.
“I’m going to give you the word of the day. Can you guess what it will be?”
“Uh, behave, Sir?” she mewled, turning her head to the side.
“That should always be in your head. This is something else.”
“I don’t know, Sir.”
“Think, Anna. Why are you over my knee?”
“Uh...to remind me to be professional, Sir. Is that my word of the day? Professional?”
“Yes! That’s what you’ll be thinking when you walk on to that set. No matter what Jackson Wardlow says or does, you’ll think,I’m a professional.Got it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now we have to deal with your refusal to have decent food in the house. I think I’ll bring that stick and leave it. The next time I come here, if I find nothing has changed I’ll use it.”
“Ooh, Sir, I’ll do better.”
“That’s what you said last time. Put your head back into the cushion. I’m going to draw these out. Here’s the first.”
Landing a hard swat to her opposite cheek, the hot sting caused her to kick up her legs and squeal into the pillow.
“If you can’t be bothered cooking, have your meals delivered, and make sure you keep the receipts to show me. I know you can afford it. Continental is paying you a fortune, and we can’t have you fainting on the set or looking like skin and bone on the screen.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Head back in the cushion.”
He delivered the second.
““Please, no more, Sir. I will eat better, I swear.”
“Don’t you get hungry?”
“Yes, Sir, but it’s like you said. I can’t be bothered cooking and I’m not very good at it.”
