The Assistant

“Stand up and turn around, Miss Morrison,” Mr. Harris’ eyes stared me down, I did as he said despite the half of my brain screaming that this was a terrible idea. As soon as I was facing the door he pushed me down and pinned me to the desk, his arm braced across my shoulders.

“Say it,” he snapped. “Tell me who you are, Lydia.”

I can feel my body trembling because of the heat of his body.

“I’m a good girl,” I cried. “I’m your good girl, Mr. Harris!”