My eyes moved to the rearview. The little rich bitch was still on her phone. Maybe I should give her a second chance. Try to be nice. Start fresh.

“Air alright back there, Ms. Fulsom?”

She mumbled something without looking up, her chubby face twisted in disgust over something on her screen. She scoffed. “Hey,” she said, finally deigning to look at me when she needed something, “what’s with cell service out here anyway? My phone says it’s got, like, two bars, but the Internet’s not even working and it says I’m roaming.”

Because, we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere, you dumb twat. “I wouldn’t know, miss.

She scoffed again and somehow managed to both lower and roll her eyes at the same time. “Well, you’re useless,” she muttered.

“Pardon, miss?”

Her eyes came up and she over-enunciated each word very loudly. “You, are, useless.”

We locked eyes through the rearview. A dare for me to retort. When I didn’t, her lips lifted in a bitchy smirk.

“That’s what I thought.”

I kept my eyes on hers. It was simple enough to for me to drive using just my peripheral vision. The fully-loaded Mercedes S 580 Executive had lane assist, and the cruise control was set with automatic following distance engaged. After nearly a minute had passed, her smirk faded.

“What are you looking at, creeper?”

“A fat little cunt, I think.”

Her jaw dropped and she gasped. Then her beady pig eyes narrowed. “What did you just call me?”

“A fat little cunt.”

Her jaw moved, as if her brain was sending her mouth impulses to speak, but it hadn’t sent along any words to go with it. Finally, she pressed her lips together and fumed. Her face reddened and became pinched.

“I’m going to have you fired.”

“No you won’t.”

She accepted my challenge. “Wanna bet? Watch me!”

She dialed someone on her phone and held it to her ear with a self-satisfied expression of superiority. After a few seconds, her eyebrows bunched together. She looked at the screen and cursed under her breath, then shoved it between her knees.

“Problems with your cell service?”

“Just wait till we get somewhere where I can call. Then you’re going to be out of a job.”

“No I won’t.”

My simple denial of her imagined reality infuriated her. “You just wait and see.”

“You’re not going to do shit.”

Her incredulous expression almost made me laugh. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

“I’ll talk to you anyway I want, you fat little cunt.”

Her reaction was priceless. Like I’d slapped her fat face with my words. Too flustered to respond, she held up her phone to check it and growled in frustration. She threw it down onto the leather seat and it bounced. I heard it fall into the footwell.

“Grr!” She bent to retrieve it and threw it down onto the seat again, with the exact same result. She screeched. “Argh!”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked.

Her head popped up into view. “With me? What’s wrong with you?”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me? There’s a fat little cunt in the backseat of my car.”

She screamed and threw a tantrum, pummeling the seat with her fists. “Stop calling me that!”

“Stop being one.”

“I’m not ... the C-word and I’m not fat!”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately? You’re fat, and you’re definitely a little cunt.”

She glared at me, infuriated. It was ugly. Her bright red cheeks were so puffed up that her squinty hazel eyes were nearly hidden behind the tops of them. Her puckered lips were white, and her chest lifted with each forceful breath. I looked her right in the eye.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’re going to pay for what you just said to me.”

“No I won’t.”

I didn’t think she could get any madder, but I was wrong. She leaned forward, squeezed her eyes shut, balled up her fists, and screamed at the top of her lungs. Using the seat control buttons on my door panel, I reclined the front passenger seat until the headrest was a few inches from her face. Then I stomped on the brake and Sir Isaac Newton did the rest. Her head snapped forward at a ten mile per hour speed differential, slamming her face into the back of the headrest. Then I punched the accelerator, throwing her backwards while I returned the seat to its upright and locked position. She held her nose with both hands, her wide, disbelieving eyes locked onto mine. There were tears in those eyes. I bet that stung.

“Are you done?”

“Y-y-you ... you did that on purpose!”

“Of course, I did.”

She was rattled now. She looked down and scrambled for her phone again in the footwell – it had ski-jumped off the seat when I hit the brakes – and frantically dialed someone. Her eyes, now suspicious and more than a little fearful, moved back and forth between me and her phone screen. She held it to her ear.

“Who are you calling?”

“None of your business.”

I stood on the brake until the ABS fluttered. Her corpulent young body shot forward, and then her seatbelt abruptly arrested her momentum, but her unrestrained hand shot forward and she practically hurled the phone into the front of the cabin. It bounced off the windshield and landed on the dashboard. I jerked the wheel to the left and the phone slid right into my waiting hand. As I gunned it back to cruising speed I checked the screen. Mom. I ended the call before it connected and rolled down the window.

“No!” she screamed with her outstretched hand grasping futilely as I tossed her phone out onto the highway.

With the window back up, the cabin became remarkably peaceful again. German engineering. So damned precise. She was still twisted in her seat, staring out the back widow as her phone receded into the distance. When she turned back, her face was ashen.

“W-why did you do that?” she asked in a shaky, incredulous voice. She was getting emotional.

“Do I have your attention now?” She didn’t answer me, just stared. That was answer enough. “That’s why. Now, sit back and shut up, you fat little cunt.”

The range of emotions twisting her face into a pretzel was fascinating to watch. Like a spinning slot machine, I wondered where it would finally settle. Teary-eyed anger. She seethed.

“I hate you!”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do!”

“You shouldn’t hold your face like that. It makes you look fat. Fatter, I mean.”

That was the last straw for her. She lunged at me, but the seatbelt locked, cinching between her small, fatty tits. Her hands flew to the buckle, trying to mash the button to release the seatbelt.

“Ah-ah!” I said, loud enough to get her attention. “You unbuckle that seatbelt and I will put you through this windshield.” The color drained from her face. “Get your grubby little hands off of that, right now.” She slowly pulled her hands away and put them in her lap. “Good. Now, sit there and keep your piehole shut.”

“Y-you’re going to be in so much trouble when my Mom finds out what you did.”

“No I won’t.”

I loved the outsized impact those three simple words had on her. Like they bypassed her language processing centers and went straight to her amygdala.

“I’m going to make sure you go to jail.”

“No you’re not.”

It was difficult to see her jaw under all that fat, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt that it was clenched. She could have ignited a fire with the heat coming off her glare. You want to see some heat, dumplin’? I turned her seat warmer up to max. Within thirty seconds, she was looking down. Within a minute, she was trying to lift her bare, chubby thighs off the seat.

“Ow! Turn it off!”

“You shouldn’t have worn such a short skirt.”

“I said, turn it off!” She reached for the buckle.

“Ah-ah!” She abandoned that idea.

“Turn it off, turn it off, turn it off!”

I brake-checked her back into her seat. “Sit down.”

“It’s too hot!” she screamed in panic. She began to hyperventilate.

“No it’s not. Now, shut up.”

“Yes it is!”

“Sit there and take it.”

She whimpered, trying to hover in her seat. I brake checked her again.

“I told you to sit down.”

Finally accepting that she had no other choice, she sat on the very warm seat and blubbered. I knew that the seat warmers could reach a temperature of around 110°F to 115°F. Not enough to hurt her, but it was going to be a mighty uncomfortable ride.

A shiver ran up my spine just then, and I looked up at the headliner. Woah, that was weird. I had the oddest sensation that a European somewhere was asking me what that was in Celsius. How the fuck would I know, Frenchie?

“Stop crying,” I told her.

“Why are you doing this to me?” she whined.

“Because you don’t listen.”

“No, you do it because you’re mean!” she said through hot tears, then sobbed some more.

“I told you to stop crying.”

“Just leave me alone!” she screamed and cried even harder.

I rolled down her window, blasting her in the face with scorching, desert-heated, seventy-mile-per-hour wind. Then I pulled back on the control stalk to activate the windshield washer nozzles. Washer fluid sprayed her in the face.

“Aargh!” she screamed, leaning away from the window to get out of the line of fire.

I rolled her window back up. Then I turned on the radio. She slowly sat upright in her seat again and stared at me with an expression of intense, wide-eyed, open-mouthed wariness. Her short brown hair was a frizzy mess. Well, at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

“Are you done?” I asked. Slowly, she nodded. “Are you going to listen?” Another nod. “Good. Here’s your reward.”

I turned off the seat warmer and activated the ventilated seat cooler. She jumped and looked down when cool air suddenly blasted the backs of her chubby thighs and big butt through the tiny perforations in the seat.

“Feel better?” I asked. She looked up and nodded again. “What’s your name?” I asked.

“L-l-lilly.”

“Pretty name.”

Her eyebrows descended. “Thanks.”

“So, why are you such a cunt, Lilly?”

Her eyebrows lowered even further. “Don’t call me that!”

I turned off the seat cooler and put the warmer back on full blast. Then I opened all the heater vents in her personal zone and cranked that up to max temp as well. Lilly threw up her hands to protect her eyes from the blasting hot air, slowly pushing them outward to cover the closest two vents.

“Stop! Stop! Please!”

“Are you going to answer my questions?”

“Yes!”

Heater off. Seat warmer off. Seat cooler back on. Like training a dog. A really fat dog that doesn’t want to listen.

“Good. Now, why are you such a cunt?”

“I’m not-”

I cut her off by placing my hand back on the control buttons. She shut her yap and I put my hand back on the steering wheel.

“Is it because you’re so fat?” I guessed.

Another odd mix of emotions, ranging between anger and sadness. Sanger? No. Bitterness! That’s the one. Maybe with a hint of resentment thrown in for extra spice.

“I...” She paused, cottoning on that I’d asked her a loaded question. One she couldn’t answer without first denying the premise. She knew where denying the premise would lead. She cast down her eyes.

“Maybe,” she said, injecting some of that bitterness into her voice.

“You’re not ugly,” I told her, and her eyes came back up. “You could actually be kind of cute.” Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “If you weren’t such a cunt.” They crashed back down. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.” More bitterness. “Why?”

“Why not?” I asked, and she humped her soft shoulders. “Is it because no one’s asked you out, or because no one’s good enough for you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you ever been asked out?” She looked away. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because I’m fat,” she said miserably under her breath.

I turned down the radio. “I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

“I said, because I’m fat.”

“Is that what you think?”

“What else would it be?”

“Remember the cunt thing we were discussing earlier?” She pressed her lips together and turned away. “Do you even want a boyfriend?”

“Of course.”

“Why should someone want to be your boyfriend?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you bring to the table?” Besides a second plate. She rolled her shoulders again. “You can’t think of a single thing you have to offer a potential boyfriend?”

“I don’t know.” She turned suddenly, trying to flip it on me. “What do you have to offer a girlfriend?”

“A big cock.”

Lilly did shocked expressions exceptionally well. The open mouth, the eyebrows pushed in, the brow ridge bulging outward. Really top notch stuff.

“You’re gross.”

“You’re a virgin.”

She added a scoff to the expression. Nice touch. “How do you know?”

“What’s your favorite sexual position?” She nearly choked on her own spit. “That’s how I know.”

We rode in blessed silence for nearly a mile. Nearly.

“Well, what’s yours then?”

“Anal.”

“Ewww!” she screeched, rising out of her seat and pushing her big butt against the door. “Gross!”

She held her nose, as if the mere utterance of the word brought with it a malodorous stench. Blessedly, it bought me another two miles of silence. She didn’t want to look at me, but her eyes continually returned. Morbid curiosity, I suppose.

“Are you serious?” she asked with a wrinkled nose.

“Why do you care?”

She scoffed. “I don’t!”

“Then why’d you ask?”

Another mile.

“Why?” she asked.

“Why what?”

“Why do you like it?”

“Because it feels good.”

If I could squeeze her head and bottle the skepticism that poured out, I’d make a fortune. First, though, I’d have to filter out all of that incredulity.

“Are you gay?”

“No.”

She huffed, then turned to look out her window. “I don’t get it, then.”

“You’re a virgin. You wouldn’t.”

She looked at me with an almost conceited expression. “I’ve done stuff.”

“Good for you.”

A half-mile passed before she asked, “Well, don’t you want to know what kind of stuff?”

“No, not particularly.”

My disinterest had no effect on her. She wasn’t going to keep it to herself. She opened her mouth and pointed to it, then nodded as if that meant something.

“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“A boy put it in there.”

“Put what it where?”

“His thing. Inside my mouth.”

“You sucked a dick?”

Okay, I’ll admit, I found her reaction to embarrassment rather charming. She formed the world’s tiniest smile, miniscule pursed lips, and lifted her eyes away, then nodded and her smile widened, raising her chubby cheeks. So cute.

“How come you didn’t mention that earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

“When I asked what you have to offer a boyfriend.” Her cheeks glowed. “Boys like that kind of stuff. Believe me.”

She refused to look me in the eye when she said, “I only did it that one time.”

“Did you like it?” Another embarrassed smile. “Good for you. Did he?” An even bigger smile and a nod. “Good for him, too. Did he return the favor?”

Her facial expressions zipped from confusion at the question to awareness of what I’d asked to disappointment at the answer in the span of a second. I nodded.

“Yeah, that’s too bad,” I said. “Why didn’t he?” She could only shrug. “Did he offer?”

“No,” she said softly.

“Did you ask?”

Her shoulders slumped. “No.” She said that even more morosely.

“Why not?”

Another humping shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Did you want it?” She looked at me with sad eyes and nodded. “That’s tragic.”

We rode on in silence. Although there was no data signal, the GPS still worked. I checked our progress on the car’s navigation system, then searched for something other than Banda music. How the hell did polka become so popular in Mexico? When the Nazis embarked for Argentina, did the Poles make a beeline for Acapulco or something?

Lilly leaned forward to look at the screen. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know. I only know where we are. Maybe another three or four hours.” She nodded and settled back. “Why didn’t you just fly?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes. “My mom says this is faster, once you factor in all the stuff you have to do at the airports, but I think she just didn’t want to drive to pick me up.”

“You could’ve taken a car from the airport.”

“None of the cars go there.”

“Oh.” I regarded her through the mirror. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Fifteen.”

“You’ll be able to drive yourself next year.”

“Yeah. I guess so.” She didn’t seem too enthused about that.

“Do you want to keep the seat cooler on, or do you want me to turn it off?”

“You can leave it on.”

I watched her adjust herself in her seat, trying to tug at the back of her skirt, but whatever she was trying to do wasn’t working. She looked at me.

“Can I undo my seatbelt for a second?”

“Make it quick.”

She unbuckled and then lifted her butt off the seat, hiked up the back of her skirt, and sat back down. After buckling up, she settled herself even more, twisting a little until she achieved the result she’d been intending. She smiled a little and sighed.

“Does that feel better?” I asked.

Her smile faded. “What do you mean?”

“Having the air blow right on your butt instead of through your skirt.”

Her eyes widened and her face grew slack. “That’s not-”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “This is your ride. Make yourself as comfortable as you like.”

She flashed another embarrassed smile. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, what?”

“It feels better.”

“Are you wearing underwear?”

I almost laughed at her deer in headlights look. “Why?”

“Because, you can take them off if you want.” Her mouth opened. “Unless you’re already not wearing any.”

“No.”

“You’re not?”

“I mean, yes, I am.”

“Oh. Well, suit yourself. Like I said, this is your ride.”

I scanned the radio again and then snapped it off in frustration. We rode in silence for a while, but something still stuck in my craw about earlier. I glanced into the rearview.

“So, how come you were such a snotty little cunt earlier? Are you always like that?”

She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I did that made you so mad.”

“You don’t?” Wow, she really didn’t. “You were rude and disrespectful, Lilly.”

She scoffed silently and turned her head away. “Yeah, okay.”

I turned off the seat cooler and cranked up the warmer. “Don’t turn your head away from me when I’m talking to you, you fat little cunt.”

Now she wished she hadn’t flipped her skirt up. She made a move to unbuckle herself, but her eyes shot to the review mirror at the last second. She remembered my warning. I shook my head and she moved her hands away. She looked at me miserably.

“Do you understand, now, what you did?” I asked.

“Yes, alright? Now, come on. It’s really hot!”

“Just sit there and sweat for a while, and think about what you did and why it was wrong.”

“Okay! I shouldn’t have called you useless, alright? Now, come on! Turn it off!”

“You really don’t listen, do you?” I turned on her heater vents. “I told you to sit there and sweat for a while. Now, shut that dick hole of yours and do what you’re told.”

She glared at me with her hands up, blocking the vents. Before, she was being impertinent. Now, she was being petulant. Whoever raised this mouthy little marshmallow did a piss-poor job of it, that’s for sure. I checked the temp on the heater. It was blowing 32°C (shut up, Frenchie). Combined with the seat warmers, I was certain Lilly was getting a little juicy down there. I checked in with her through the rearview.

“Feeling sweaty yet?”

“Come on, man!”

“Tell you what. Take off your panties and pass them forward, and I’ll make it stop.”

All struggle ceased as she processed what I’d just said. “What?”

“Otherwise, it’s three or four more hours of this. Take your time. I’m in no rush.”

Neither was she, apparently. She sat, unmoving, for several minutes. Alright, have it your way. Through the car’s infotainment system, I accessed the safety menu and activated her seatbelt tensioner.

“Hey, what are you doing!” She struggled against the constricting shoulder harness, trying to pull it away from her body. It sucked her right back into the seat.

“Why don’t you get comfy?” I suggested, and navigated to the seat setting menu to adjust the dynamic bolsters on her seat. They swelled and expanded, squeezing her in from the sides. “There we go. Nice and snug.”

“I can’t move!” she screamed.

“That’s the idea.”

From the center console, I removed a pair of orange foam earplugs and put them in. Partially to muffle her incessant bleating and screeching, but mostly to protect myself from the 1,750 watt, thirty-one speaker Burmester sound system. Finding a particularly ompah-ompah Banda station, I turned the dial to eleven and relaxed into the driver’s seat.

If Lilly said anything to me during this time, I certainly didn’t hear it, though I did see her mouth moving quite a lot. For some reason, she rolled down the window. When scorching wind blasted her face, she started to roll it back up. No. Let’s keep that down. I locked out her controls.

Adding speed to the cruise control, I accelerated to eighty miles per hour. Then I goosed it to eighty-eight, just to see some shit. Hot wind scoured her face, both from within the car and without. Her hair lashed around like a cat-o-nine tails. I felt the music in my chest. Damn, that was loud.

After scarfing up five miles of road, I eased us back to the speed limit and rolled up her window. Lilly lifted her face, which she’d buried in her hands for protection, and said something to me, but for the life of me I couldn’t hear what she said. Then I saw her struggling to reach under her skirt. I turned off the stereo.

“-right, I said!”

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I’ll do it, okay!”

“Do what?”

“Take them off!”

“Take what off?”

“My panties!” she screamed.

Back to the safety menu, I released the tension on her seatbelt. Reaching beneath her skirt, Lilly squirmed and struggled to peel her panties over her big sweaty butt and wide hips and roll them down her thick legs and over her sneakers, but she somehow managed. She held them out to me.

“Here, pervert!”

I held up my hand and she set them on my palm. They were a pair of plus-size simple cotton briefs, soaked through with sweat. A giant wad of damp fabric. I tossed them onto the passenger seat, then turned off the heater and seat warmer. When the seat cooler came on, I glanced at her through the mirror.

“Better?”

It looked like she just got out of bed. Her hair was a tangled mess. She looked at me but didn’t respond. Very well. When the cooler went off, she spoke up.

“Yes! It’s better!”

I put the cooler back on. “Why don’t you listen, Lilly?”

“I did listen!”

“Stop yelling.”

“I did,” she insisted in a normal voice.

“If you did what you were told, none of this would have happened.” She started to turn her face away. “Don’t do it,” I warned her. “When I’m talking to you, your eyes are right here.” She turned back. “This is really basic stuff, Lilly. Stuff you mom should already have taught you. It’s basic respect. When I ask you a question, you answer it. You don’t turn your head or roll your eyes at me. You don’t scoff or do anything other than answer. Do you understand that?”

She rolled her eyes. Five miles later, I rolled up the window, turned off the heaters, turned down the stereo, deflated the bolsters, and untensioned her seatbelt. This time, however, I waited to turn the cooler back on.

“Let’s try this again. Do you understand what I told you?”

“Yes!”

“You’re yelling again.” I reached for the controls.

“No! I mean, please don’t.”

Honest to god contrition. Good for her. “As long as you’re respectful, Lilly, you don’t have anything to worry about. Would you like me to put the cooler back on? You must be pretty swampy down there by now.”

“Yes, please.”

I turned it on and watched her body relax. I upped the airflow and her eyes flew to the rearview.

“Yes, I can turn it up. There’s a lot I can do for you from up here, Lilly. As long as you listen, I can do a lot of really nice things for you. Are you going to listen to me from now on?”

I swear to god, she looked ten times cuter with a contrite expression on her face than her usual snotty one. She nodded, and then added, “Yes,” just to be sure I received her response.

“Good. I feel we’re finally starting to get somewhere. Would you like me to do something nice for you right now?”

There was a lot of skepticism and wariness on her face. “Like what?”

“I asked you a yes or no question. There are only two answers. Would you like me to do something nice for you right now? Yes or no.”

“What happens if I say no.”

“Then you don’t get the nice thing.”

A long interval of contemplation ensued at this point. You’d assume that nice things were desirable, but who could understand the simple mind of a teenage girl? After a lot of eye flicking and hand wiping on her skirt, Lilly finally nodded.

“Okay.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

Through the infotainment setting, I accessed the vehicle’s rear seat controls and navigated to the massage programs. The Executive Rear Seat package on this car had eight of them. I scrolled the menu and selected the wave massage, setting it at its lowest intensity level. Based on the way Lilly jumped and tried to look behind herself, the seat was doing its thing. A gentle wave-like motion that moved down her back, over her substantial glutes and thighs, and back again.

“How does that feel?” I asked.

Despite her disheveled appearance and perpetual wariness, she couldn’t keep the smile from creeping over her face. I turned up the seat cooler so that a gentle, continuous breeze blew over her broad, naked backside. That look of astonishment was exactly what I was looking for.

“It’s massaging!”

“That’s not the question I asked.”

Her face fell, and I watched her access her memory banks until she found it. “Good! It feels good!”

“Great.”

From the same rear seat control menu, I reclined her seat and lifted the footrest.

“Just sit back and relax for a while,” I told her. “I’ll make you feel good.”

I let another ten miles slip under the Z-rated tires and watched in the rearview as Lilly luxuriated under the chair’s surprisingly skillful manipulations of her heavy body. It was like watching a baker roll out thick dough for cinnamon buns. Along the way, I upped the intensity setting on the massage program to the middle level and watched her lips part.

“Feel good?”

“Mm, yeah. That’s nice.”

Fuck it. Let’s give her a ride. I adjusted the seat cooler to the max setting, then accessed the user experience menu in the infotainment system to activate the two exciter speakers located in her seat. The vibrational speakers had a few low-frequency sample patterns. I chose a pulsing thrum that would vibrate her butt and thighs through her seat. Lilly’s smile grew wider and wider. Between the cool air blowing over her pantiless bottom, the wave massager undulating over her doughy backside, and the pulsating, low-frequency tone vibrating her pelvis, she had to have been feeling pretty damn good.

“Would you prefer to put your panties back on, Lilly?”

She barely cracked her eyelids. “Mm, I’m okay for now,” she murmured.

I left her there for a while. The Merc chewed up the road while Lilly experienced vibratory nirvana. I’d seen a lot of execs in that same exact pose over the years, especially the women. Of course, they usually adjusted the settings themselves, using the control panel integrated into the rear center console. After fifteen minutes had passed, I shut everything off and reset her seat back to its upright configuration.

“Hey, why’d you turn it off?” she asked.

“Did you want more?”

She scoffed, then bit it back. “I mean, yeah. That was starting to feel really nice.”

I captured her hazel eyes in my gaze. “I wanted to ask you a question, Lilly. You said that boy didn’t repay the favor after your sucked his dick. When I asked why you didn’t ask for it, you said you didn’t know. I think you do know. I want you to tell me.”

She did know, and she did not want to answer that question, that’s for damn sure. When I started accessing the safety menu, she held out her hand.

“Wait!” she cried, but I cinched down her seatbelt.

“I’m tired of going down this road with you over and over, Lilly. There should be no hesitation from you, ever. When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it. I don’t care how embarrassing the question is or how much you don’t want to answer it. You will answer it immediately.”