If I Were You(41)
“Disappeared?” I ask, alarmed.
“Mary thought Rebecca leaving was her chance to grab the bossman’s attention and it’s been a big fail for her.” He shrugs. “She’s bitter and doesn’t want competition.” He points at me. “That’s you, honey.”
“Are you saying she has a crush on Mark or she wants the top spot at the gallery?”
“She has a crush on him, his money, and the job. Mark barely gives her the time of day while Rebecca was a star who helped him with Riptide.”
Disappointment tightens my chest. No matter how I frame my duties, I am simply a fill-in for the summer. “Why Rebecca and not Mary for Riptide?” Why me and not Mary? “I get the impression Mary does well on the sales floor.”
“Sales people are a dime-a-dozen, easily replaced by a herd of interns dying to be in this business, and willing to work for pennies. Mary fits that bill in Mark’s eyes.” He presses a finger to his chin and considers me. “You though, are different. Mark sees something in you.” His lips twist. “Mary knows it, too. I do believe she’s ready to stomp on you like a cigarette.”
My eyes go wide. “Stomp on me like a cigarette?” I ask, concerned for myself, but more so for Rebecca.
He rolls his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re melodramatic today?”
“No,” I say, but then I’ve never been living someone else’s life. “Has anyone ever told you you’re melodramatic?”
He winks. “All the time and to put your mind at ease. The harshest thing Mary has in her is messing with your understanding of the evening’s dress code. At heart, she’s nothing more than a submissive little pet.”
“And what am I?” I ask, thinking a pet seems right up Mark’s alley. A submissive pet, at that.
“A daring, gorgeous butterfly,” he comments, fluttering his fingers in the air.
“I’m no butterfly,” I say, laughing at his silly imitation. “And since when are butterflies daring?”
A waiter walks by with a tray of wine on a direct path to a line of servers who are waiting by the door in preparation for opening, and Ralph grabs two glasses from him. “Since you,” he replies and thrusts a drink into my hand. “Gulp that down. You’re wound too tight tonight. You need to ease up.”
My skin prickles with awareness and my gaze shoots to Mark, and I am instantly far more deer-in-headlights than daring butterfly. He eyes the glass I’m holding with an arched brow, before his mouth quirks at the corners, and he nods his approval. His approval. I have pleased him. I will not be punished. I am appalled this is the direction my thoughts have gone, and at the certainty I feel that he knows my reaction, and enjoys this control over me.
Ralph whistles low. “You have that man by the balls like very few do, honey.”
I blanch. “That’s crazy. I do not have him by his…no. I-“
“Doors are opening!” Amanda calls out to the room from the hostess desk. I down my wine and shove my empty glass at Ralph.
An hour later, I am standing with a sixty-something gentlemen whose resume includes being the ex-CEO of a rather large bank, chatting with him about the Ricardo Alvarez show, which he’d also attended. The room is swimming with at least fifty people, among them waiters who are wading through the pool of fancy dresses, expensive suits, and big pocketbooks, with selections of wine. I’ve sold two pricy paintings, neither of which were Chris’s, most likely because I’m avoiding his display for reasons I’m trying not to think about.
I’m also buzzing from several wine samples I’ve consumed, which has made me form a new respect for Mark’s insistence everyone leave their keys in the desk up front.
“So dear,” Mr. Rider, the ex-CEO continues, “I’m interested in an Alvarez painting, but I’m not certain I see the exact piece I want here on the showroom floor. Is there a way to arrange a private viewing of his more precious pieces?”
“I most certainly will see what I can arrange,” I assure him, thought I have no clue what I can, or cannot, do. “I’m sure you know the gallery’s resources are many.”
“And you, Ms. McMillan, certainly are their newest asset.” He retrieves a business card from his pocket. “Call me Monday, my dear.”
I beam at his departing form, and with the prospect of viewing Alvarez’s private collection, along with him.
“I take it your smile means that went well?”
The familiar male voice radiates through me, and I can almost feel my body quiver from inside out. I whirl around to find Chris standing behind me, a rebel in denim and leather amongst black ties, and his surprise appearance does far more to impact me than Mark’s had. Every muscle I own tightens deliciously at the sight of him, and I’m not the only one to react to his ruggedly handsome good looks. Two women walk by, their eyes raking over Chris with admiration, their heads tilting together to exchange comments.