If I Were You(93)

“I assume that means you’re continuing your relationship with Chris.”

My defenses rise despite my vow to behave. “I’m not sure why this is relevant to my job?”

“No?”

“No.”

“The man negotiated a commission on your behalf and you don’t know why he’s relevant?”

So much for thinking I’d dodged a bullet. “If this is about money--“

“Everything is about money, Ms. McMillan, and while I have no issues paying you well, I expect to have you all to myself while you are on my territory.”

“What?” My pulse hammers in my chest. “I don’t understand what that means.”

He turns his computer screen around and pushes play and my heart almost explodes from my chest when I see the security feed. It’s me and Chris by the bathroom. Chris touching me. Chris kissing me.

“Enough!” I say, pushing to the edge of my seat.

He punches a key. “Enough indeed.”

“That was inappropriate and it will never happen again,” I quickly vow.

“You’re right. It won’t. Be clear, Sara. This is my gallery and when you are here, or attending to my business, I own you, not Chris Merit.”

“Own me?” I repeat.

“Own you. You bet on it and me, not Chris. And if you think that he didn’t know there was a camera, that he wasn’t trying to power-play me, think again.”

Chris knew there were cameras? My heart shatters with the implications behind this discovery. Of course Chris knew. This is his life, his world. I should have known. I did know. “I’m sorry.” I want to tell him the wine got the best of me, but I’m afraid he’ll only think it’s another problem I represent. “I won’t let you down again.”

He studies me with those hard, calculating eyes for what seems like an eternity. “Ms. McMillan. Relax. I’m on your side. You’re not getting fired.”

Not getting fired. This is good. This is what I want. I nod, but I am still ramrod stiff.

“Relax, Sara.” It’s an order.

I want to do as he says. I want to show him I’m a good risk, a good employee, but adrenaline is lighting me on fire. I inhale and let it out, and slowly, I force the tension from my body and lean back into my chair.

“We’re okay,” Mark says and there is a gentleness to his voice I’ve never heard. “We have a bright future together.”

“We do?”

“Yes. I believe in you, or you wouldn’t be here, but it’s also my job to protect you and this gallery. You need to understand these artists can be manipulative. They can use the prospect of a special showing, like you want from Ricardo, against you. I need to make sure right now that you know that you need to do nothing to get work for this gallery but be the professional you are. We do not beg, and you do not let yourself get manipulated. Period. The end. These artists know I don’t tolerate that crap and as long as they believe I own you, they won’t believe you will either. So when I say I own you, Sara, I mean I own you.”

He owns me. I am not comfortable with his choice of words, but I doubt my ability to be my own judge at the moment. My gaze lifts to the mural behind Mark that I am certain Chris painted. I’ve trusted Chris. Has he been manipulating me? Using me against Mark? It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought.

“Are we clear, Sara?” Mark prods.

My attention returns to Mark, to the steely strong eyes offering me protection, a good job, a future. “Yes. We’re clear.”

I barely remember the rest of the conversation. The minute I am back at my desk I grab my phone and text Chris. Have to cancel dinner. I turn off my phone.





Chapter Twenty-Nine





The rest of the day crawls by and I am in knots over Chris—-hurt, angry, confused--I feel all of these things and more. Nearing the end of the day, I am in my office, trying to focus on work and failing. Worse, I expect Chris to call through the switchboard to try to reach me and he doesn’t. Clearly, he’s not that broken up over my cancellation of dinner, and I can’t help but believe he knew my humiliation was coming and has been received. I wouldn’t discount Mark confronting him.

How could Chris intentionally set me up like he did? And he did. Chris is too smart to not know what he was doing and the tension between him and Mark is too damn obvious. I am a token in a game and I hate how badly it hurt. I hate that I let my little adventure turn into heartache.

When eight o’clock finally arrives, the knots in my stomach multiply, and I stay at my desk. What if Chris is outside waiting on me? What if he’s not? another voice dares to whisper in my head. I am second-guessing my decision to turn off my phone, to actually talk to Chris and make it clear we are over. Right. A simple blow-off. It should be easy. Instead, I am a coward who cannot talk to him, certain I will agree to whatever he asks of me. I am too far into the infatuation I have for him. And that’s what it is. Infatuation. After being humiliated by that video, I refuse it to be anything else.