The Contract Rebecca's Lost Journals, Volume 2(3)
Weeks! And a contract! I almost choked when I read that part of the message. Once again, a contract stands between me and the prize.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Chris came into the gallery to see Mark today. The two of them seem to share a mutual respect, and maybe a friendship. It’s hard to tell with two such controlled men. They are so alike and so different, those two. Mark is hard on the surface, while Chris jokes with the entire staff and everyone seems to like him. But they share the same underlying strength and power. Each commands the room when he enters. I want to be like them, to be that confident, that in control. So how could I be a submissive to a Master and ever be those things? And why am I still thinking about this, when I already decided I wasn’t going to sign the contract?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Josh showed up at the gallery today and Mark didn’t seem pleased. No. That’s an understatement. He was pissed. Josh actually interrupted me while I was with a customer and wanted to talk. The customer wasn’t pleased. Mark ordered Mary to take over the client and directed me to his office. I can still see the gloating look on Mary’s face that said she was thrilled to see me in hot water. And I was in hot water. The conversation with Mark wasn’t a good one.
“Your ‘boy’ needs to visit on breaks or lunch, not while I have a millionaire on the floor trying to buy art.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Nor have you controlled him. Deal with him, Ms. Mason. That will be all. You can leave.”
Talk about feeling smacked down. He dismissed me that fast. I stood there and weighed my options. The truth seemed my only defense, so I said, “I’ve tried and failed. I don’t understand why, but he just won’t go away.”
He arched a brow at me. “Are you telling me he’s stalking you?”
“No. I don’t want to say that, but it is getting a little creepy.”
“Do I need to handle this for you?”
“God, no. I’ll handle it. I will.”
“But you haven’t?”
“I was worried about hurting his feelings.”
“So you haven’t handled it at all.”
“I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“Tell him so he knows you mean it.” His voice turned to pure ice.
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I simply assured him I’d handle it and started to leave.
“Ms. Mason.” I paused at the door with dread in my stomach before turning back to him. “Ricco Alvarez sent you flowers. He’s stopped by several times. You might not see it, but the rest of us do. He’s temperamental and goes off the deep end in a blink. I do not want this ability you have to draw unstable male attention to cost me an artist.”
“The flowers were a welcome to the gallery gift,” I said defensively, and I immediately thought of the long meeting he’d had with Ricco. Had Ricco said something to him about me?
“No man sends roses on Valentine’s Day as a welcome gift. You’re smarter than that, Ms. Mason. Open your eyes.”
I doubt Mark would send a woman flowers for any reason, but I bit my tongue, knowing I might regret a rebuttal later. “I’ll handle Josh and Ricco.” I turned to leave again and he let me.
The rest of the day, I just wanted to be out of the gallery for the first time since I started my job. When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself, taking in my light brown hair and green eyes. Staring at my image, I thought of Mark’s comment and wondered if there was something about me that drew unstable men. Not that I think Ricco is unstable, as Mark had implied, though clearly, Josh is a little off his rocker. And I’m not used to all this male attention. Women like Ava get male attention. She’s gorgeous and I’m . . . average. The girl next door who wishes she was the beauty queen.