If I Were You(Inside Out 01)

Chapter Eight

Description: butterfly

Thirty minutes later, I have managed to claim my new office, on loan from Rebecca of course, which I refuse to let myself forget. Amanda has already logged me into the computer and headed back to her desk. I am now alone, with the door shut, ready to start to work.
I pull up my new email and I have a message waiting from Mark, or rather, Mr. Compton. I wonder if he intends to stay that formal with me, but then, it appears he has with Amanda, so I would assume that to be the case. I click on the email.

Welcome Ms. McMillan:
You will find a link to a number of tests below. Each is a timed evaluation to ensure you cannot use the internet for help, though I'm sure you would never consider doing such a thing.

May the odds be ever in your favor, and mine as well.
Mark Compton

I laugh at the reference to Hunger Games, and I am shocked but pleased that my new boss has a sense of humor. I feel silly now to have been so intimidated and affected as I was by him during our meeting. Logically, I know I was responding to this fascination I have with this world, this deep desire to belong here, that wasn’t about him at all. It was, and is, about me, about my past, about ghosts and skeletons I'm being forced to face just by sitting at this desk. And the journals, I remind myself as the soft scent of roses I now associate with Rebecca teases my nostrils.
I pull open the drawer to my right and find a lighter and set the flame burning on the candle. The flame flickers with life and my gaze falls on the brilliant rose colors on the wall. I picture Rebecca sitting here and somehow I feel as if she is over my shoulder, but it is not frightening. In fact, I feel almost comforted, as if the dancing fire from the wick is a sign she is alive and well. I feel hope that she will return, and perhaps I will have a place in this world as well. Do I dare believe I can chase this dream and really make a living at it? Excitement and hope expands within me. I want this so badly it hurts and it frightens me. I know why I have never tried and one of those reasons, money, seems to be resolved with the inference I will be paid commission on my sales. The other reason though, is dauntingly big. If I fail, if I must go back to my old life, it will destroy me.
“You have to try,” I whisper to the empty room. “You have to.”
New resolve forms and I shake off my fears. If I am to stay here, if I can prove I’m worth keeping around, then I need to get busy. I quickly dig into my testing and though the questions are challenging, I am pleased at the ease at which I complete the first few exams. I’m just finishing up a fourth, and stretching, considering seeking out a caffeine escape--this time one that is supposed to be cold--when I hear a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I call, not sure why my stomach flutters in anticipation of my visitor, but the feeling isn’t completely unwelcome. It’s been a long time since every piece of my day has felt like an adventure.
An Asian man in his late twenties appears in my entryway. "I'm Ralph, the accounting dude.”
"Ralph," I say, with a nod, and I barely contain a smile at both his ‘dude’ reference and his red bow tie and crisp white shirt. There is something friendly about this man that I like instantly.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, clearly reading the meaning in my smile. "I don't look like a Ralph. My folks wanted me to fit into the American mold but they weren’t American enough to know ‘Ralph’ isn’t exactly a cool name. But I like that it’s unexpected. It disarms people right off the bat, and like you, it makes them smile."
"I like that,” I say, smiling even bigger now. “I think you should be in sales. You could make that work for you."
He snorts. "And deal with all the arrogant rich people that come in this place? No thanks." He softens his voice. "Mark is all I can handle."
Laughter bubbles from my lips. "You'll have to share your secrets to that little trick."
"I'll buy you coffee sometime soon and tell you all his secrets."
"I'll take you up on that."
He waves and departs, pulling the door shut behind him, and I return to my testing. An hour later, the material has turned daunting and my mood has shifted from energized to frazzled. I can see why I might be tested on random collectible items, if I am to work with Riptide, but wine, opera, and classical music? I know absolutely nothing about these non-art subjects and I decide now might be a good time to find out how lunch works around this place.
I head to the lobby and find Amanda behind her desk with a tall, pretty young African American girl about her age standing with her. "Hello Sara,” this newcomer greets. “I'm Lynn, and I'm interning here this summer."
Lynn is dressed in a cream colored suit, and her hair and makeup is impeccable, but her personality is casual and warm. I chat with her, and Tesse, also an intern, and girl who been at the hostess stand the night of the gallery event I’d attended, joins us. I'm pleased that I like everyone I’ve met. I feel good with these people. Unfortunately, Mary, a pretty, and rather robust blonde salesperson closer to my age, is so busy she can only wave and give me a quick greeting. 
“So, Amanda,” I say when I am finally alone with her again. “Is it common to be given testing on wines and music to work here?”
She nods. “We have so many events that Mark uses the testing to determine where we can best service the clientele. In fact, we have a wine testing Wednesday night.”
My stomach knots. Could wine really be my undoing?
“Excuse me,” a woman in dark-rimmed glasses says, appearing at the desk. “Can someone help me with a Chris Merit piece, please?”
An image of Chris standing in front of me, holding his jacket around me, makes my belly do a flutter. “I would be happy to help you,” I offer, suddenly very eager to visit his display again.
Amanda looks shocked, and I assume that means I’m not allowed to be on the floor yet. I pretend not to notice and head to the sales floor.
An hour later, the woman has left with a six-figure purchase that has me glowing with excitement, and I am glowing with the rush of having made a sale.
Ralph winks at me as I pass his office, which I’ve now discovered is next to mine, ah, Rebecca’s. My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten anything and a glance at the ridiculously expensive, absolutely fabulous antique clock in the hallway says it’s two o’clock. Jeez, how did that happen?
I turn back to the reception area to ask Amanda if I can run out, and find myself toe-to-toe with Mark. He is taller than I remembered and I crane my neck to meet his stare. “Ms. McMillan,” he says tightly, and I am immediately aware of his displeasure. Why is he displeased? I just brought in six figures to the gallery.
“Mr. Compton,” I say.
“Why have you not completed your testing?”
“I was, ah, helping customers.”
“Did I tell you to help customers?”
I wet my lips nervously, and his gaze flicks over my mouth. It’s unnerving. He’s unnerving me again. “I just thought-”
“Don’t think, Ms. McMillan,” he says tightly. “Do as I say.”
Old, familiar feelings spiral down my spine, feelings of inadequacy, of needing to please--a moth to flame that is sure to burn me alive--surface. I reject them and straighten. “I took every test I’m capable of taking. I don’t know wine or opera or classical music. I’m sure you’ll find the job-related ones to be exemplary.”
“All the test are job related,” he corrects, “if you wish to operate at a higher level, which I understood you to say, you did. Did I get that wrong, Ms. McMillan?”
There is a crispness to my name that was not there before, and I am remotely aware that I am in front of an open office that is Ralph’s, that he can hear and see everything.
“No,” I reply softly, firmly. “You are not wrong, Mr. Compton,” and I am shocked to realize I have emphasized his name as he did mine. There is a rebel inside me that refuses to sink into my old habits, and I am suddenly proud of myself. “But I cannot test on what I do not know.”
“Testing allows me to decide where to start teaching you,” he says in rebuttal.
“At the beginning,” I reply. “Since the only thing I know about wine, for instance, is what color it is when it’s in my glass.”
He arches a light blond brow. “Really? That much?”
“That much,” I confirm.
He considers me a moment. He’s good at doing that, considering me, putting me on edge, no doubt on purpose. “Do you have a laptop?” he asks finally.
I frown, not sure where this is going. “Yes.”
“Do you have it with you?”
“Yes.”
“So you know how to use it?”
I am so not pleased with the snarky question. I lower my voice, unable to stop my reply. “That’s a little like asking a rich, arrogant, gallery owner, if he knows he’s a rich, arrogant, gallery owner.”
His eyes light up with amusement. “I am rich and arrogant, Ms. McMillan. I like being rich and arrogant. I thought you too, wanted to be rich yourself. Or was I mistaken?”
My throat goes dry. Rich? Is he joking? “I don’t recall any such opportunity.”
“And you won’t until you learn what I need you to learn. Since I can’t trust you to stay off the floor, take your laptop to the coffee shop next door. Amanda will give you a study manual so you can remedy your...deficiencies.”
I narrow my gaze at him, aware he is trying to bait me. I’m not going to bite. I give a nod. “Of course, Mr. Compton. I’ll get right on that.”
His lips twitch. “Check in before you leave for the night. I’ll want to quiz you.”

***

Fifteen minutes later I walk into Cup’ A Cafe next door to the gallery, and the rich scent of brewing coffee, and something distinctly chocolate, touches my nostrils. If the coffee tastes as good as this place smells, I am going to love it here. Not to mention the decor, all warm browns and leather, with a hardwood floor, is soothing in a way that contrasts the caffeinated high people come here for. I can use soothing right now.
I gaze around me and see any number of cute round wooden tables available, and I can tell the seating wraps around to the other side of the encased pastry display. I like to watch people so I choose a seat in the middle of the cafe so I can see what’s going on around me. Not that I should be watching people. It seems I have studying to do. How very ironic for the school teacher, I think with a tiny snort, that has me reprimanding myself for poor manners I can no longer afford.
It’s not long before the college age boy behind the counter  rings up my White Chocolate Mocha, and since it’s two o’clock and I haven’t eaten, I justify a chocolate muffin the size of Texas, and lamely promise to eat low fat popcorn --my ‘go to’ diet solution--for dinner. Finally, I’m sitting at my table, waiting for my coffee to be made and nibbling on my chocolate delight. Regretfully, I break out my netbook, wishing it was the other, not to be named, brand computer, but feeling hopeful I can afford one soon.
Once I’ve powered up I set a wine taster’s guidebook on my table. Flipping through the book, I find it is written with an assumption I know something about wine. I find Amazon on my search bar and type in ‘Wine for Dummies’ and get several choices. By the time I’ve picked one and I’m ready to read, my coffee has arrived and I sip the piping hot sweet concoction. It’s heavenly and I mentally roll back my sleeves and start reading.
I have no idea how long I have been reading, but I’m halfway through the ‘dummies’ book, I still feel like a dummy, when I hear, “You must be Sara.”
I look up to find a beautiful Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties with big striking brown eyes. She is wearing an apron, so I assume, she works here.
“Yes,” I respond. “I’m Sara.”
“I’m Ava, the owner here.” She sets a cup in front of me. “White Mocha. My guy Corey at the register told me what you ordered. Mark called over here and said to get you whatever you’ve been having on the house as a reward for perfect scores.” She laughs and rolls her tongue making a sexy sound. “Sounds sexy.”
I roll my eyes rather than my tongue. “If being tested on everything from art to opera is sexy, please shoot me now.”
She laughs. “I should have guessed. I know the crew next door well enough to know he’s put them all through the wringer.”
“How long have you known them?” I ask, thinking of Rebecca.
“I’ve been open five years and I’ve known Mark that entire time.” She wiggles a brow. “Why? You want gossip?”
I perk up at that. “You have gossip?”
“Honey, I always have gossip.” The phone rings and she glances over her shoulder. “Corey’s on break. I’ll be back.”
She rushes away and a sudden tingling sensation dances along my neckline and draws my attention to the edge of the pastry bar to my left. My lips part in surprise at the incredibly sexy man sitting a few feet away, and not just any incredibly sexy man, but the same man whose been haunting my thoughts almost as much as Rebecca these past twenty-four hours. Chris Merit is here. I can’t believe it. My stomach does a crazy butterfly flutter as my eyes meet his, and I see amusement in his expression. Not only is he here, I know he’s been watching me, and I have no idea how long he’s been here.
Why didn’t he come over? Why isn’t he coming over now? Should I go to him?
“I’m back,” Ava declares before I can decide what to do next, but I can barely pull my eyes from Chris. When I finally do, he’s still watching me. I can feel it in every inch of my body. I am so hyper-sensitive to this man I cannot focus on what Ava is saying. There is only Chris.