We stared at each other, and I got warm all over in a way I’ve never felt with a man. Not good with a potential boss, I know, but it happened. Slowly, his gaze lowered and he glanced at my name tag, and he might as well have been licking my nipples. I have no idea what happened. I had to squeeze my thighs together.
He returned his gaze to mine and softly said my name. Just “Rebecca,” but it was all soft and rough at the same time, and I melted into a big puddle right there in front of him. The look on his face was pure satisfaction, as if he knew what he’d just done and he reveled in it.
And so did I, because this is what a woman wants a man to be able to do to her. The feeling of him controlling my pleasure so easily was just mind blowing. I’d never experienced something so intense before, let alone in a public place.
The erotic, exquisite moment ended abruptly when a gorgeous brunette in a pencil skirt and low-cut red silk blouse walked up to the table and gave me a look that could have singed me. I was suddenly very aware of my hair pulled into a bun, and the simple light blue skirt and white blouse provided by the restaurant.
How had I thought for one moment this man wanted me, when he has a woman like this? But you know, after my initial embarrassment, it was almost a relief to know that his interest in me was business. I could take a job with Mark if it came about, and not worry about a conflict of interest between my hormones and my job performance.
And not an hour after Mark left the restaurant, I got a call for a job interview at the gallery. Not with Mark, but with someone by the name of Ralph, but who cares? It’s tomorrow and I got the impression it was almost a technicality. I assume that means they checked my references and I made an impression on Mark.
That probably means I’m working for pennies, but I’ve decided to go for it. I have a good feeling about this. This is the first time in weeks I don’t have that feeling of foreboding. So I must have been mourning the career I thought I’d never have.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Hired!
I got the job at the gallery, and the pay is better than I expected. Just a little, but every bit counts. There was a lot that was unexpected about this day, like how the interview played out. Ralph turned out to be this funny and charming Asian man. He took me to the break room and we sat and had coffee, which he seems to live on. The man is a hyper chit-chatter who loaded me up on staff gossip. Of course, he warned me that Mark—Mr. Compton to the staff—was tough as nails, but fair.
He made me laugh and put me at ease and was encouraging in every way. We were laughing, and I had let my guard down, when Mark walked into the room. I swear, it was like the room’s temperature rose ten degrees. Okay, I rose ten degrees, but looking at Ralph, I’m pretty sure he did, too. I’m pretty sure he’s gay (not many straight men wear pink bow ties, and it suited Ralph quite nicely), so we are of like mind where Mark is concerned. Mark is the definition of the word MAN.
As Mark filled his coffee cup, Ralph and I just sat there and soaked in the raw sexual power he oozed. After he was done, Mark leaned on the counter and fixed me with one of those intense gray stares I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to. Then he asked who my favorite artists are. I told him my favorite was always the one I have yet to discover. He just stared at me, and I have no idea if he liked the answer or not. But he clearly wasn’t satisfied that I knew my art, because the drilling began. He asked who was my favorite artist I’d already discovered in a number of genres, and then argued with me about why one of my choices wasn’t a good one. My nerves slid away. Art has a way of making the world slip away for me.
“That’s a rather shortsighted opinion,” he’d said dryly, “when there are artists in the genre who have achieved so much more.”