Being Me (Inside Out #2)(32)

It’s not until I am almost at the door of the coffee shop that he appears at my side. Towering over me, he opens the door; his eyes dark, filled with the never-ending challenge he offers me. “I was afraid you’d gone MIA like Rebecca, Ms. McMillan.”

I blink up at him and the past few weeks have done something to my self-censorship. I seem to have none left in me. “I told Amanda where I was going. And besides, I’m not that easy to get rid of.” I push open the door and steel myself for the wind that smacks me in the face as I step outside. Mark steps to my side about the same time the double, or even triple meanings that could be taken from my words, hit me. If he’d killed Rebecca, he might think I was saying he couldn’t kill me off, too, but I don’t think that Mark killed Rebecca. He just f*cked her. In all kinds of ways. I’ve potentially just undone all I established with him by issuing him an invitation to give me a try and promising I won’t run.

I stop walking and turn to face him. “I didn’t mean that the way you might have taken it.”

His dark stare lightens with amusement. “I know, Ms. McMillan. But do remember it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind.”

“Somehow, I find it hard to believe you’d let any woman think for herself enough to do that.”

“You might be surprised what I would let the right woman do.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks. “I don’t intend—”

He laughs, low and deep, and I’m taken off guard. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him laugh. “I’m aware you don’t intend to do many things I’d like you to.”

I open my mouth to protest even having this conversation, but he cuts me off by adding, “And no, I’m not going to pressure you.” He turns me toward the gallery. “Let’s get back to the gallery. I left you a little gift on your desk.”

Thankfully, my back is to him, so he can’t see me react to his words. Mark has succeeded in doing what only Chris has done before this. He’s sent me into an adrenaline rush of anticipation and I can barely keep my pace slow and even. I don’t know what to expect. A rare piece of art? An official job offer? The possibilities are many.

I expect Mark to follow me to my office, but again, he is unpredictable. I’m relieved, certain that the less Mark sees me react and the less he knows what makes me tick, the better. The instant I walk into my office, I freeze. Lying on top of my desk is a journal that matches the ones I’ve locked away in Chris’s safe.





Eleven




The journal Mark left for me is sitting in my lap as I drive to Alvarez’s Victorian mansion in San Francisco’s ritzy Nob Hill area, sometimes referred to as Snob Hill. Just ten minutes from the Allure Gallery, it’s here that the rich and famous are plentiful, and aside from mansions galore, the nearby shopping and theater districts cater to the elite. I’ve gone from avoiding the things that remind me of the money I left behind to drowning in it.

I maneuver into the driveway, which is remarkably unremarkable, but with a city less than forty-seven square miles, even here it’s expected. What space doesn’t allow on the outside is made up for with glamour on the inside. Since my Google search for directions brought up references to a renowned architect, I’m quite certain this one is not the exception.

Once I kill the engine of the 911, I stare at the red door of the house, my teeth worrying my bottom lip. I am not drowning, I remind myself. I’m taking control of my life. I’m no longer hiding. I’m no longer in denial. I have a meeting with the famous, talented Ricco Alvarez. So why the heck am I not hopping out of the car, when it’s five minutes until my meeting and being early makes a good impression?

My fingers wrap around the journal I’ve found to be both a treasure and a disappointment. It is far from the dark and revealing view into Rebecca’s soul that are the other journals. It’s a detailed accounting of every piece of work she ever sold or evaluated for Riptide. The most revealing things are her short insights into the staff, buyers, sellers, and artists that she has encountered and their personality quirks, interests, and history.

Her notes about Chris are scribbled out and no matter how I try, I cannot make them out, though I’m not surprised about the various art he’s sold through Riptide to benefit the children’s hospital. I can’t think about that now, though. I have to conquer this meeting with success, despite the unease inside me I have no real reason to feel. Rebecca’s notes were positive on Alvarez. Generally misunderstood, and while motivated by money and success, he has proven generous in tremendous ways.

I’m close to the gallery. I’m supposed to call Mark after my meeting. People know where I am. But . . . I don’t want to be stupid. What if Mark and Alvarez are the two men in the journal?

I grab my phone out of my purse and hit the auto-dial I’ve programmed for Jacob. He answers on the first ring. “Everything okay, Ms. McMillan?”

“Yes. Completely fine. I just . . . want to make sure it stays that way. I’m probably being paranoid, but . . .”

“Paranoid is better than careless.”

I have no idea how much he knows about Rebecca or what I have going on, but I don’t think it matters anyway. “I’m headed into a business meeting and my boss knows where I am, but in light of recent incidents, I’d like someone else to know as well.”