Being Me (Inside Out #2)(88)

My phone rings and it’s Chris. I decline the call. The doorman knocks on my window and I jump. He mouths, “Are you okay?” and I wave and pull onto the road. I don’t know where I’m going; I just drive.

? ? ?

An hour later, I end up at Mark’s white mansion in the same Cow Hollow neighborhood as his club. I have no idea why I am here. Honestly, I have nowhere else to go. And Mark really is my one real connection to both Chris and Rebecca, who have both become a huge part of my life. Both of whom I now feel like I am losing.

Besides, Mark is all about facts, not the emotions I am letting control me right now. Just hearing him tell the same story Chris has told me about Rebecca might give me new perspective about why Chris’s silence on the subject bothers me so much.

I grab my purse and shove open the door. Motion detectors flicker to life and doors identical to the ones at the club become visible, sending a frisson of unease through me. I press past it and ring the bell. I shiver, telling myself it’s because I’ve hastily forgotten a jacket, not because of my location. It doesn’t work. Nerves flutter through me and the frisson becomes full-blown doubt. I’m about to make a mad dash for the car when the door opens and Mark appears, looking like a Mark I’ve never seen. He’s barefooted and his normal, finely groomed blond hair is rumpled. The perfectly fitted suit I’ve become accustomed to him wearing has been replaced by a white T-shirt and faded jeans.

His gaze sweeps my jeans and T-shirt, clearly finding my attire as striking as I do his. One blond brow lifts. “Ms. McMillan. What a surprise.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask, sounding as awkward as I feel. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

He motions me forward and I hesitate, remembering the room called the Lion’s Den at the club, and that caged feeling I’d had in the demo unit. But I want answers. I need answers. I draw a breath and step onto the pale ivory hardwood floor and into a narrow hallway, too close to Mark for comfort.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Yes. No. I just need to ask you a few questions about . . . Chris.”

His eyes narrow. “Chris?

“And Rebecca.”

“And Rebecca,” he repeats, and I catch a flash of consternation in his gaze that quickly fades. “I’m not sure how they connect but I’m intrigued enough to see where this is going.” His chin lifts to urge me forward. I just stand there, frozen in place, his gray eyes sharp as he watches me. Oh yes, I feel like I am in the lion’s den and want out. “Staying or going, Ms. McMillan?”

Answers, Sara. You want answers. “Staying. I’m staying.” My feet move. That’s progress. One step into the den is closer to one step out.

The massive living room I bring into focus a few feet down the hallway is exactly what I expect of Mark. Rich, rich, and rich in every way. An obviously expensive chocolate brown leather couch is framed by two oversized matching chairs. A fireplace is to the left, and above it a painting I recognize as a Motif. Two sculptures are to either side of the fireplace, and I have no doubt they were done by famous artists, though I am not knowledgeable enough to be certain.

Mark steps to my side, intimidatingly tall and close. “Let’s sit.”

I walk forward and choose the solitariness the overstuffed chairs allows me and perch on the edge of one, setting my purse beside me. Mark sits on the arm of the couch facing me, automatically assuming the position of dominance.

My throat is ridiculously parched and my pulse starts thrumming wildly, afraid of what may be another Pandora’s box.

“Yes, Ms. McMillan?” he asks when I’ve apparently let too much time pass.

A heavy breath escapes my lungs. “I need to know what caused you and Chris to come to bad terms.”

He considers me a moment. “What did he tell you?”

“I’d rather hear it from you.”

“Why is this important?” His voice is crisp.

“It just is.”

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

Of course not. That would be too simple. “Was it over Rebecca?”

“Is this about the police investigation?”

“No, it’s not that. I . . .” I almost tell him about the storage unit but think better of it. “She’s just become very personal to me and I came across some of Rebecca’s items, and there were keepsakes from a charity event that she and Chris—”

“They weren’t involved. Not even close. In fact, she came to dislike him quite a lot.”

“I didn’t think they were involved, but what made her dislike him?”

“He saw her as a young kid who needed a daddy more than a Master.”

This explains why Rebecca had scribbled out Chris’s name in her work journal. “And you didn’t agree with him?”

“No. I didn’t agree with him. I saw a young, intelligent, beautiful woman with the world in her hands.”

There is a softness to his voice I’ve never heard, and not for the first time I believe he had feelings for Rebecca. Maybe not love, but he had an attachment I once thought him incapable of feeling for anyone. “Where is she, Mark?”

“Contrary to Ricco’s insistence that I know that, I don’t.”

“What the f*ck is she doing here?”