If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(15)

“Yes, and I’m so glad you’re here.” She is wearing a pale pink dress with a pin clip in her dark hair that makes her look even younger than when I’d first met her. “We really are short staffed so this is a blessing.”

I enter and let the door shut behind me. The woman-—or girl, rather--doesn’t seem worried about re-locking it, which concerns me. This might be a small gallery but it is considered one of the most prestigious, with highly sought after art, and plenty of money moving through the place.

“I’m Amanda,” she declares. “I’m an intern for the next year, working as the receptionist.”

“Nice to meet you, Amanda,” I say.

“Mark’s having breakfast with Ricco this morning to discuss last night’s event.” She motions with her head. “I’ll show you your new office.”

I hesitate before following, and at the risk of offending Amanda, turn and lock the door. I give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m an art fanatic and the idea of someone busting in here and stealing some of the art is enough to make me downright nauseous.”

She pales visibly. “Thank you. Mark would have been furious to find it unlocked.”

The discomfort and true fear that rolls off of her is disconcerting. I know right then that the protectiveness I had felt for her last night was going to become a common theme.

I fall into step with Amanda and we head down the narrow hallway, behind the art displays. “Mark’s a tough boss, I take it?”

She gives me a quick glance. “He’s rich, good looking, and pretty much perfect. That’s what he expects here, too. I’m not always so good at being perfect.”

“Other people’s perfection is a facade we create when we are second guessing ourselves,” I tell her, but deep down, even in the short meeting I had with Mark, I agree with her assessment of him. Well, except the rich part. I have no idea if he has money, but if he does, it’s not from simply managing an art gallery.

“Hmmm,” Amanda murmurs skeptically, “I guess I do second guess myself around him, but only because he’s so intimidating. When the man looks at me I feel like I’m going to come unglued.”

I picture those intense gray eyes of his, and just the idea of seeing Mark again has my adrenaline racing and I am not quite in touch with myself enough right now to know why. Since I have no intention of sharing this with Amanda, I smile with encouragement instead. “I bet we can make him a little less intimidating if we stick together.”

She gives me a bright smile. “I like that idea.”

I warm at her response, and the school teacher and nurturer in me is certain I am so going to be her Mama Bear.

We enter another hallway that is lined with various works of art that I barely refrain from inspecting. There will be time for that later.

“I’ll introduce you to the staff when they arrive,” Amanda informs me. “There are seven of us total aside from you, two of whom are part-time interns. They’re all coming in late after working last night’s event.”

“How’d you get so lucky to work early?” I ask as we stop at a doorway I assume leads to the offices.

She cut me another sideways look. “I spilled a glass of wine on a very important client last night. It’s my punishment.”

My brows dip and a chill slides down my spine. “Punishment?”

She keys in a password on an entry panel, before turning her attention back to me. The smile of moments before has disappeared. ”Mark’s big on punishment.” She starts walking and forces me to follow and I have the distinct impression she doesn’t want to give me the chance to ask for more specifics.

We pass several dark offices before she pauses at a door and flips on the light. “You’ll be working in Rebecca’s office.”

I don’t move. I stand there, feeling icy cold, as I remember the journal entry from the night before. You know the rules, you know I have to punish you.





Chapter Six





I walk into Rebecca’s office and the scent of roses flares in my nostrils. Searching the room, I find a small candle on the shiny cherry wood desk that while not burning, seems the logical source of the sweet floral perfume. The little personal touch I assume to be Rebecca’s reminds me that I am here to find her, and punches me in the gut when it should be encouraging, a sign of her return. Searching for more of that encouragement I should be feeling, I glance at the two bookshelves to my right, where various art books are displayed on stands and a dozen or so others are shelved, and find nothing to cling to.

“If you hit the red button on your phone, you’ll reach the intercom to my desk,” Amanda murmurs.

“Great,” I say, stepping behind the desk and stuffing my purse into a drawer. I can’t seem to get myself to sit down in the red leather chair. In her chair. “What’s my extension?” I ask because I’m trying to buy time to snap out of the uneasy feeling tingling through my nerve endings.

“Four,” Amanda replies.

My gaze lifts and my breath hitches at the sight of the painting on the wall directly in front of me. I think Amanda says something else but I don’t know what. I am riveted by the fine strokes of brilliance done by none other than the famous American painter Georgia O’Nay. I now know why there had been a key pad for a password to enter the back offices and the candle suddenly has more significance because this glorious oil on canvas features red and white roses. It must be worth a cool thirty thousand and I can’t imagine it’s not real to be here in the gallery. It is spectacular, and it is on the wall I will be staring at every day. The same wall that Rebecca had stared at each day she’d been here.