If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(19)

He arches a brow. “No Da Vinci?”

“He’s in a class by himself and is the expected answer that tells you nothing about my personal tastes."

His eyes light and I think he might be pleased with my answer.

“Damien Hirst," he says, throwing out the name of a famous painter.

I am in my element, and I reply easily. “He’s in his forties and already one of the most acclaimed contemporary artists alive. He’s worth an estimated one billion dollars. In 2008 he sold, through Riptide which your family owns, the full exhibition Beautiful Inside My Head Forever, with 223 works for $198 million, breaking the record of the most expensive auction by a single artist.”

A smile lingers on his mouth, the same mouth that I keep looking at with ridiculous obsession, and this time, I know I see the glow of approval in his eyes. I am warm again, energized anew. Comfortable in a way I hadn’t been before this moment with this man.

“Impressive, Ms. McMillan."

I smile, not even trying to suppress my pride at his words. “I aim to please.”

"I must say, I'm getting that idea, and I like it." His voice is low, laden with silk. "I like it immensely."

Without warning, the air crackles with a charge that steals my breath. His eyes have darkened with something akin to a predatory gleam. My body responds without my permission, tingling with awareness that I don't want to feel, but yet I do. I am frustrated with myself for being affected by a man I will not dare cross a line with. A man who is dangerous to me, who might well have been dangerous to Rebecca.

“Excuse me, Mr. Compton,” Amanda says from the doorway. “But you have a call.”

“Take a message,” he replies, never taking his eyes off of me. And despite my vow, I am transfixed by their color, by the intensity of his stare.

Amanda delicately clears her throat. “It’s Mrs. Compton about the auction that begins in an hour at Riptide.”

Mrs. Compton? The spell is broken and I gape. I know I do. I can’t stop myself.

He sighs and flicks Amanda a look. ”I’ll call her back in five minutes.”

“She’s pretty clear she wants to talk now.”

His tone grows sharper. “I’ll call her back.”

“Yes,” Amanda says, looking flustered. “I’ll tell her.”

My new boss returns his attention to me as Amanda disappears. “Mrs. Compton would be my mother,” he explains, definite amusement in his eyes now. “And just to be clear, the only woman I let boss me around. Unfortunately, as the manager of Riptide, she excels at it."

“Oh,” I say, surprised, and suddenly he is not nearly as intimidating as before. “Your mother.” I smile yet again. He’s a control freak. I know this already, but I think he might not be as bad as I'd feared. I didn't miss the hint of affection to his tone that tells me he loves his mother. I’ve always thought that says something about a man. "Her skill at bossing you around has nothing to do with that maternal bond, then?" I am teasing him, and it just happens. I can't stop myself.

"Perhaps it just might," he admits, and I am pleasantly surprised at the very human admission, the tiny bit of vulnerability he allows me to see with it.

He taps the folder. “There's plenty of reading for you to do in the folder. Amanda will get you set up on the computer and then there will be online testing. Pass them and we’ll talk about just what your role will be here. If you can play with the big dogs, and interact with Riptide quality transactions, I can assure you that money won’t be an issue.”

My heart races with this news. Could this really be happening? Could I really have the chance to make art my life? “I’ll get right on the tests.”

He leans in closer. “I see something special in you, Ms. McMillan. I’m hoping you’re going to prove me right.” Without another word, he pushes to his feet and leaves the room. I stare after him, my teeth worrying my bottom lip, my heart in my throat. I didn’t manage to get an answer about my salary, but I tell myself he’s alluded to a sizable package. Most importantly though, I am frustrated at myself because I haven’t asked about Rebecca. You will, I promise myself. When the time is right, you will.





Chapter Eight





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.