If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(20)

I pull open the drawer to my right and find a lighter and set the flame burning on the candle. The flame flickers with life and my gaze falls on the brilliant rose colors on the wall. I picture Rebecca sitting here and somehow I feel as if she is over my shoulder, but it is not frightening. In fact, I feel almost comforted, as if the dancing fire from the wick is a sign she is alive and well. I feel hope that she will return, and perhaps I will have a place in this world as well. Do I dare believe I can chase this dream and really make a living at it? Excitement and hope expands within me. I want this so badly it hurts and it frightens me. I know why I have never tried and one of those reasons, money, seems to be resolved with the inference I will be paid commission on my sales. The other reason though, is dauntingly big. If I fail, if I must go back to my old life, it will destroy me.

“You have to try,” I whisper to the empty room. “You have to.”

New resolve forms and I shake off my fears. If I am to stay here, if I can prove I’m worth keeping around, then I need to get busy. I quickly dig into my testing and though the questions are challenging, I am pleased at the ease at which I complete the first few exams. I’m just finishing up a fourth, and stretching, considering seeking out a caffeine escape--this time one that is supposed to be cold--when I hear a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I call, not sure why my stomach flutters in anticipation of my visitor, but the feeling isn’t completely unwelcome. It’s been a long time since every piece of my day has felt like an adventure.

An Asian man in his late twenties appears in my entryway. "I'm Ralph, the accounting dude.”

"Ralph," I say, with a nod, and I barely contain a smile at both his ‘dude’ reference and his red bow tie and crisp white shirt. There is something friendly about this man that I like instantly.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he says, clearly reading the meaning in my smile. "I don't look like a Ralph. My folks wanted me to fit into the American mold but they weren’t American enough to know ‘Ralph’ isn’t exactly a cool name. But I like that it’s unexpected. It disarms people right off the bat, and like you, it makes them smile."

"I like that,” I say, smiling even bigger now. “I think you should be in sales. You could make that work for you."

He snorts. "And deal with all the arrogant rich people that come in this place? No thanks." He softens his voice. "Mark is all I can handle."

Laughter bubbles from my lips. "You'll have to share your secrets to that little trick."

"I'll buy you coffee sometime soon and tell you all his secrets."

"I'll take you up on that."

He waves and departs, pulling the door shut behind him, and I return to my testing. An hour later, the material has turned daunting and my mood has shifted from energized to frazzled. I can see why I might be tested on random collectible items, if I am to work with Riptide, but wine, opera, and classical music? I know absolutely nothing about these non-art subjects and I decide now might be a good time to find out how lunch works around this place.

I head to the lobby and find Amanda behind her desk with a tall, pretty young African American girl about her age standing with her. "Hello Sara,” this newcomer greets. “I'm Lynn, and I'm interning here this summer."

Lynn is dressed in a cream colored suit, and her hair and makeup is impeccable, but her personality is casual and warm. I chat with her, and Tesse, also an intern, and girl who been at the hostess stand the night of the gallery event I’d attended, joins us. I'm pleased that I like everyone I’ve met. I feel good with these people. Unfortunately, Mary, a pretty, and rather robust blonde salesperson closer to my age, is so busy she can only wave and give me a quick greeting.

“So, Amanda,” I say when I am finally alone with her again. “Is it common to be given testing on wines and music to work here?”

She nods. “We have so many events that Mark uses the testing to determine where we can best service the clientele. In fact, we have a wine testing Wednesday night.”

My stomach knots. Could wine really be my undoing?

“Excuse me,” a woman in dark-rimmed glasses says, appearing at the desk. “Can someone help me with a Chris Merit piece, please?”

An image of Chris standing in front of me, holding his jacket around me, makes my belly do a flutter. “I would be happy to help you,” I offer, suddenly very eager to visit his display again.

Amanda looks shocked, and I assume that means I’m not allowed to be on the floor yet. I pretend not to notice and head to the sales floor.

An hour later, the woman has left with a six-figure purchase that has me glowing with excitement, and I am glowing with the rush of having made a sale.

Ralph winks at me as I pass his office, which I’ve now discovered is next to mine, ah, Rebecca’s. My stomach growls and I realize I haven’t eaten anything and a glance at the ridiculously expensive, absolutely fabulous antique clock in the hallway says it’s two o’clock. Jeez, how did that happen?

I turn back to the reception area to ask Amanda if I can run out, and find myself toe-to-toe with Mark. He is taller than I remembered and I crane my neck to meet his stare. “Ms. McMillan,” he says tightly, and I am immediately aware of his displeasure. Why is he displeased? I just brought in six figures to the gallery.