If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(21)

“Mr. Compton,” I say.

“Why have you not completed your testing?”

“I was, ah, helping customers.”

“Did I tell you to help customers?”

I wet my lips nervously, and his gaze flicks over my mouth. It’s unnerving. He’s unnerving me again. “I just thought-”

“Don’t think, Ms. McMillan,” he says tightly. “Do as I say.”

Old, familiar feelings spiral down my spine, feelings of inadequacy, of needing to please--a moth to flame that is sure to burn me alive--surface. I reject them and straighten. “I took every test I’m capable of taking. I don’t know wine or opera or classical music. I’m sure you’ll find the job-related ones to be exemplary.”

“All the test are job related,” he corrects, “if you wish to operate at a higher level, which I understood you to say, you did. Did I get that wrong, Ms. McMillan?”

There is a crispness to my name that was not there before, and I am remotely aware that I am in front of an open office that is Ralph’s, that he can hear and see everything.

“No,” I reply softly, firmly. “You are not wrong, Mr. Compton,” and I am shocked to realize I have emphasized his name as he did mine. There is a rebel inside me that refuses to sink into my old habits, and I am suddenly proud of myself. “But I cannot test on what I do not know.”

“Testing allows me to decide where to start teaching you,” he says in rebuttal.

“At the beginning,” I reply. “Since the only thing I know about wine, for instance, is what color it is when it’s in my glass.”

He arches a light blond brow. “Really? That much?”

“That much,” I confirm.

He considers me a moment. He’s good at doing that, considering me, putting me on edge, no doubt on purpose. “Do you have a laptop?” he asks finally.

I frown, not sure where this is going. “Yes.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“Yes.”

“So you know how to use it?”

I am so not pleased with the snarky question. I lower my voice, unable to stop my reply. “That’s a little like asking a rich, arrogant, gallery owner, if he knows he’s a rich, arrogant, gallery owner.”

His eyes light up with amusement. “I am rich and arrogant, Ms. McMillan. I like being rich and arrogant. I thought you too, wanted to be rich yourself. Or was I mistaken?”

My throat goes dry. Rich? Is he joking? “I don’t recall any such opportunity.”

“And you won’t until you learn what I need you to learn. Since I can’t trust you to stay off the floor, take your laptop to the coffee shop next door. Amanda will give you a study manual so you can remedy your...deficiencies.”

I narrow my gaze at him, aware he is trying to bait me. I’m not going to bite. I give a nod. “Of course, Mr. Compton. I’ll get right on that.”

His lips twitch. “Check in before you leave for the night. I’ll want to quiz you.”

***

Fifteen minutes later I walk into Cup’ A Cafe next door to the gallery, and the rich scent of brewing coffee, and something distinctly chocolate, touches my nostrils. If the coffee tastes as good as this place smells, I am going to love it here. Not to mention the decor, all warm browns and leather, with a hardwood floor, is soothing in a way that contrasts the caffeinated high people come here for. I can use soothing right now.

I gaze around me and see any number of cute round wooden tables available, and I can tell the seating wraps around to the other side of the encased pastry display. I like to watch people so I choose a seat in the middle of the cafe so I can see what’s going on around me. Not that I should be watching people. It seems I have studying to do. How very ironic for the school teacher, I think with a tiny snort, that has me reprimanding myself for poor manners I can no longer afford.

It’s not long before the college age boy behind the counter rings up my White Chocolate Mocha, and since it’s two o’clock and I haven’t eaten, I justify a chocolate muffin the size of Texas, and lamely promise to eat low fat popcorn --my ‘go to’ diet solution--for dinner. Finally, I’m sitting at my table, waiting for my coffee to be made and nibbling on my chocolate delight. Regretfully, I break out my netbook, wishing it was the other, not to be named, brand computer, but feeling hopeful I can afford one soon.

Once I’ve powered up I set a wine taster’s guidebook on my table. Flipping through the book, I find it is written with an assumption I know something about wine. I find Amazon on my search bar and type in ‘Wine for Dummies’ and get several choices. By the time I’ve picked one and I’m ready to read, my coffee has arrived and I sip the piping hot sweet concoction. It’s heavenly and I mentally roll back my sleeves and start reading.

I have no idea how long I have been reading, but I’m halfway through the ‘dummies’ book, I still feel like a dummy, when I hear, “You must be Sara.”

I look up to find a beautiful Hispanic woman in her mid-thirties with big striking brown eyes. She is wearing an apron, so I assume, she works here.

“Yes,” I respond. “I’m Sara.”

“I’m Ava, the owner here.” She sets a cup in front of me. “White Mocha. My guy Corey at the register told me what you ordered. Mark called over here and said to get you whatever you’ve been having on the house as a reward for perfect scores.” She laughs and rolls her tongue making a sexy sound. “Sounds sexy.”