If I Were You (Inside Out #1)(35)

He leaves without another word.

***

Forty-five minutes later I am on the main floor of the gallery worrying over the exact alignment of napkins and forks on one of several tables set up in front of a large oval window overlooking the courtyard. The lighting above my head is dim, the music non-existent until the doors open, when a violinist will perform.

Nearby, Mary, the main salesperson for the gallery, and the one person who hasn’t been overly friendly to me from the staff, as well as several of the interns, are chatting amongst themselves. They don’t appear nervous, or to possess the same desire as I do to stay busy. My nerves are jangling louder than one of the San Francisco trolley bells. Even without the pressure of being a wine expert, at least tonight, I’ve read between the lines with Mark. I’m living one big test I can’t afford to fail. I glance at the girls again, all in sparkly cocktail numbers that make my basic black skirt and light blue silk blouse look out of place.

“You look like you’re about to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Ralph appears by my side and I finish placing a final fork, and turn to find his black bow tie from earlier in the day has been replaced with a red one.

“Compliments always help soothe my nerves,” I say sardonically, but then I love the man’s wit and honesty. “I thought you stayed behind your desk?”

“If the bossman wants to fill me with expensive drink and pay for my ride home, who am I to argue? You’ll learn to love these events. A little alcohol and people open their wallets and it puts the ’Beast’ in a good mood.” He studies me intently. “Now. Talk to me. What’s got you so worked up?”

I straighten his bow tie purposely. “It appears I didn’t get the memo on the spiffy evening dress code.”

His gaze flicks several feet away to where Mary is in animated conversation with Mark, before returning his attention to me. “She’s in charge of preparing the staff since Rebecca disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” I ask, alarmed.

“Mary thought Rebecca leaving was her chance to grab the bossman’s attention and it’s been a big fail for her.” He shrugs. “She’s bitter and doesn’t want competition.” He points at me. “That’s you, honey.”

“Are you saying she has a crush on Mark or she wants the top spot at the gallery?”

“She has a crush on him, his money, and the job. Mark barely gives her the time of day while Rebecca was a star who helped him with Riptide.”

Disappointment tightens my chest. No matter how I frame my duties, I am simply a fill-in for the summer. “Why Rebecca and not Mary for Riptide?” Why me and not Mary? “I get the impression Mary does well on the sales floor.”

“Sales people are a dime-a-dozen, easily replaced by a herd of interns dying to be in this business, and willing to work for pennies. Mary fits that bill in Mark’s eyes.” He presses a finger to his chin and considers me. “You though, are different. Mark sees something in you.” His lips twist. “Mary knows it, too. I do believe she’s ready to stomp on you like a cigarette.”

My eyes go wide. “Stomp on me like a cigarette?” I ask, concerned for myself, but more so for Rebecca.

He rolls his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re melodramatic today?”

“No,” I say, but then I’ve never been living someone else’s life. “Has anyone ever told you you’re melodramatic?”

He winks. “All the time and to put your mind at ease. The harshest thing Mary has in her is messing with your understanding of the evening’s dress code. At heart, she’s nothing more than a submissive little pet.”

“And what am I?” I ask, thinking a pet seems right up Mark’s alley. A submissive pet, at that.

“A daring, gorgeous butterfly,” he comments, fluttering his fingers in the air.

“I’m no butterfly,” I say, laughing at his silly imitation. “And since when are butterflies daring?”

A waiter walks by with a tray of wine on a direct path to a line of servers who are waiting by the door in preparation for opening, and Ralph grabs two glasses from him. “Since you,” he replies and thrusts a drink into my hand. “Gulp that down. You’re wound too tight tonight. You need to ease up.”

My skin prickles with awareness and my gaze shoots to Mark, and I am instantly far more deer-in-headlights than daring butterfly. He eyes the glass I’m holding with an arched brow, before his mouth quirks at the corners, and he nods his approval. His approval. I have pleased him. I will not be punished. I am appalled this is the direction my thoughts have gone, and at the certainty I feel that he knows my reaction, and enjoys this control over me.

Ralph whistles low. “You have that man by the balls like very few do, honey.”

I blanch. “That’s crazy. I do not have him by his…no. I-“

“Doors are opening!” Amanda calls out to the room from the hostess desk. I down my wine and shove my empty glass at Ralph.

An hour later, I am standing with a sixty-something gentlemen whose resume includes being the ex-CEO of a rather large bank, chatting with him about the Ricardo Alvarez show, which he’d also attended. The room is swimming with at least fifty people, among them waiters who are wading through the pool of fancy dresses, expensive suits, and big pocketbooks, with selections of wine. I’ve sold two pricy paintings, neither of which were Chris’s, most likely because I’m avoiding his display for reasons I’m trying not to think about.