No in Between (Inside Out #4)(54)

Thirty minutes later I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear from Chris, but I’ve managed to be productive, sorting files and righting papers that are an absolute mess. How can the police justify leaving the gallery’s records like this? I’m about to head to Ralph’s office again when I hear the exterior door open.

Hoping for news, I reach my doorway just as Mark stops in front of me. We are toe-to-toe, a lean away from touching, and I am captured by those icy gray eyes. For several moments I can’t breathe, and he knows it. I see it in the narrowing of his eyes, the hint of satisfaction that tells me he misreads my reaction as something it is not—and never will be.

Jolted back to sanity, I step backward.

“My office, Ms. McMillan,” he snaps, and leaves me staring after him.

My shoulders slump. So much for not seeing him today. My fist balls at my chest, where my stupid heart is racing. I hate that he can still do this to me; that any man can do this to me.

Mark hits the same hot spots that Michael and my father do, both of whom are very much on my mind today. I respond to him more out of conditioning than by free will, like I do with Chris.

I walk down the hallway toward Mark’s office with trepidation, replaying his words from yesterday. You remind me of her. It’s rather ironic, how I remind him of his past, and he of mine.

Entering his office, I find him leaning against the front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the powerful, unapproachable “King.”

“Shut the door,” he orders.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“The door, Ms. McMillan.”

I hesitate, but my worry for Ralph’s uncanny ability to overhear things wins. I shut the door, and hope it’s not a mistake.





Sixteen



Mark’s spacious office shrinks the instant I’m sealed inside with him. His energy and power radiate through the room, a sharp, familiar sensation that I now realize always stirs a bit of my past, and my defenses with it.

“Why are you and Ralph still here?” he demands.

I force myself to stand my ground. “Ralph can’t do the reports you want from home. I’m helping him since Amanda was a no-show today.”

“Jacob told me about that.”

I wait for him to express concern or offer a game plan or explanation, but he just gives me silence. “It’s not like her to not show up. Chris went to check on her.”

“I made sure she won’t be given entry into the club, should Ryan choose to take her there.”

“Did you talk to Ryan?” I ask hopefully.

“I told you, Ms. McMillan; it’s not in my or Ryan’s best interest for me to communicate with him at present.”

I bite back a snarky remark that would only lead me into a battle I won’t win, opting for an information dig instead. “You think he’s involved in Rebecca’s disappearance, don’t you?”

“You asked that yesterday.”

“That’s right,” I agree, “and I’m asking again.”

“You really don’t know your limits, do you, Ms. McMillan?”

“I most certainly do,” I say, my sureness returning, my hands finding my hips. “It’s yours I’m pushing. You said Ryan knew that Rebecca returned to San Francisco.”

“Correct.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Correct again.”

My mood softens again with the certainty that this is a betrayal of friendship to Mark. “Could he have thought it was a difficult subject for you?”

“I don’t allow Ryan to know what difficult means for me.”

“You call him a friend.”

“A socially acceptable term, better described as a business acquaintance.”

“But one you trust,” I counter.

“Trusted. Past tense.” He changes the subject. “I understand Ricco paid you a visit last night.”

“He showed up at the restaurant and cornered me by the restroom door.”

“And he did this why?”

“To warn me away from you.”

His lips twist wryly. “At least he and I agree on something.”

I ignore the reference to our conversation yesterday and push forward with what’s important. “He hates you, and he thinks you killed Rebecca. That spells dangerous to me, especially when you consider he threw away more than most people have in a lifetime to try to ruin you.”

He arches a brow. “Worried about me, Ms. McMillan?”

“Yes, Mark, I’m worried about you,” I say, refusing to be baited. “And I know you and Chris have had issues, but he’s worried, too.”

“Issues,” he repeats flatly. “Are you referencing his warning to Rebecca to stay away from me? Or mine to you, to stay away from him? Or perhaps the ‘issues’ lie in the way he left you alone and miserable, and I tried to f*ck you to your senses.”

If he intends to shock me, which I’m certain he does, he fails. I cross my arms and level him with a frosty look. “What is it with you being crass all of a sudden?”

“I wasn’t aware you had such delicate sensibilities. I’d have thought Chris would have remedied that by now. I certainly would have.”