Being Me(Inside Out 02)(26)

In that instant, I am convinced he is the man in the journal, who has lost his submissive to another man. And I believe he would punish her on her return for misbehaving. Certainly disappearing is misbehaving.
“You say you can’t operate like this, but you still haven’t offered me a full-time job,” I comment, testing him, trying to see
if he shows me any sign he has talked to her, that he does know
she is returning.
“Because I don’t offer what I feel will be declined. Chris
will have offered to get you another job, but you’re still here. I’d assume that’s because you refuse to be controlled; however, I’ve gathered you want the security Riptide commissions can offer you. Which consequently is another sign you are all about maintaining control by way of supporting yourself. I’m simply giving you what you want.”
“Translation,” I say. “This is about what you can give me versus what Chris can give me.” It is a crushing blow to believe this has never been about my work, both to my self-respect and my plans for the future. I can’t leave teaching for a career that exists only as a pawn of their play for power, and I am suddenly angry enough not to need wine to speak my mind. “It’s about the damn cockfight you two can’t get over.”
He leans forward, his eyes dark, the silver color turning a deep gray. “This is about me wanting you. Nothing else. And I go after what I want, Ms. McMillan.”
Right. He wants to f*ck me. Because he knows Chris already is. And because there is an inherent weakness in me that draws men like Mark. A voice in my head adds, “like Chris,” and
I crush it. Chris is not Mark. Not even close.
“Stop it, Ms. McMillan.”
My gaze jerks to Mark’s with the sharpness of the command.
“Stop what?”
“Doubting yourself, which makes you doubt me. You’re destining us for failure and I do not fail. Either decide you won’t fail or you will, in which case, any talk of Riptide or this job full-time is a waste of both of our time.”
Air freezes in my lungs. I’m stunned that this man who I have compared to others I believed to be like him has just challenged me to believe in myself rather than shoving me back in a hole. I don’t know how to compute this new information. How to relate this to a man, a Master, who forces women into submission? He doesn’t force them, is the only answer. They choose to give to him as freely, as I do Chris.
“Choose success,” he says, and my eyes go wide at the word he seems to have plucked from my head.
“I do. I am.”
“Then stop questioning why you’re here. I hired you because I watched the video of you with the two customers you helped the night of the Alvarez show. You knew your art and you persuaded them to make a purchase and you didn’t even work here yet. You sold them and you sold me. You continue to do so. What happens with your job here is based on performance.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, affects it. Are we clear?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Thank me by continuing to make sales, starting with a close friend of mine coming in later this morning. He has deep pockets I fully expect you to empty.”
A smile breaks unexpectedly over my features. “I’ll do my best.”
“From what I’ve seen, your best works quite well.”
I beam under his praise and it scares me how much I seem to need his approval, but I’ve done enough self-reflection over the past few years to know it’s more about me than him. About a past with powerful men that I haven’t quite erased, no matter how much I’ve tried.
“I set a meeting with Alvarez for tomorrow evening.”
“We have an event here at the gallery tomorrow night,” he says, and I do not sense pleasure at the announcement of the Alvarez meeting I’d expected.
“I really think I can get him to do the private showing our customer wants and place more art here if I do this.”
He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers again. “Do you remember what I told you about Alvarez?”
“That if I got this meeting, I’d impress you. And from what I hear, I assume that’s because he pulled his work when Rebecca left. Are you going to tell me why?”
“He wanted her contact information after she left and I told him I didn’t have it and even if I did, I couldn’t legally give it out.
He wasn’t pleased. He likes to get his way, which leads me back to—what else did I tell you about Alvarez?”
I replay our previous conversation in my mind. We do not beg, and you do not let yourself get manipulated. Period. The end. These artists know I don’t tolerate that crap and as long as they believe I own you, they won’t believe you will, either. So when I say I own you, Sara, I mean I own you.