Being Me(Inside Out 02)(81)

Could that have gotten her into trouble? Surely, Mark knows, though. He had the journal. He had to have read it. Unless …
Mark was involved. No. He’d never have given me the journal. Is this why he gave it to me? He wants me to know? I’m dumb founded about what this could mean.
I glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of Ricco walking by my door. Panic assails me. Is he here to complain about Chris showing up at his house? I push to my feet and rush to the hall and watch Ricco disappear inside Mark’s office. I seek out Ralph, as my resident knowledge keeper, for a possible explanation that does not involve me, but he isn’t at his desk.
The kitchen is my next stop, and it’s a mistake. I walk right into the lion’s mouth. Mary turns as I enter, cup in hand.
“How’d it go with Ricco?” she asks.
Doing my best to appear unfrazzled, I walk to the coffeepot and fill my cup. “Not good. He pretty much sent me packing.”
“Really? And yet he’s here?”
I add cream to my coffee. “I have no idea why.”
She stares at me. “You must have done something to piss him off.”
The evil gleam in her eyes tells me she intended to upset me, and it works. Could she be any colder and meaner?
“Right. Thanks for the words of encouragement.” I start to turn.
“Honey, you don’t get any more encouragement than the boss wanting up your skirt.”
How has my happy morning turned to total crap? I’m about to quit my teaching job yet I’m clearly not the only person who has worries that I have this job because Mark wants “up my skirt.” What am I thinking? I walk back to my office and shut the door and I call Chris.
The instant he answers, I say, “You once told me I don’t belong in this world. You didn’t mean in the art business, right?”
“No, baby. You know what I was talking about.”
“I can’t resign my job if Mark only gave me this one because he wants to turn me into Rebecca. Would he do that? Would he hire me for strictly personal reasons?” He’s silent too long and I can’t take it. “Chris.”
“I’d like to say anything to get you out of that place, but no.
He wouldn’t. He sees your talent, Sara. And so will anyone who gets any quality time with you.”
Amanda buzzes in with my call from the school. “Have him hold,” I tell her.
“You’re not a schoolteacher, Sara,” Chris says. “No in between, baby.”
“Right. No in between. I have to go.”
“You’re going to be glad you did this. Call me after.”
“I will.”
Ten minutes later, I am no longer employed by the school. But Ella is still scheduled for teaching and I’m not sure what to think. If she’d resigned, I’d feel hurt she’d cut me out of her life, but I’d know she’d gone silent by choice. I text Chris to tell him and he congratulates me and promises to check more into Ella’s location.
I have just put my phone back in my purse when a knock sounds on my door and it opens. Ricco appears, looking oh so Antonio Banderas–esque, with his dark good looks, dressed in black slacks and a black button-down shirt with several of those buttons loose at his neck. “Let’s go next door for coffee, Bella.”
An order. “Of course.” I stand and slip on my jacket. “I hope your visit means you’ve reconsidered working with us?”
“We’ll talk next door,” he replies, his expression impassive.
Inwardly, I sigh and grab my purse. Every man who walks into this place seems to get injected with an intense need for control and doing things on their terms.
When we get to the coffee shop, Ricco opens the door for me and I step inside. I feel Chris’s presence immediately, as if another part of me is coming to life. Oh, no—knowing how he feels about Ricco, this is an explosion waiting to happen. Ricco offers to take my jacket and I decline. I’ll hang on to my armor, real or imagined.
I take a few steps into the shop and catch a glimpse of Chris
at the back table. Ava calls my name and smiles brightly, announcing my presence to Chris if he hasn’t already seen me. I manage a smile at her. I think.
“You sit with your things,” Ricco commands. “I’ll order. What would you like?”
“White mocha, please.”
As Ricco turns to the counter, I walk toward the tables and right into the beam of Chris’s sharp gaze. I quickly lower my lashes, unable to look at him. Not and still manage this meeting.
Still, I scoot into a wooden booth that puts me facing Chris, because even though I’m afraid of what I might find in his face, I can’t stand not being able to see him, either. Oh, yes. I am one big mess.