Being Me(Inside Out 02)(94)

“Ms. McMillan—”
“Sara,” I snap, on edge, and irritated that I feel like we’ve created a friendship this past week and he still can’t use my name.
“Why can’t you call me Sara like you call Amanda, Amanda?”
He gives me one of those unreadable, impossible intense gray stares. “All right then, Sara. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be.”
He leans in closer. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. Nothing that you haven’t already. I know you convinced Ryan to let me decorate the lobby of the property. It helped. It kept me busy and I do appreciate that.”
“Ryan’s fond of you. We have to milk it for all the business we can.”
“Right.” I give a laugh. “It’s always about money for you, isn’t it?”
“Money is power.”
So Chris once told me. “And we both know how much you like power.”
His brows lift. “Do we?”
“We do,” I assure him.
He leans back in his seat and his lips twitch. “Well, as long as we have that settled.” He pauses, his mouth tightening, and I sense the subject change before it comes. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” I try to laugh without humor but it comes out as more of a strangled sound. “I guess I didn’t do a very good job of getting through to him like you thought I would.” I rub at the tension in my shoulder. A burning question constantly on my mind presses me to take advantage of having Mark’s rare casual mood and full attention. “Why, Mark?”
“Why what, Sara?”
“Why do you both need that place?”
He appears undaunted by the question. “I told you. It’s different for everyone, and Chris and I are as night and day as it comes. He wants to punish himself. The pain is who he is. It controls him.”
“And you?”
That steely glint I know well appears in his eyes, and I watch the man transform into the Master who is intensely, impossibly provocative, able to seduce a room just by existing. “Nothing controls me but me. I am who I am and I enjoy every moment of it, and so do those who enter my domain. I make sure of it.”
I am captivated by his stare, lost in this man who is all power and sexuality, but even more so by the idea of having such confidence and control myself. He seems to sense this or perhaps he can easily read my expression, and he leans in closer, softening his voice to a seductive purr. “I would never put my pleasure, or my pain, for that matter, ahead of your needs, Sara.”
I am sure that his vow is meant to lure me deeper under his spell, but it doesn’t work. It smacks me in the face with possibilities I don’t want to consider and jerks me into defensive mode.
I sit back sharply. “He doesn’t do that. Chris doesn’t put himself ahead of me.”
“What do you call what he’s done, Sara?”
“He’s trying to protect me.”
“And how does that protection feel? Because you aren’t eating and you aren’t sleeping. If that is how he protects you, he’s failed.”
“Like you failed Rebecca.”
He shocks me by visibly flinching, proving again that he is not without a weakness where Rebecca is concerned. “She wanted what I don’t have to give, what I never promised.”
“Which is what?”
“The fa?ade of love. The same poison that leaves your sandwich sitting here uneaten. Think about what this fairy tale of love you’ve created is doing to you. When you’re ready to get rid of that spiteful emotion, I’ll show you how.” He pushes to his feet. “We have the open house tonight at the property. We leave at six forty-five. I’m driving.”
It’s me who flinches as he walks away.
I’m pleased to score a large late afternoon sale, but it delays Mark and me from departing the gallery at the time planned, and we arrive at the open house with only forty-five minutes left before it ends. At the front door of the thirty-floor high-rise on the oceanfront, Mark maneuvers the Jag under the front door over hang and two valets open our doors. When Mark rounds the vehicle to join me, his hand settles a bit too possessively on my back.
The lobby is crowded, warmed by a gas fireplace framed in stone, and furnished with clusters of rich brown leather chairs and several paintings I personally selected. People mill around everywhere, drinks in hand. Mark and I make our way through the visitors, mingling and prospecting for new sales. Ryan finds us quickly, looking stunning in a striking red silk tie that contrasts with his pin-striped suit as dark as his neatly groomed raven hair.
He takes my hand and kisses it. “You look lovely, Sara.” He leans in near my ear. “Far better than any of the many masterpieces here tonight.”