I set down the office phone and open the message. Taking a hot shower has new meaning today.

I laugh and type. So does a cold shower.

True. Very true. Can you do lunch?

I start to say yes, but remember Ava. I have a lunch meeting.

Cancel.

It’s tempting but my gaze catches on the rose candle and I think of Rebecca. I’m hoping Ava can tell me more about her. I can’t.

I’ll be starving by dinner.

I roll my eyes in good humor. I like it when you’re starving.

Then I’ll try not to disappoint. I’ll pick you up at eight.

I shove my phone back inside my purse, and dial the office phone, and promptly receive Ricardo’s voice mail. I hang up knowing a message means I have to wait a respectable amount of time to call again.

The buzzer on my desk goes off and I answer. “You have your first customer on the floor, Ms. McMillan,” Mark says. “Make me proud.”

I’m thrilled at the challenge. “I will.”

He is silent a beat. “I look forward to being right about you.” The line goes dead and I rise to my feet. So far, this is a good day.

***

By lunchtime, I have one sale, and another potential sale and I’m feeling good. Ironically, Ava has called and chosen ‘Diego Maria’s’ to meet me.

I entered the restaurant to find her at the same table Chris and I had occupied the prior week.

“Sara!” She pushes to her feet, looking petite and lovely in a cream-colored pantsuit, her long dark hair cascading over her shoulders. I am wrapped in a hug, and I surmise she’s a hugger like I am. I feel a friendship despite barely knowing her.

We settle into our seats and Maria appears at our table. “Welcome back, Señora Sara. I see we didn’t scare you off with the hot peppers?”

“No. That was Chris’s fault, not yours.”

“Ah well, I assume you make him pay for burning your mouth.”

I laugh. “You bet I did.”

She claps. “Excellent. In that case, you lovely ladies get tacos on the house, with sauce on the side.”

Ava arches a brow. “I sense a good story.”

I quickly recount the events of my prior visit and we fall into easy conversation. She tells me all the neighborhood gossip, and I listen for tidbits about Rebecca, trying to find the best way to turn the conversation that way.

Ava lowers her voice. “And Diego. He’s going to Paris, you know.”

“Yes. He told Chris about it the day I was here.”

“He’s going after a woman, this exchange student he met who used to come into the restaurant. But she was just having fun, Sara. I met her. I talked to her. He plans to propose. It’s really quite heartbreaking. Paris makes people get so romantic and silly.“

I think of Ella, who I tried to call the night before, with no success. “You have to tell him, Ava.”

“He’ll kick me out of the restaurant and I love this place.”

I blink. She’s serious. She’s going to let the man get his heart broken over a few tacos. I have to talk to Chris, and see if he can influences Diego.

“And besides,” Ava adds. “Who am I to judge? I thought that hottie rich guy Rebecca was seeing was a player and would dump her in a heartbeat. I warned her off of him and she got angry. The next thing I know she’s off living the good life, while you’re doing her job. You can’t win when you warn people off the person their dating. You just can’t.”

I’m dumbfounded. I’ve never really thought this rich guy existed. I mean, the man in the journal is Mark, right? “You met the guy she’s vacationing with?”

“Once and it was enough to see him as the hot rock he is. A player and for a reason. I’d have killed to have a night with that man. I’m not sure there is a woman on the planet who wouldn’t.”

“Is he an artist?”

She shakes her head. “Some investment analyst in New York she met when she was doing work for Mark. He’s Mark’s friend. That in itself is a red flag. Mark’s as cold as ice and as hot as my coffee. Those who play together, stay together, and single. Or in this case, those who make money together, are...” She laughs. “I don’t know. No smart saying comes to mind, but both those men are all about money. Two peas in a pod.”

Play together? Was it a slip? A reference to sex? Does that mean this man is the man in the journal and he shared Rebecca with Mark?

The ticket arrives and our tab amounts to the generous tip we leave, while the topic of Rebecca is lost. I kick myself for not finding out the boyfriend’s name. We chat on our walk back to the gallery, but it’s chatter, and nothing more. I agree to stop in for coffee the next day and head back to my office.

“There’s a surprise for you in your office,” Amanda beams.

“What is it?”

“Surprise,” she repeats. “Go see.”

I arrive at my office door and stop dead in my tracks when I see the bouquet of red roses. There are roses everywhere in my room, and I feel like a Princess who’s found her Prince Charming. My stomach churns at the sweet scent of the flowers and I walk to my desk on wobbling legs. I can’t bring myself to reach for the card and I settle into my chair and stare at the twelve, unopened buds. Ready to bloom. Suddenly, I have to know who they are from. I grab the card and with a shaking hand I pull out the card.

Because under the rose trees I was a jerk, but a lucky one to have you there with me. - Chris

I cannot breathe. The card, and what’s on it is perfect. My gaze lifts to the painting of the roses and I am haunted by the connection to her. I reach for my cell phone to text Chris but unbidden I think of another journal passage.

He’s hard sometimes, demanding, but he makes me feel protected. He makes me feel special. I think I’m ready to put my fear aside of the things he wants me to do with him, and to take the next step.

I am haunted by more than the roses. I am haunted by the similarities of what she felt for the man in the journal and what I feel for Chris. But we aren’t the same. He’s not the man in the journal. Nothing points to Chris. The paintbrush. No. No. It’s not Chris. Ava said she met the man. She knows who he is.

My office phone buzzes and I jump. “Your morning customer is back to make a purchase,” Amanda announces.

I shove my cell phone into my drawer and push to my feet, welcoming an escape from what I’m thinking and feeling.

I have barely finished with my sale when Amanda tells me Mark wants to see me in his office. With my second sale of the day under my belt, I am feeling less intimidated by the summons.

“Shut the door,” he commands when I enter, from behind his massive desk. “And sit, Ms. McMillan.”

Okay, being comfortable with Mark isn’t an easy thing to do. I figure I’ve used up my good luck with my new boss back somewhere around the ‘cock-fight’ and my last refusal to sit, so I do as ordered and sit down in front of him. Oh yeah, and when my lover-non-boyfriend-whatever Chris is, negotiated me a fifty-thousand dollar paycheck. I think today is a good day to do as told.

Steely eyes assess me too long and I’m about to begin talking too much, when Mark says, “I see you received flowers today.”

Ohhkay. Where in the heck is this going? “Yes.” I tell myself to stop there, but I can’t. “It’s a nice way to start the week and the roses match the gorgeous painting you’ve placed on my wall.” Oh shut up and don’t go there!

“I assume that means you’re continuing your relationship with Chris.”

My defenses rise despite my vow to behave. “I’m not sure why this is relevant to my job?”

“No?”

“No.”

“The man negotiated a commission on your behalf and you don’t know why he’s relevant?”

So much for thinking I’d dodged a bullet. “If this is about money--“

“Everything is about money, Ms. McMillan, and while I have no issues paying you well, I expect to have you all to myself while you are on my territory.”

“What?” My pulse hammers in my chest. “I don’t understand what that means.”

He turns his computer screen around and pushes play and my heart almost explodes from my chest when I see the security feed. It’s me and Chris by the bathroom. Chris touching me. Chris kissing me.

“Enough!” I say, pushing to the edge of my seat.

He punches a key. “Enough indeed.”

“That was inappropriate and it will never happen again,” I quickly vow.

“You’re right. It won’t. Be clear, Sara. This is my gallery and when you are here, or attending to my business, I own you, not Chris Merit.”

“Own me?” I repeat.

“Own you. You bet on it and me, not Chris. And if you think that he didn’t know there was a camera, that he wasn’t trying to power-play me, think again.”

Chris knew there were cameras? My heart shatters with the implications behind this discovery. Of course Chris knew. This is his life, his world. I should have known. I did know. “I’m sorry.” I want to tell him the wine got the best of me, but I’m afraid he’ll only think it’s another problem I represent. “I won’t let you down again.”

He studies me with those hard, calculating eyes for what seems like an eternity. “Ms. McMillan. Relax. I’m on your side. You’re not getting fired.”

Not getting fired. This is good. This is what I want. I nod, but I am still ramrod stiff.

“Relax, Sara.” It’s an order.

I want to do as he says. I want to show him I’m a good risk, a good employee, but adrenaline is lighting me on fire. I inhale and let it out, and slowly, I force the tension from my body and lean back into my chair.

“We’re okay,” Mark says and there is a gentleness to his voice I’ve never heard. “We have a bright future together.”

“We do?”

“Yes. I believe in you, or you wouldn’t be here, but it’s also my job to protect you and this gallery. You need to understand these artists can be manipulative. They can use the prospect of a special showing, like you want from Ricardo, against you. I need to make sure right now that you know that you need to do nothing to get work for this gallery but be the professional you are. 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.”

He owns me. I am not comfortable with his choice of words, but I doubt my ability to be my own judge at the moment. My gaze lifts to the mural behind Mark that I am certain Chris painted. I’ve trusted Chris. Has he been manipulating me? Using me against Mark? It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought.

“Are we clear, Sara?” Mark prods.

My attention returns to Mark, to the steely strong eyes offering me protection, a good job, a future. “Yes. We’re clear.”

I barely remember the rest of the conversation. The minute I am back at my desk I grab my phone and text Chris. Have to cancel dinner. I turn off my phone.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The rest of the day crawls by and I am in knots over Chris—-hurt, angry, confused--I feel all of these things and more. Nearing the end of the day, I am in my office, trying to focus on work and failing. Worse, I expect Chris to call through the switchboard to try to reach me and he doesn’t. Clearly, he’s not that broken up over my cancellation of dinner, and I can’t help but believe he knew my humiliation was coming and has been received. I wouldn’t discount Mark confronting him.

How could Chris intentionally set me up like he did? And he did. Chris is too smart to not know what he was doing and the tension between him and Mark is too damn obvious. I am a token in a game and I hate how badly it hurt. I hate that I let my little adventure turn into heartache.

When eight o’clock finally arrives, the knots in my stomach multiply, and I stay at my desk. What if Chris is outside waiting on me? What if he’s not? another voice dares to whisper in my head. I am second-guessing my decision to turn off my phone, to actually talk to Chris and make it clear we are over. Right. A simple blow-off. It should be easy. Instead, I am a coward who cannot talk to him, certain I will agree to whatever he asks of me. I am too far into the infatuation I have for him. And that’s what it is. Infatuation. After being humiliated by that video, I refuse it to be anything else.

At a quarter after eight, Mark appears in my doorway, his suit jacket gone, his top two buttons undone. Still, he manages to look every bit the corporate seduction king, the guy every lady wants and every man wants to be. Every lady but me, that is.

He leans on the jamb. “Isn’t it time to go home, Ms. McMillan?”

“For reasons I’d rather not discuss, I’m feeling extremely dedicated tonight.”

He ignores my reference to our earlier incident. “I don’t like leaving you here alone.”

“You have cameras.”

He laughs, a rare happening, and oddly considering my behavior, he seems more relaxed around me. “Good point,” he concedes and pushes away from the wall. “You are the witty one, Ms. McMillan, and I can see customers responding well to you. I’ll leave you to work, but why don’t you pull your car around front so you don’t have to walk to the parking lot alone?”

Cab rides for staff after tastings, worries over my safety, my being manipulated. Mark’s tough and demanding, but I begin to see him as a good boss, someone trying to help me get ahead in this world. “I moved my car out front before Amanda left an hour ago.” And because I knew that was where Chris would look for it.