nothing
to cling to.
“If you hit the red button on your phone, you’ll reach the
intercom to my desk,” Amanda murmurs.
“Great,” I say, stepping behind the desk and stuffing my
purse into a drawer. I can’t seem to get myself to sit down in the red leather
chair. In her chair. “What’s my extension?” I ask because I’m trying to
buy time to snap out of the uneasy feeling tingling through my nerve endings.
“Four,” Amanda replies.
My gaze lifts and my breath hitches at the sight of the
painting on the wall directly in front of me. I think Amanda says something
else but I don’t know what. I am riveted by the fine strokes of brilliance done
by none other than the famous American painter Georgia O’Nay. I now know why
there had been a key pad for a password to enter the back offices and the
candle suddenly has more significance because this glorious oil on canvas
features red and white roses. It must be worth a cool thirty thousand and I
can’t imagine it’s not real to be here in the gallery. It is spectacular, and
it is on the wall I will be staring at every day. The same wall that Rebecca
had stared at each day she’d been here.
“From Mark’s personal collection,” Amanda informs me,
clearly noting the way I’m gaping. “He has a piece in every office.”
I jerk my attention in her direction to find her leaning on
the doorframe. “His personal collection?”
She gives a nod. “His family owns a number of art galleries
and an auction house in New York called ‘Riptide’,” she explains. “He changes
out the pieces every few months from what I understand. We actually have
customers who schedule appointments to see what he brings next.” Stunned at
this news, I am again in a rare state of speechlessness at the mention of the
most elite auction houses in existence, selling everything from celebrity property
to fine art.
She laughs without humor, a hint of unease in its depths. “ Everyone wants a piece of that man.”
I tilt my head to study her, noting the emphasis on everyone .
“You included, Amanda?”
With a wave of her hand she dismisses that idea. “I am so
beneath him and most of the customers who come in here.”
Her insecurity washes over me, stirring old feelings I don’t
like but I can identify with. “That’s not true. You are not beneath him, or
anyone, for that matter.”
“I appreciate that but after this summer, I’ve decided that
geology and dig sites are where I belong. A little dust and sun will do me
better than champagne and fine art.”
“Don’t make that decision because you feel beneath Mark.”
Her expression turns solemn. “I’m not. I…” She seems to consider
her words, and decides against them, instead motioning over her shoulder. “Why
don’t I show you the break room. I need to get some coffee started and there’s
some paperwork for you to fill out. I can explain while I make it.”
A few minutes later, Amanda has shown me the exact measure
of coffee that Mark wants used if I’m ever the first one to arrive, and I’m
sitting at a small wooden table across from her as she fills two ceramic cups.
No Styrofoam like in the teacher’s lounge for this place.
“How long has Rebecca been gone?” I ask.
Amanda sits down across from me. “Well,” she ponders
thoughtfully, pouring sugar into her coffee, as I opt for straight powder
creamer. “I started two months ago and she was already gone, so at least that
long.”
“She must have something pretty serious going on.”
“No one has ever said, at least not to me, and I’m just glad
Mark looked at the summer schedule and decided to hire.” She slides a piece of
paper my direction. “That’s the summer schedule.”
I glance over a calendar with growing excitement as I note
weekly wine tastings, several exciting artists that will be visiting, and a
number of private parties. This is the world I have longed to live in for,
well, ever.
“It’s a busy schedule, right?”
to cling to.
“If you hit the red button on your phone, you’ll reach the
intercom to my desk,” Amanda murmurs.
“Great,” I say, stepping behind the desk and stuffing my
purse into a drawer. I can’t seem to get myself to sit down in the red leather
chair. In her chair. “What’s my extension?” I ask because I’m trying to
buy time to snap out of the uneasy feeling tingling through my nerve endings.
“Four,” Amanda replies.
My gaze lifts and my breath hitches at the sight of the
painting on the wall directly in front of me. I think Amanda says something
else but I don’t know what. I am riveted by the fine strokes of brilliance done
by none other than the famous American painter Georgia O’Nay. I now know why
there had been a key pad for a password to enter the back offices and the
candle suddenly has more significance because this glorious oil on canvas
features red and white roses. It must be worth a cool thirty thousand and I
can’t imagine it’s not real to be here in the gallery. It is spectacular, and
it is on the wall I will be staring at every day. The same wall that Rebecca
had stared at each day she’d been here.
“From Mark’s personal collection,” Amanda informs me,
clearly noting the way I’m gaping. “He has a piece in every office.”
I jerk my attention in her direction to find her leaning on
the doorframe. “His personal collection?”
She gives a nod. “His family owns a number of art galleries
and an auction house in New York called ‘Riptide’,” she explains. “He changes
out the pieces every few months from what I understand. We actually have
customers who schedule appointments to see what he brings next.” Stunned at
this news, I am again in a rare state of speechlessness at the mention of the
most elite auction houses in existence, selling everything from celebrity property
to fine art.
She laughs without humor, a hint of unease in its depths. “ Everyone wants a piece of that man.”
I tilt my head to study her, noting the emphasis on everyone .
“You included, Amanda?”
With a wave of her hand she dismisses that idea. “I am so
beneath him and most of the customers who come in here.”
Her insecurity washes over me, stirring old feelings I don’t
like but I can identify with. “That’s not true. You are not beneath him, or
anyone, for that matter.”
“I appreciate that but after this summer, I’ve decided that
geology and dig sites are where I belong. A little dust and sun will do me
better than champagne and fine art.”
“Don’t make that decision because you feel beneath Mark.”
Her expression turns solemn. “I’m not. I…” She seems to consider
her words, and decides against them, instead motioning over her shoulder. “Why
don’t I show you the break room. I need to get some coffee started and there’s
some paperwork for you to fill out. I can explain while I make it.”
A few minutes later, Amanda has shown me the exact measure
of coffee that Mark wants used if I’m ever the first one to arrive, and I’m
sitting at a small wooden table across from her as she fills two ceramic cups.
No Styrofoam like in the teacher’s lounge for this place.
“How long has Rebecca been gone?” I ask.
Amanda sits down across from me. “Well,” she ponders
thoughtfully, pouring sugar into her coffee, as I opt for straight powder
creamer. “I started two months ago and she was already gone, so at least that
long.”
“She must have something pretty serious going on.”
“No one has ever said, at least not to me, and I’m just glad
Mark looked at the summer schedule and decided to hire.” She slides a piece of
paper my direction. “That’s the summer schedule.”
I glance over a calendar with growing excitement as I note
weekly wine tastings, several exciting artists that will be visiting, and a
number of private parties. This is the world I have longed to live in for,
well, ever.
“It’s a busy schedule, right?”
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