customer and wanted to talk. The customer wasn’t pleased. Mark ordered Mary to take over the client and directed me to his office. I can still see the gloating look on Mary’s face that said she was thrilled to see me in hot water. And I was in hot water. The conversation with Mark wasn’t a good one.
“Your ‘boy’ needs to visit on breaks or lunch, not while I have a millionaire on the floor trying to buy art.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Nor have you controlled him. Deal with him, Ms. Mason. That will be all. You can leave.”
Talk about feeling smacked down. He dismissed me that fast. I stood there and weighed my options. The truth seemed my only defense, so I said, “I’ve tried and failed. I don’t understand why, but he just won’t go away.”
He arched a brow at me. “Are you telling me he’s stalking you?”
“No. I don’t want to say that, but it is getting a little creepy.”
“Do I need to handle this for you?”
“God, no. I’ll handle it. I will.”
“But you haven’t?”
“I was worried about hurting his feelings.”
“So you haven’t handled it at all.”
“I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“Tell him so he knows you mean it.” His voice turned to pure ice.
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I simply assured him I’d handle it and started to leave.
“Ms. Mason.” I paused at the door with dread in my stomach before turning back to him. “Ricco Alvarez sent you flowers. He’s stopped by several times. You might not see it, but the rest of us do. He’s temperamental and goes off the deep end in a blink. I do not want this ability you have to draw unstable male attention to cost me an artist.”
“The flowers were a welcome to the gallery gift,” I said defensively, and I immediately thought of the long meeting he’d had with Ricco. Had Ricco said something to him about me?
“No man sends roses on Valentine’s Day as a welcome gift. You’re smarter than that, Ms. Mason. Open your eyes.”
I doubt Mark would send a woman flowers for any reason, but I bit my tongue, knowing I might regret a rebuttal later. “I’ll handle Josh and Ricco.” I turned to leave again and he let me.
The rest of the day, I just wanted to be out of the gallery for the first time since I started my job. When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself, taking in my light brown hair and green eyes. Staring at my image, I thought of Mark’s comment and wondered if there was something about me that drew unstable men. Not that I think Ricco is unstable, as Mark had implied, though clearly, Josh is a little off his rocker. And I’m not used to all this male attention. Women like Ava get male attention. She’s gorgeous and I’m . . . average. The girl next door who wishes she was the beauty queen.
And here I am, sitting at my kitchen table in my oh-so-glamorous cotton PJs and eating cereal. With the contract next to me. The one thing I keep thinking is that when I was with my would-be “Master,” I felt beautiful. I felt safe. I felt like I was his world. I had an escape from things like today’s stresses.
That escape had to be (is?) the allure of the relationship. I’ve considered the punishment clause and it doesn’t bother me all that much now because I do feel safe with him. Maybe that’s naive, but it’s how I feel. But the sharing thing—that still bothers me. What if it was with another woman? How inferior would I feel? How incapable of pleasing him?
I just need to tell him this won’t work. I don’t know why I haven’t already.
He won’t come to me, he’d said when he’d given me the contract. I have to go to him, he’d said. I have to make the willing choice to pursue him as my Master.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Morning . . .
I dreamed of him . . . . He’d tied me to his bed again, only this time I was facedown, unable to see him. I wanted to see him but I didn’t feel a fear of the unknown. He wasn’t
“Your ‘boy’ needs to visit on breaks or lunch, not while I have a millionaire on the floor trying to buy art.”
“I didn’t invite him.”
“Nor have you controlled him. Deal with him, Ms. Mason. That will be all. You can leave.”
Talk about feeling smacked down. He dismissed me that fast. I stood there and weighed my options. The truth seemed my only defense, so I said, “I’ve tried and failed. I don’t understand why, but he just won’t go away.”
He arched a brow at me. “Are you telling me he’s stalking you?”
“No. I don’t want to say that, but it is getting a little creepy.”
“Do I need to handle this for you?”
“God, no. I’ll handle it. I will.”
“But you haven’t?”
“I was worried about hurting his feelings.”
“So you haven’t handled it at all.”
“I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“Tell him so he knows you mean it.” His voice turned to pure ice.
I didn’t even know what to say to that. I simply assured him I’d handle it and started to leave.
“Ms. Mason.” I paused at the door with dread in my stomach before turning back to him. “Ricco Alvarez sent you flowers. He’s stopped by several times. You might not see it, but the rest of us do. He’s temperamental and goes off the deep end in a blink. I do not want this ability you have to draw unstable male attention to cost me an artist.”
“The flowers were a welcome to the gallery gift,” I said defensively, and I immediately thought of the long meeting he’d had with Ricco. Had Ricco said something to him about me?
“No man sends roses on Valentine’s Day as a welcome gift. You’re smarter than that, Ms. Mason. Open your eyes.”
I doubt Mark would send a woman flowers for any reason, but I bit my tongue, knowing I might regret a rebuttal later. “I’ll handle Josh and Ricco.” I turned to leave again and he let me.
The rest of the day, I just wanted to be out of the gallery for the first time since I started my job. When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and stared at myself, taking in my light brown hair and green eyes. Staring at my image, I thought of Mark’s comment and wondered if there was something about me that drew unstable men. Not that I think Ricco is unstable, as Mark had implied, though clearly, Josh is a little off his rocker. And I’m not used to all this male attention. Women like Ava get male attention. She’s gorgeous and I’m . . . average. The girl next door who wishes she was the beauty queen.
And here I am, sitting at my kitchen table in my oh-so-glamorous cotton PJs and eating cereal. With the contract next to me. The one thing I keep thinking is that when I was with my would-be “Master,” I felt beautiful. I felt safe. I felt like I was his world. I had an escape from things like today’s stresses.
That escape had to be (is?) the allure of the relationship. I’ve considered the punishment clause and it doesn’t bother me all that much now because I do feel safe with him. Maybe that’s naive, but it’s how I feel. But the sharing thing—that still bothers me. What if it was with another woman? How inferior would I feel? How incapable of pleasing him?
I just need to tell him this won’t work. I don’t know why I haven’t already.
He won’t come to me, he’d said when he’d given me the contract. I have to go to him, he’d said. I have to make the willing choice to pursue him as my Master.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Morning . . .
I dreamed of him . . . . He’d tied me to his bed again, only this time I was facedown, unable to see him. I wanted to see him but I didn’t feel a fear of the unknown. He wasn’t
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