Free If I Were You by Lisa Renée Jones Page A

explains, definite amusement
in his eyes now. “And just to be clear, the only woman I let boss me
around. Unfortunately, as the manager of Riptide, she excels at it."
    “Oh,” I say, surprised, and suddenly he is not nearly as
intimidating as before. “Your mother.” I smile yet again. He’s a control freak.
I know this already, but I think he might not be as bad as I'd feared. I didn't
miss the hint of affection to his tone that tells me he loves his mother. I’ve
always thought that says something about a man. "Her skill at bossing you
around has nothing to do with that maternal bond, then?" I am teasing him,
and it just happens. I can't stop myself.
    "Perhaps it just might," he admits, and I am
pleasantly surprised at the very human admission, the tiny bit of vulnerability
he allows me to see with it.
    He taps the folder. “There's plenty of reading for you to do
in the folder. Amanda will get you set up on the computer and then there will
be online testing. Pass them and we’ll talk about just what your role will be
here. If you can play with the big dogs, and interact with Riptide quality
transactions, I can assure you that money won’t be an issue.”
    My heart races with this news. Could this really be
happening? Could I really have the chance to make art my life? “I’ll get right
on the tests.”
    He leans in closer. “I see something special in you, Ms.
McMillan. I’m hoping you’re going to prove me right.” Without another word, he
pushes to his feet and leaves the room. I stare after him, my teeth worrying my
bottom lip, my heart in my throat. I didn’t manage to get an answer about my
salary, but I tell myself he’s alluded to a sizable package. Most importantly
though, I am frustrated at myself because I haven’t asked about Rebecca. You
will , I promise myself. When the time is right, you will.
     
     

 

    Chapter Eight
     

     
    Thirty minutes later, I have managed to claim my new office,
on loan from Rebecca of course, which I refuse to let myself forget. Amanda has
already logged me into the computer and headed back to her desk. I am now
alone, with the door shut, ready to start to work.
    I pull up my new email and I have a message waiting from
Mark, or rather, Mr. Compton. I wonder if he intends to stay that formal with
me, but then, it appears he has with Amanda, so I would assume that to be the
case. I click on the email.
     
    Welcome Ms. McMillan:
    You will find a link to a number of tests below. Each is
a timed evaluation to ensure you cannot use the internet for help, though I'm
sure you would never consider doing such a thing.
     
    May the odds be ever in your favor, and mine as well.
    Mark Compton
     
    I laugh at the reference to Hunger Games, and I am shocked
but pleased that my new boss has a sense of humor. I feel silly now to have
been so intimidated and affected as I was by him during our meeting. Logically,
I know I was responding to this fascination I have with this world, this deep
desire to belong here, that wasn’t about him at all. It was, and is, about me,
about my past, about ghosts and skeletons I'm being forced to face just by
sitting at this desk. And the journals, I remind myself as the soft
scent of roses I now associate with Rebecca teases my nostrils.
    I pull open the drawer to my right and find a lighter and
set the flame burning on the candle. The flame flickers with life and my gaze
falls on the brilliant rose colors on the wall. I picture Rebecca sitting here
and somehow I feel as if she is over my shoulder, but it is not frightening. In
fact, I feel almost comforted, as if the dancing fire from the wick is a sign
she is alive and well. I feel hope that she will return, and perhaps I will have
a place in this world as well. Do I dare believe I can chase this dream and
really make a living at it? Excitement and hope expands within me. I want this
so badly it hurts and it frightens me. I know why I have never tried and one of
those reasons, money, seems to