Read If I Were You Online

Authors: Lisa Renee Jones

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Erotica, #Contemporary, #Suspense

If I Were You (7 page)

BOOK: If I Were You
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“Honey, I always have gossip.” The phone rings and she
glances over her shoulder. “Corey’s on break. I’ll be back.”

She rushes away and a sudden tingling sensation dances along
my neckline and draws my attention to the edge of the pastry bar to my left. My
lips part in surprise at the incredibly sexy man sitting a few feet away, and
not just any incredibly sexy man, but the same man whose been haunting my
thoughts almost as much as Rebecca these past twenty-four hours. Chris Merit is
here. I can’t believe it. My stomach does a crazy butterfly flutter as my eyes
meet his, and I see amusement in his expression. Not only is he here, I know
he’s been watching me, and I have no idea how long he’s been here.

Why didn’t he come over? Why isn’t he coming over now?
Should I go to him?

“I’m back,” Ava declares before I can decide what to do
next, but I can barely pull my eyes from Chris. When I finally do, he’s still
watching me. I can feel it in every inch of my body. I am so hyper-sensitive to
this man I cannot focus on what Ava is saying. There is only Chris.

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

 

The bells on the coffee shop door chime but I barely hear them.
I’m still looking at Chris and he’s still looking at me. His eyes are warm and
I am warmer. I’ve known plenty of good looking men, but this one affects me
beyond good looks, he sets every nerve I own to tingling.

“He comes here almost every day,” Ava whispers, and my gaze
jerks to hers. I glance beyond her and see her employee has returned.

“You mean Chris Merit?” I ask, hungry for what insights into
the artist she might share with me.

She nods. “There’s something about him, aye?”

“Aye,” I agree wholeheartedly.

“It’s the mystery I think. No matter how I try, I can’t draw
him into a conversation of any substance. Well, that, and let’s just face it,
the man makes denim and leather look as edible as chocolate.”

The bells ding again and a group enters the building. Ava
sighs. “Regretfully I must attend the counter. We’ll have to chat later.”

I muster a smile, still feeling Chris’s stare, still
tingling all over. “I suppose that steals my excuse to put off my homework.”

“Homework,” she repeats and rolls her eyes. “Mark really is
the proverbial principal with a ruler in his hand. I feel sorry for his
employees. How about lunch one day this week? We can set it up before you
leave.”

“Yes, great,” I agree without hesitation. Ava seems quite
nice and surely she knew Rebecca.
Knows
, I correct silently. There is no
past tense. Rebecca is fine. “I’d like that.”

My cell phone rings and Ava scurries off to help her
customer who has now morphed into several more. I dig my phone from my purse
and forget everything but the call when I see Ella’s number. ”Ella?” I answer
excitedly.

The line crackles with electricity. “Sara!”

“Ella?!”

More crackling.

“I’m okay. Travel....” crackle. “...am... road
trip...beautiful...” More crackling and then nothing. The line is dead. 

I sigh and set the phone down next to my computer, glaring
at the device where it rests. Why has hearing Ella’s voice, confirming she is
safe, not brought the comfort it should? I’m worried about her beyond reason.
Everything just feels so...off.

“Is everything okay?”

I look up and blink in surprise to find Chris standing in
front of my table and the worries of moments before are temporarily banked. His
light blondish brown hair is mussed up, like he’s been running his hands
through it and he’s wearing a dark blue snug-fitting t-shirt and dark blue
jeans. Unlike Mark, he is not classically good looking, but more raw male
hotness. He looks scrumptious and add to that how sexy his talent is to me, and
I am suddenly more self-conscious than ever. I try to reassure myself I’ve done
nothing ridiculous and foolish that he might have bore witness to. I’m fairly
certain I inhaled the volcanic muffin in a rather unladylike fashion.

“Okay?” I ask, my voice raspy, affected. I am so incapable
of playing it cool with this man, or really any, for that matter, but this one
more than most. 

“You looked like the call upset you.”

“Oh no,” I assure him quickly, and it hits me that not only
was he watching me, he isn’t shy about admitting it. “My friend was calling
from Paris, and we had a bad connection. I really wanted to hear how she was
doing.” I seize the opportunity to find out how long Chris is in town. “Didn’t
I read that you live in Paris?”

He motions to the seat. “Can I sit?”

“Yes. Of course. I should have offered.”

“And yes,” he says, settling into the chair across from me.
“I own a place in Paris but I split my time between here and there. San
Francisco stirs my creativity. I can’t stay away long.”

I’m thrilled to discover he lives here, and intrigued by his
creative process. I yearn to ask questions about his work but I hesitate, after
Ava’s reference to him being a private person. Besides, the table is small and
I can smell the same spicy male scent he wore last night, and the effect is
drugging. I’m not sure I can ask intelligent questions so I settle on easy,
small talk. “I had no idea you were local but then, I’ve been pretty removed
from the art scene for the past few years.”

“But you’re back now.”

“For the summer,” I agree, watching him closely as I add,
“or until Rebecca returns.”

His brow furrows. “She’s coming back?”

“You don’t think so?”

He shrugs. “Not a clue. I barely know her, but she’s been
gone so long that I assumed she’d found a new job.”

“Mark says she’s on a leave of absence. From my
understanding, some rich guy whisked her away to travel the world.”

“And you have no idea how long until she returns?”

“You summed up the general gist of the situation. I’m here
until she’s here.”
Or until I prove I’m worthy of staying around when she
returns
, I remind myself.

“Hmmm,” he murmurs. “That open-ended vacation is
rather...odd.”

“She must be an exceptional employee.”

“Right. Must be.”

I don’t miss the hint of sardonicism tingeing his tone, and
I am quite certain he doesn’t like Mark any more than Mark seems to like him.

“Wine?” he asks, indicating the book on the table with a
lift of his chin.

“Apparently, it’s not enough to know art to sell art. I must
acquire a knack for talking about fine wine, opera, and classical music, about
all of which I am clueless. I’m being tested and since I do like a glass of
wine, here or there, it seems the least intimidating.”

His lips thin with disapproval. “You don’t need to know
anything but art to sell art.”

“As much as I agree, I’m a slave to Mark’s demands.”
Rebecca’s writing plays in my head, catching me off guard.
You know I have
to punish you.
I am immediately uncomfortable, and my nervous rambling
tendency proves it is alive and well. “My knowledge of opera, or classical
music, amounts to absolutely nothing, and frankly I don’t enjoy either.” My
misspeak washes over me immediately, and I can feel blood drain from my cheeks.
His father had been a famous classical pianist. “Oh God. I’m sorry. Your
father- ”

“Was brilliant,” he says and his expression is unreadable,
his tone even, “but as with all things, music can be an acquired taste. How
‘clueless’ are you about wines?”

I blink at the abrupt change of subject, and I’m so off
kilter, I don’t seem to possess the ability to filter my comments. “I know how
to point to the name on the menu and the waiter brings it.”

Amusement dances in Chris’s pale green eyes and his mood is
instantly transformed from intense to relaxed. “And you pick the wine you point
to how?”

“It’s a highly complex method,” I explain. “First, there is
my mood. Do I want red or white? Once that choice is made, I move to the choice
of chilled or not chilled. Finally, step three, comes down to--what is the
cheapest glass of wine that meets my decided upon criteria.” He is smiling, but
not laughing at me, and I am both charmed and pleased.

“You do know you live in wine country, right?” he teases.
There is a sultry flirtation to his voice that I hope I am not imagining.

“Neither my apartment, nor the school where I teach sport
vineyards in the backyards. I suppose I’m highly uncultured.”

His mood turns somber. “You’re not uncultured, far from it,
but I assume you feeling that way is the whole idea in all of this. Mark looks
for a weakness and uses it to disarm people. Not that a lack of knowledge in
those areas is a weakness. Not unless you allow it to be.”

I tilt my head, studying him. “You don’t like Mark, do you?”

“Liking him is irrelevant. He gets the job done.”

In other words, he doesn’t like Mark. “Has he tried to find
your weakness?”

“He tries to find everyone’s weakness.”

He’s avoiding a direct answer and I can’t think of a way to
ask again. “I fear he’s found my weakness, or rather weaknesses, rather
easily.”

“You’re better off to let your customers be experts in
everything else, while you ask questions, and feed their egos. You stick with
art and you’ll be golden.”

“A brilliant plan if I ever heard one.”

His lips quirk. “Brilliant? I like your choice of words.”

I purse my lips. “Like you don’t hear brilliant about your
art all the time.”

“I don’t listen to my own hype. Besides, for every
‘brilliant’ there’s a critic.”

I study him a moment, his strong jaw, his intelligent green
eyes and I realize I’ve stopped being all nerves and fear. I’m remarkably at
ease right now considering Chris has managed to wake every hormone I own and
some I didn’t know I had. “I sold two more of your paintings today.”

His eyes soften and warm at the same time. “And you did it
without any knowledge of wine and opera. How is that possible?”

I find myself laughing easily and it feels good. Until this
moment, I didn’t realize just how tense I am, how on edge, and it amazes me
that this man I barely know has disarmed me. Our laughter dissolves into
crackling current that steals my breath away.  Our eyes lock and heat pools low
in my belly. I want this man but I am so out of my league. I know this but my
body doesn’t seem to care. I am but a ship passing by, a teacher headed back to
class, and he is talented beyond belief, a man who’s worth millions, who has
seen things I have only read about.

“Are you one of those wine snobs?” I ask, hungry for details
about what makes a talent such as his tick.

His mood shift is instant, the shutters over his eyes
dropping, the tension in the air almost palpable. I regret the question though
I don’t know what was wrong with it.

“I know wines very well,” he says, his tone flat as he
glances at the thick leather watch he’s wearing that is far more biker than the
millionaire he is, and then back at me. “I’m booked for a meeting with your
boss I need to get to.” He studies me for an intent moment and his eyes warm
again, and I can almost see the ice melting before me. “Don’t play his games,
Sara, and he can’t beat you at them.” He pushes to his feet. “Until next time.”

“Next time,” I repeat softly, wondering if there will be a
next time. He saunters to his table and grabs a leather backpack and leather
coat. He is wearing biker boots, black leather, with silver buckles. I’ve
always favored men in suits, men who were refined, and well, like Mark. Chris isn’t
those things, and yet he intrigues me in every possible way.

I expect him to pass my table, and I hold my breath,
waiting, trying to think of some witty, cool something to say to him, wondering
what he will say to me. Instead, he disappears down a back hallway I assume
must be an exit. He is gone and I am left wondering if it’s for good, if I will
ever see him again.

 

***

 

An hour after my encounter with Chris, my cell rings, and
Mark orders me back to the gallery. Like a good little soldier, I pack up my
things, and prepare to do as told.

“Okay,” Ava declares, appearing by my side, “we have to do
lunch. I’ve never seen Chris Merit talk to anyone as long as he did you. I want
the scoop.”

I blink at her.
The scoop?
I do not have a scoop to
give, but if I did, my little encounter with Chris feels private and personal.
I wouldn’t want to share it. “There’s nothing to tell. I sold several of his
paintings and he was thanking me.” 

She wiggles a dark brow. “You made him richer than he
already is. Now there’s a way to get a man’s attention. And boy did you grab
his attention. He looked like he wanted to gobble you up. I’ll call you
tomorrow so we can set up lunch, unless I see you here first.” She rushes away
and I stare after her.

Gobble me up? Chris looked like he wanted to gobble me up? I
replay my encounter with Chis in my mind, and try to think of a steamy moment
she might have witnessed. There were times when I thought I‘d felt a spark
between us, but didn’t dare believe it was more than my wishful thinking.

My phone buzzes with a text from Mark.
Still waiting.
I
grimace. He is such a control freak that I have no problem seeing him as the
dominating man in the journal. It is an idea I find both erotic and scary at
the same time because I do not know where Rebecca is. Deep in my core, I am
certain she is lost forever, damaged in an irrevocable way. 

I shake off the grimness of my thoughts and head back to the
gallery to find Amanda packing up her things for the day behind the counter.

“Mark’s waiting for you in his office,” she says.

“Which would be where?”

She smirks. “Door at the end of your hall. Good luck and I
really do hope I see you tomorrow.”

I blanch. “Hope?”

She holds up her hands. “Oh no, you took that so wrong. I
didn’t mean you were going to get fired. I meant that I hope you come back. I
know you don’t care for all the testing.”

BOOK: If I Were You
10.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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