Rebecca has been challenging her Master in ways he never expected. See what happens next in the latest entry from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals.

Read the first, second, third and fourth entry from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance.

Don’t forget to check back in next week, as Hypable will be running weekly entries from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals, which are featured in her Inside Out series, until Valentine’s Day.

Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals: Dream Man Part Five

Wednesday 12pm

Have you ever gone to bed dreading the next day then woke up and felt the same? Not because you just didn’t want to get out of bed. More like something was wrong. Something was going to go wrong this day. That’s how I felt this morning when I woke up, and it had nothing to do with a nightmare. For once, I didn’t have one. I thought perhaps it was about my former Master discovering the necklace that would bind us together, on a chain at my neck, rather than on my finger. I mean, yes, I want more from him, but the truth is, I have enough self worth that I do not need more at the cost of settling. And I don’t think that is what he really needs or wants either. I think I fear finding out I’m not the person who can help him see that though. That I’m really not the woman for him. But if that’s true, then parting ways is right for both of us. Painfully right. Anyway, maybe that was part of the dread I was feeling, but it felt more foreboding.

The day has officially started weird. This morning, I arrived at the gallery and parked in the back lot, only to find no other cars. Everyone but me seemed to be running late. I headed inside and the lights were out. I left them off because I didn’t want to encourage people to come to the front door when no one else was there. But here’s the weird part. I entered the back offices and my light was on. Bossman, as everyone calls our boss, left after me last night. He’s methodical and anal. Even if I had forgotten to turn my light off, which I wouldn’t do, he would never have left it on. A shiver of unease had slid down my spine and I’d pulled my phone from my purse and dialed “911” without punching the call button. Just to be safe. A girl who is single, and a girl who was raised by an absent single mother, learns to be cautious.

I walk to the door and peek around the corner, and to say that I was stunned is an understatement. Mary, my co-worker, who not only has an obvious crush on Bossman, but wants the opportunities he’s allowed me with his family’s auction house letting me place and sell through them, was sitting at my desk, reading one of my journals. I felt violated. Which is crazy considering the things I’ve done at the club with a master in control but that had been a choice and I’d always known, no matter how uncomfortable I felt, that he’d protect me. I’d also known I’d made the choice to do those things, no matter how reluctantly at times. But this. This I did not choose. This was, is, an invasion of my privacy. Thankfully, it was my work journal, which was at least a little less invasive but it still had my inner most personal thoughts on the staff and our clients. On her.

I rounded the corner. “What are you doing?” I’d demanded.

Shock had radiated across her pale face, and she shoved her bleached blonde hair behind her ears. “Oh I…I…” She’d shut the journal and shoved it in the drawer. “I was looking for sales records for last month. I can’t find them and need to do a presentation for Bossman.” She’d stood up. “You weren’t in and I was desperate.”

“How long did desperate make you read my journal?” I’d asked.

“Journal? That book? I’d just opened it. I need to get to my desk.” She’d rushed toward me and I wanted to stand my ground and make her explain herself, but really, what would it have solved? She’d lie and it would get more awkward. But the interesting thing. She didn’t ask me for those sales figures.

I’d rushed to my desk and opened my drawer, removing the journal to thumb through, wondering how bad the damage would be from my words. I’d barely opened it when I’d heard, “Ms. Mason.”

My gaze had jerked up to find Bossman himself leaning on the archway of my doorway, his blue suit, fitted to perfection, his very presence an explosion of power. And my God. He’s just so overwhelmingly male. So overwhelmingly good looking. It’s hard to work for a man like that.

“Mr. Compton,” I’d said.

“Why was Mary in your office?” he’d asked, his stare hooded, his tone unreadable but somehow expectant.
I considered that answer with caution. He’s a man who doesn’t like any game he doesn’t create, though he certainly excels, at those. And he wouldn’t be asking me this question, staring at me right now, and waiting for a reply, if he didn’t suspect trouble. In a matter of seconds, I decided that that If I were to tell him what Mary had done, he’d fire her.

“We’re co-workers,” I’d said.

“You mean competitors.”

“Because you pitted us against each other,” I’d reminded him. “She wanted to work with Riptide.”
He’d stared at me with those hard gray eyes, several intense beats before he’d said, “Yes. She did. But I don’t trust her.”
“And you do me?” I’d asked, taking the bait he’d lead me to, and waiting for what I was certain would be an answer I did not expect.

“You get trust when you give it,” was his reply, and he’d watched me, expectation in the air again.
He’d wanted me to say that I trust him and I was, am, stunned by the fact that I don’t want to give him the power that would offer him. I realize now that I don’t want to play his games. I don’t want to play games at all. I’m changing personally and professionally.

My silence had told him this. I’d seen it in the darkening of his gaze, the hard set of his jaw. Something had flickered in his eyes. I didn’t like that. His lips had twitched, and I’d known in that instant I’d displeased him when I’d spent a year trying to please him. Too often, I did not.

He’d turned and left without a word. He does this often. It’s his way of making you wonder what he is thinking. And as you do, he has control, but remarkably, I find, it also makes me self reflect to the point, I know me better. Maybe that is why I work well with that man. His games, even when I do not, want to play them, make me grow. And this time was no different. I sat there after his departure, my fingers on the ring where it hangs at my neck, and I’d asked myself why I couldn’t give him my offer of trust. This is work. This is my career. And then, I’d realized many things, but one quite large thing I think. When I’d come to the gallery, to Mark Compton, I’d been an innocent girl, eager to earn this job. I’d come to him a young girl who had an open heart and I had trusted easily. I’m not that girl anymore, if I were the ring would be back on my finger.

Wednesday 6 pm
I cannot write everything there is to write. Not now. I’m still at work. But this day has been crazy. I was at Ava’s coffee shop grabbing coffee to get me through what will be a late night, and I found her and Mary huddled in a corner. It made me uncomfortable. I don’t know why but I felt that it was about me. That is very self-centered, I know. I’m not that girl. I don’t think everything is about me but it just felt off in some way. I’d left before they’d seen me and that’s when I’d come face to face with him. I’d stepped outside and was halfway back to the gallery when he’d stepped in my path. Have I ever mentioned he smells like a wonderful spice? I don’t know what kind of spice. Just spice. Really, yummy, delicious spice. Nutmeg and honey? No. No. That is a strange comparison. Just warm and wonderful. And he’d been so close I could reach out and touch him, but of course, you never touch a master without behind told to touch him.
Which is why I touched him.

I put my hand on his chest, and I swear he sucked in a breath. And I was holding mine. To my surprise, his hand had covered mine, and he’d held me to him. “Rebecca,” he’d breathed out, and this new way he says my name, like I’m the reason he has a voice, set my heart to racing.

“Hello,” I’d said, which was silly. Hello? I should have said his name. Why can’t I ever say it? Why is he still Master to me?

“Did you get my gift?”

“Yes I-” My free hand goes to the ring on the chain. “I’m wearing it.”
He’d gone still. So very still.

And I have to go back to work.

More soon…