Mark (If it Feels Good 2)

Mark (If It Feels Good 2)
Alice Gaines
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2023 Alice Gaines

Finally, Cara could at least take a deep breath. She hadn’t done that since Cramer had announced to the whole executive group that Busby would be taking over the Henderson merger. After polite applause, all eyes had turned on her, expecting her to either burn up with anger or melt into a puddle of self-pity. Ms. Fairchild’s little girl was built of sterner stuff than that. But the stiff upper lip maneuver only went so far. For a few minutes, she’d felt as if she’d been dropped in previous times when a corset would have squeezed the air out of her. And everyone in the conference room would have been pulling the laces tighter.

She got up and went to the closet where she kept her coat and walking shoes without the heels. She’d had maintenance install a full-length mirror on the inside of the door so she could check herself out before meetings.

A full-on professional executive stared back at her. Elegantly tailored suit, cinched a bit at the waist to show off the strong body she spent hours swimming to create. Black pumps with spiked heels. Just the right amount of jewelry and tasteful makeup that now was spread over her cheeks.

The woman looked tired. Her shoulders slumped, and her eyes had a hollow look. The smeared mascara didn’t help, but she sure appeared to have bags under her eyes. It all sort of ruined the capable executive impression.

“Maybe it’s my boobs. This jacket shows them off too much.” The cut of her suit coat might flatter her figure a bit too much.

“There’s nothing wrong with your breasts,” a male voice answered.

“What the…” She stopped herself before she said a really bad word and turned to search the office for someone who might have said that. She found no one at all.

“Really, Cara,” the voice said. “Why do you second-guess yourself?”

Still, no one in the office, and the voice seemed to come from everywhere. No, not that. In her head. It wasn’t anyone she recognized, but it had a deep sort of tone almost as if the man were singing.

“Over here,” he said.

Okay, that had a direction. Right behind her. When she turned back, he was in her mirror. Life sized. Standing there, staring at her out of dark, dark eyes.

“Who in hell are you?” she asked. “And how did you get into my mirror?”

Had those words come out of her mouth? How did a man get into a mirror? Something had gotten knocked loose in her brain.

“Good questions,” he said. “My name is Mark, and technically, I’m not in your mirror.”

“I’m looking right at you.”

“Right. I’m standing at a mirror in my bedroom.” He stood off to the side and gestured around him. Sure enough, he wasn’t in a reflection of her office but near an enormous bed covered by a comforter that looked soft and warm. Something you could curl up on and fall right asleep.

“Would you care to join me?” he asked.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“Normally I enjoy humor, but no. I’m serious,” he answered. “Hold out your hand.”

She stretched her arm out to her side.

“I wasn’t clear. Toward me.” He extended his hand in her direction and waited with a pleasant expression on his face as if he expected her to do exactly what he’d asked just because he was good looking and standing next to a bed.

She hesitated. She wasn’t crazy, after all, and she didn’t take orders from some figment of her heated imagination. But then, if he wasn’t really there, she’d only touch glass, and maybe sanity would return. So she extended her hand toward him.

He smiled as her fingers neared his. “That’s the ticket.”

She moved forward another inch, and all of a sudden, the world turned into some kind of whirlwind, filling her ears with a whooshing sound. She managed to breathe while it went on for several seconds.

When it cleared, she was touching him. Him. Not an image but flesh. She almost jumped back, but by that time, he was holding her hand in his. And it felt good. So, when he tugged gently, she went the rest of the way toward him, leaving the mirror behind. She was in his bedroom, just the way it had appeared before, and the mirror she’d left was his, not the one in her closet.

“How did you do that?” she whispered, her voice almost failing her.

“That would take a bit of an explanation,” he answered. “And, honestly, I don’t understand all the details myself.”

Great. He’d brought her here without completely knowing what he was doing. “Where am I?”

“As I said, in my bedroom.”

That gave her absolutely no information, of course. But maybe she didn’t want to know anything else. One thing she did notice -- his mirror now reflected the two of them standing together. Her office had disappeared.

She went to the mirror and placed her palms against it. Solid glass. “I have to get back.”

“Why?”

“Because…” What kind of idiot would ask a question like that? She couldn’t just leave her life to come here...