But Noah didn’t stop. “Aidan Dietrich likes to brag about his conquests. The whole department knew they were sleeping together.” He leaned closer to Liam until his friend looked up again. “Do not throw away your life’s work because your ego can’t handle her ex’s name on the front of a building.Youown that theater, no matter what asshole has their name on the sign.”
Liam shook his head. “He doesn’t deserve to have his name up there.”
“No shit,” Noah scoffed. “You don’t get a building named after you because you deserve it. You get it because you’re rich.”
Liam finished the rest of his beer. What was he doing? Noah was right. He couldn’t throw away decades of work, of studying and working to achieve everything his father never did, because of a woman – no matter how much he wanted Min, or how much of a scumbag Aidan was. If his failed engagement to Emma had proved anything it was that his father was right – relationships would never last, but his work could. But fuck if he didn’t want to be wrong about that.
“I’m going to get us something stronger,” Liam said, putting his beer down and retrieving a bottle of Scotch from the cabinet above the fridge. He poured them each a glass, handing one to Noah and draining his own in one gulp.
Noah was right. He had to put an end to the flirtation, even if it ripped his heart out to do it. He had to focus on the things he could control, the course he had charted for himself when he set out to establish himself as a titan of classical music – and that meant closing the Dietrich deal.
∞∞∞
Min arrived at her coaching on Monday unsure of what to expect. She never would have bet on Jeff sitting behind the piano when she pushed open the door to Dr. Jacobs’ office.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“Nice to see you, too,” Jeff grumbled.
“I asked Jeff to join us.” Dr. Jacobs rose from where he had been leaning against his desk. His jaw was set, his lips pressed together into a thin line. He had dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping, and he wouldn’t look her in the eye.
Flustered, an angry, embarrassed heat flooded her cheeks as she fumbled in her bag for her binder of sheet music.He doesn’t want to be alone with me.She kept her eyes doggedly on her music, refusing to look at Dr. Jacobs, at the stretch of his t-shirt across his chest beneath his blazer, the jeans hugging his ass, the two-day-old scruff on his jaw.
Fine,she thought, steeling herself.If he wants space, he can have all the space.Even if her heart pounded in protest.
Dr. Jacobs cleared his throat. “TheManon,” he prompted.
Halfway through the second section, Dr. Jacobs stopped her, his thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose. “Where did you go?”
His frustration cut through her, making it impossible to speak. She glanced at Jeff who looked as confused as she felt. Dr. Jacobs’ eyes were so tired she longed to comfort him. How could she be angry when he looked like he’d been battling demons all night – and losing?
“Where are you today?” he continued. “Because you aren’t in the music.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She glanced between Dr. Jacobs and Jeff, unsure what she’d done to disappoint him. Dr. Jacobs was usually so clear with his feedback. And she hated the restless, nauseous feeling spreading out from her belly at knowing that he was unhappy with her, that she had displeased him somehow.
He moved in front of the piano, blocking Jeff from her view. “What are you singing about?”
“Goodbye, little table – ” she translated, unsure what he was asking of her. Surely, he knew the French better than she did.
“But what are you singing about?” He repeated, the edge in his voice growing sharper. “The aria isn’t about a damn table.”
“It’s about lost love,” she replied automatically.
“No!” He slammed his hand on the top of the piano so hard the strings reverberated against the sounding board. She winced. She’d seen Dr. Jacobs angry; she’d seen him frustrated; but she had never seen him like this.
“Her love isn’tlost. She’s sacrificing it! She’s killing their dream for the sake of the man she loves. She’s saying goodbye to the life they could have had if their circumstances were different.” He slumped against his desk again as he ran his fingers through his hair, as if the outburst had drained him of all energy. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less biting. “It’s not a sad song – it’s a goddamn elegy.”
Min clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. “I don’t know what you want from me,” she said, doing everything she could to keep her voice steady.
“Don’t you?” The whispered question hung in the air between them, the space thick with tension.
“Jeff,” Dr. Jacobs snapped, louder now, digging in his pocket for his wallet. He pulled out a handful of bills and held them out to his assistant without looking at him, his eyes locked with Min’s. “Go get me a latte, will you? Grab one for yourself, too.”
Jeff took the bills, glancing between his roommate and Dr. Jacobs, before slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and ducking out of the room as quickly as he could, mouthing “sorry” at Min on his way past. As soon as the door closed, Dr. Jacobs turned his back to her and studied the photograph of the older woman on his desk.
“Did I do something to make you angry?” she asked, her voice shaking now, a mix of fear that she’d greatly misjudged the way he felt about her and anger that he would lash out at her – in front of her friend, no less – and she didn’t even know why.
“You do a lot of things to me, Min, but making me angry isn’t one of them, God help me.” He sounded exhausted. “I can’t keep doing this.”
