“Okay. Good.” The words fell painfully flat considering the relief that coursed through me. “I think we’ll do really well together.” I swallowed thickly. “But you have to really want it.”
Her eyes moved around the room and she chewed her bottom lip. Then a decision was made behind those dark eyes. “I do.” She focused on me. “I want it, bad.”
We held each other’s gaze. We were professionals. I was a professional. But that last sentence stayed in my mind long after I took her home, haunting my thoughts as I fought to sleep.
* * *
I would not break my music stand on that trombonist’s head. I would not be the devil they painted me to be. I had restraint. I was a professional.
I kicked a chair instead.
My gaze went to the first chair cellist where Carla sat once again. Kim caught my eyes. She frowned and looked quickly away. Shame crept over me. She had to see that they weren’t listening to me. They weren’t respecting me. I needed every note they played to be brilliant, but if the musicians didn’t trust my vision, the symphony would fall flat and the critics would roast me.
They were sloppy and chatty. I didn’t care if it was early Monday morning. We only had so many weeks until our first show together as a symphony. They needed to play better.
“Break for ten. And when we reconvene, I want you all to pretend that this is your career and that you give a shit.”
The room was silent after my outburst. I was working on the bursts of anger. My therapist said outbursts like that would only diminish their respect for me, but I found it therapeutic—and better than violence toward the closest musician. That first chair violinist would snap like a twig if I so much as looked at him too hard. Their eyes were on me as I left the room. I didn’t look at Kim when I passed. As far as I was concerned, she was Christine while we were here, and nothing had changed.
My temper was only increased when Chagny appeared outside the rehearsal room door with a bouquet of flowers and dumbass grin on his face. He stepped slightly in front of me as I left the room.
I looked pointedly at my watch then said, “Chagny.”
“Aren’t you being a little hard on them?” he asked with cool affability.
How much trouble would I be in with Andy-Dick if I punched him in his smug face? I saw right through his nice clothes, styled hair, and manicured hands to the slug underneath.
“Rehearsals are closed,” I said.
He grinned like my silly rules had no control over him. “I’m here to see my dear friend, Christine.”
Since when?I almost spat.
“This is a rehearsal, not the Front Porch on date night.”
He winked. He actually winked at me. My fists balled. I rocked my head from side to side to pop my neck as I took a cleansing breath in.
“I’ll only be a minute.” He clapped me on the shoulder. As if we were fucking pals. “My parents are excited for the showcase. They can’t wait to see this new composer taking the world by storm.”
When he was met with silence, he continued, “Just have to learn to control that temper. How’s Carla doing, by the way?”
What exactly was he insinuating?
He laughed with a small shake of his head. “Great talk. As always.”
Everything about him was smooth confidence. His face was relaxed, and a loose smile tugged the side of his mouth. But his words were a warning. His parents were some of the biggest donors to this symphony. He was reminding me that for all my power, they considered me to be no more than a lackey.
The urge to warn him away from Kim was right on my tongue. But he’d love that. He’d see it as a challenge. Instead, I brushed past him without another word. Let him think it was a win. Despite my short temper, I knew the long game. There was no way Kim would fall for a tool like that.
“Nice mask, by the way.”
I barely heard the words before he stepped into the rehearsal room.
That pasty son-of-a-bitch. What a fine nose; it needed character. Maybe a surgical reset after I punched it into his skull.
The muscles of my neck and back were rigid. Distantly, the voices of Andy-Dick came from around the corner. They were the last thing I could possibly handle right now. Instead of heading to my office after all, I made my way up to a long-abandoned storage room on the second floor. It was my secret place nobody knew about. The small and dusty room provided a safe space.
I tugged down my mask down and threw my hat on a stack of broken chairs from the seventies. I scrubbed my hands over my face and hair. I hated this shit, but it was necessary. Breathing came freely for the first time in hours.
