How did someone achieve that?
“I mean it, Miles. Sit your butt down,” I said while patting the bench beside me, “or I’m going to hide that lightsaber somewhere you’ll never, ever find it.”
His blue eyes turned to me in alarm, blond hair windswept from battling invisible adversaries.
“Miss Emma, you wouldn’t!” He batted those big, beautiful eyelashes—which were much too thick for an ungrateful little six-year-old brat who was spoiled to the point of turning rancid.
I snorted and patted the bench again. “Oh, trust me. If you don’t start showing me your progress on ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,’ I most definitely would, little man.”
We were ten minutes into the little menace’s tutoring session, and I could guarantee that Mr. and Mrs. Sterling weren’t paying me to watch their young jedi-in-training pulverize couch cushions.
“But that song is for babies,” Miles said as he let his state-of-the-art lightsaber toy drop to the Persian rug before dragging his feet over to me. “I don’t wanna play it.”
“Well, tell me which piece would you like to learn instead,” I said, testing out my patience. It was already shorter than usual this morning. I’d been dozing in bed daydreaming about my date with Noah, when I remembered I had a session with this little hooligan.
“The opening toStar Wars!” He pumped both fists into the air and beamed up at me. I had no idea how his mother kept his suits perfectly tailored to fit such small shoulders plus legs that seemed to grow more each day.
“Uh…” I stalled and tried not to wince as I thought of how complex that could get. “How about the music that plays inJaws? When the shark is in the water?”
Miles blinked up at me. “Miss Emma, I’m not allowed to watchJaws. That’s a grown-up movie.”
“Right.” AndStar Warswasn’t? “Well, Miles, we need to start by learning the different notes our fingers can play. That’s why we practice beginner songs first, and then we work our way up to the more fun songs. Does that make sense?”
“But why doIhave to play? Why can’t I just give someone money to play for me?” Miles whined as he held his little palms out to his sides.
He was such a treat.
“Because it’s a good skill to learn,” I said, mostly to give myself more time to think of a better reason. My mind blanked. “Learning a musical instrument is fun, and it teaches you things like discipline. It’s always good to try different things so you can find out what you like.”
“Please don’t lie to me.” Miles rolled his eyes. “This isnotfun.”
I glanced at thePiano for Kids - Beginner 101sheet music on the piano’s music shelf with a frown.
My breath escaped me in a sigh before I put on my best camp counselor voice. “All right! How about this? For every correct line you play, I’ll give you half of a cookie. That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
Apparently, I wasn’t above bribery.
Miles put a couple stubby fingers to his chin in the very aristocratic picture of thinking as he considered it. My heart sank when he shook his head. “No cookies. But I’ll counteroffer awholescoop of Jell-O for each line,andif I get everything right, we stop playing piano and you play jedis with me.”
I considered his offer, but I didn’t bother putting a finger to my chin, as I couldn’t pull it off the way his munchkin-self did. The boy obviously hadn’t practiced a single note, and he detested the song itself. Plus it would take the rest of our hour for me to go through how to read the sheet music and play the first few lines. It was the easiest bet I’d ever made. “Those terms sound fair. One question before I agree, though.”
Miles nodded sagely for me to continue.
“Do you already have Jell-O in your refrigerator, or will this require me to make it?” I wasn’t sure how far along my cooking skills were. I could’ve gotten store-bought cookies, but I wasn’t sure if I trusted Jell-O molds.
“Miss Louisa made Jell-O yesterday.” Miles waved off my concern. “There’s areallybig bowl in the fridge.”
“All right.” I held out my hand to the little bugger. “I agree to your terms, Mr. Sterling.”
“Lovely,” Miles’s little voice proclaimed as he slipped his hand into mine. The self-satisfied smirk on the rugrat’s little face should’ve clued me in.
* * *
That little devil.
That ungrateful, conniving, psychotic little menace.
I sat stewing on the curb outside of the Sterlings’ gated mansion. My session ended fifteen minutes ago, but I was still fuming at the nerve of that little brat.
