Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
This was a positive development for me, since he could have texted to say that the arrangement hadn’t worked and that it was now finished.
“How has rehearsal been?” Pierce asked politely as we moved past the foyer, where people were dropping off their coats at the coat check.
“Not bad.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and snapped a few quick pictures of the elegantly designed sign announcing the charity silent auction. Tables covered in white cloths held beautiful flower displays and delicate crystal flutes filled with sparkling champagne.
“That’s it. Are your coworkers causing problems for you?”
A giggle left me, and I paused in the act of returning my phone to my pocket. Instead, I lifted it and snapped a picture of a scowling Pierce. “And what if someone is bullying me? Are you going to threaten to beat them up?”
Pierce stopped walking and used his impressive height to tower menacingly over me. “Do I need to?”
Fuck, I loved his overprotective streak. The man looked as if he were ready to march out of the art museum, drive straight to the perpetrator’s house, and beat the shit out of him. Or at the very least, threaten him with a nasty lawsuit. The wicked part of me wanted to see him do it.
“Settle down.” I chuckled while trying to ignore the delicious tingles running through my body. Would it be wrong of me to pull him into some secluded corner of the museum and kiss the shit out of him? Not that Pierce would let me, but I so wanted to try. “There’s nothing for you to get worked up about. Any animosity there might have been has worked itself out. Rehearsals are boring. As a soloist, I do most of my practicing alone. I join in the rehearsals during the last couple of days because there’s no need for me to be there while the rest of the orchestra gets their shit together.”
A low, huffed laugh from Pierce drew my gaze to his face. A subtle smirk had replaced his scowl, and his features had relaxed. “And you don’t think any lingering animosity might be linked to your attitude?”
“What? Because they have to get their shit together?” We stopped at a table covered with a pristine white cloth. Pierce picked up a champagne flute and handed it to me, giving me a glimpse of the amusement still lingering in his eyes.
“Yes.”
“But I’m right. They do. So do I, of course, but I just have to get some notes from the conductor about how he wishes to interpret a certain piece. Then I can go practice on my own. The rest of the orchestra needs to play together to get in line with the conductor’s expectations. There have been a few mouthy people who think that I need to waste my time by there being for everything.”
Pierce picked up some champagne and led the way into the first gallery that had some objects up for bidding. “I’m guessing you shut them up by proving them wrong.”
“Before our first official performance together,” I bragged. “Some people are morons. It’s like they think all those awards I’ve won over the past twenty years were handed to me, and this is my first time playing.”
“I’m sorry you have to deal with that.”
I shrugged and took a sip of my champagne. Well, sparkling wine. Judging by the quality, I wasn’t willing to bet that this was genuine champagne. A charity shouldn’t waste its funds on high-end stuff. “It’s okay. This isn’t the first orchestra I’ve played with. They’re all very cliquish. Woodwinds hate the brass. Strings can’t stand percussion. Blah blah blah. However, some orchestras are more insular than others. They like to believe no one deserves to be included in their group until they’ve proved themselves for a few months or even years.”
“Didn’t you play with the London and Paris orchestras prior to college?”
“Yes, and despite their size and notoriety, both were very welcoming. There were a couple of prima donnas in the London one, but they saw it as their job to take me under their wings rather than exclude me. Despite the popular American stereotype of Parisians being rude, the Paris orchestra was hands down the friendliest I’ve ever played with.”
Pierce paused in front of a beautiful landscape watercolor of a shadowy meadow at the edge of a wood, with a small circle of golden sunlight cutting through the darkness. I peered closely at it, half expecting to see a faint image of a pixie or an elf hiding behind one of the trees.
As I straightened, Pierce picked up the pen and added a shockingly high bid for the painting to the sheet of paper.
“Are you a fan of this artist?”
My date paused and glanced back at the note card, proving that he hadn’t a clue who created this painting. “I’ve never heard of them,” he murmured. “I just like it, and there’s a spot in one of the meeting rooms at the office that needs some art.” He turned his gaze to me, his smile growing wider. “It’s also for a good cause.”