“So I wouldn’t fall,” I groaned. “I had nothing to hold onto.”
“So, he offered to hold you instead.” The way Destiny said it made it sound sordid. “Then he gave you the ‘I’ve seen you somewhere’ line—”
“He had,” I replied, amused. “At college.”
“If that’s what you want to believe. But he asked someone for your phone number and asked you to go over to his place in secret. These aren’t the actions of an innocent man.”
“He’s an artist,” I offered, but even my explanation sounded weak. I had to admit asking me over to his place was odd. But maybe that was how he worked, how was I to know?
Destiny scoffed. “He could’ve met you at work instead of his place, but Paul Crane is savage. He sees what he wants and just takes it. He works fast, even for New York City. I like him.”
“He’s not working fast on me. He’s probably writing something related to the violin.” I tried to explain, and all the while feeling my cheeks burn just a little as I thought about him. “I’m sure the offer was mere artistic curiosity. Maybe he has a private studio at his place?”
“Okay, enough with the excuses. Sure, he invites a pretty woman—he just met—over to his house to play music. Even I know he has a reputation for blurring the professional lines, but you can check it out for yourself online too.”
“I don’t want to stalk the guy.”
“You’re not, Aubrey. You’re just gathering facts. But if you want my advice, don’t pass up working with a guy like that. If nothing else comes from it, you have something to beef up your résumé.”
“I know,” I said, deflated. “But I’ve already cancelled on him. What am I supposed to do now?”
“You can still go over.”
“Seems way too brash for me.”
“Be brash! Aubrey, once you’re at his place, he won’t turn you away. You show up and tell him you realized you’re free and let things go from there.” Her tone made it sound like we’d jump right into bed. It was absurd, but that didn’t stop the thrill that shot through me at the fantasy.
“If I show up, wouldn’t he wonder why I didn’t call?” I asked.
“You’re overthinking it. Just tell him since he’d already set the time you assumed he was still free, so you came over. That way he can’t change his mind,” she suggested.
I chewed my lip. “Can I do that?”
“Yes, you can, and that’s the reason you called me. You wanted me to talk you into doing it. You go early, wear a skirt and just follow his lead.”
“I may have to work with him,” I said, indulging a little in the imaginary.
“Just be discreet.” We laughed, and she added, “No one would ever expect you to do anything scandalous.”
“I wouldn’t, and you’re right. I called you so you could talk me into going over to his place. Thank you.”
“I know, that’s my job. Being a roommate who’s barely there and figuring out how you can have an affair at work,” she half-joked. “Now I need to go. I want to get a little sleep before my next flight. See you state-side.” Her voice softened. “Or do you want to talk more about your sister?”
“No, I’m fine.” I sighed. “I’m better now.”
“Would you tell me if you weren’t?” she asked. “Seriously, I’m here for you. Even when I’m not. We’ve got each other’s backs.”
I swallowed hard. She’d had my back since we’d first met a year and a half ago, when I was between jobs and had nowhere to live. She didn’t even know me, but she’d said that she had a good feeling about me. I’d forever be in her debt.
“Thank you so much, Destiny,” I said, my voice catching.
“Girl, please don’t cry. You’re doing great. Now go find something cute to wear and set your alarm for early.”
We ended the call, and I happily went to my closet to prepare for my early morning ambush at Paul Crane’s home.
Destiny had me fired up on the phone, but later in the morning, I wasn’t as sure. I’d never been the type that dropped by someone’s house—I was more the type to call and confirm before showing up. My nerves had been on edge before I canceled because I hadn’t played in a long while and we were meeting up in secret. Not to mention Paul Crane was sexy as hell. Would I even be able to perform without being distracted?
If he agreed to still hear me play, and I relaxed, I was sure I would be fine. However, I didn’t know what I would say to him, and only had the ride on the train to Tribeca, where he lived, to figure it out.
I wore a red and white fitted top and a tulle skirt that showed more legs than I normally would. By the attention from the men on the train, they were a hit. I had gone for a casual look with my hair in a loose braid down my back and my white Vans sneakers for comfort. I was the picture of cool on the outside, though the closer I came to the stop, the more my insides jumbled.
On the way to Paul’s, I finally solved the problem. Instead of explaining myself, I’d simply show up with mini muffins. The online map of the address he’d given me showed that he lived on a street with renovated factory buildings, and there was a bakery on the way.
A light rain had started. I’d been so distracted that I’d forgotten my umbrella, and the more I walked, the more the rain came down, heavier and heavier.
I thought to move back towards the coffee shop a few streets away for cover. While I pondered at the crosswalk, out of nowhere, swoosh!
An SUV disguised as a race car came swinging around the corner, and a head-to-toe tidal wave of water rose from a dip in the road and over me. The car behind the SUV pumped the horn to express his disapproval but had to keep moving. I froze, thanks to being shocked and drenched with water, totally unsure what to do next. Thankfully, a woman came over with an umbrella and offered tissue from her purse so I could at least see through my glasses.
“Wow, that was crazy. Do you want the guy’s plate number?” she offered.
My sarcastic inner voice couldn’t wait to chime in and tell me: The police will get right on calling out an all-points bulletin to capture the driver that went through a puddle.
“I’m sure the car did it by accident.” I peered down the street through my now-clean glasses.
“You should go over there and wait until it stops raining so hard,” she suggested, pointing over to the scaffolding across the street, where a small crowd gathered. I could only hope that none of the people standing there had filmed me to upload a hilarious video to social media.
As quickly as the torrential rain had started, it returned to a drizzle. The woman moved away and so did the dark clouds, leaving behind a bright burst of sunlight. And here I was, a drenched oddity on the sidewalk, clutching a bag of soggy muffins. In defeat, I sloshed back to the subway, stopping briefly next to a building to squeeze excess water from my shirt, skirt, and hair before heading down the stairs.
“Aubrey?” a deep familiar voice called over. Damn! Paul Crane was calling me from the bottom platform. Was it fate for him to find me a wreck?
He looked panty-melting hot, and he wasn’t even trying. Today’s shirt was loose and pale blue, worn over a pair of jogging pants. He had a gym bag in hand. His curly hair was slightly damp and mussed, but fit perfectly with what I was coming to know as his casual-chic style.
“What a surprise.” Paul’s striking blue-green eyes, didn’t quite match his laid-back vibe. They held a laser intensity as they scanned me from head to toe, which made me squirm… and not in a good way. “I canceled … but then I changed my mind. Then the rain came, and now I’m going home,” I jabbered, using all the breath I had.
Paul let me finish my ramblings and grinned. “No, you’re not. You’re coming with me.”
I scrunched up my face. “I can’t. I’m a mess.”
“I’m not letting you go back on the subway like that,” he replied. From his tone, I must have looked worse than I thought. “Besides, I’m happy you showed up. I really want to hear you play, and I still have time free today. I�
�ve just come from the gym. We can both wash up. I’ll give you something to change into, and we can talk, then I can listen to you while your clothes dry.”
“Well… okay,” I reluctantly agreed. Turning away his perfectly reasonable offer and going back to my place empty-handed would only leave me cursing myself for blowing the opportunity.
Paul removed the bag of muffins from my hand and placed them in the trash.
“I bought them just before all of this happened,” I said as a way of apology. “I thought you might like them.”
He took my hand in his and lightly stroked his thumb over the back. “It’ll all be fine. Don’t you worry.”
My breath caught in my throat as my senses leaped to life at the awareness of his touch. He was trying to make me relax, but he sparked a charge to my skin. I glanced up at him and found him focusing straight ahead, seemingly oblivious. Whatever the feeling his touch had aroused, it must have only been on my side. Yet I couldn’t stop my hand from shaking in his as we walked; holding hands with someone I dated was completely foreign to me. I could blame the chill of the rain for my tremors. Never had I ever had such a visceral attraction as I felt to him.
When we reached the building, the doorman pushed the door open. I looked down at the rainwater dripping from my rumpled clothing onto the highly polished marble floors when we stopped at his attendant’s desk.
“I’m sorry,” I said emphatically.
“It’s fine, Miss,” the attendant responded. What else could he say?
Paul placed his hand lightly on my lower back. “Could you give Elsie’s a call and have someone come over to take a rush dry-clean order, please?”
“I’ll take care of the bill when it comes,” I said directly to the attendant. “If you can have them contact me.”
The attendant looked at Paul and they shared a quiet conversation before Paul steered me toward the elevators and pressed the button. It didn’t take much to figure out no one would listen to my request. Climbing inside the empty elevator, I folded my arms as I squinted at Paul, who pressed the button to close the doors. He had the confident smile of a man used to getting his way. “You’re pretty when you pout,” he teased.
I couldn’t hide my smile or push away the flutter that went through my stomach at his compliment. “I was serious. I showed up by surprise and I don’t want to further put you out if I can help it.”
“I invited you to come,” he replied smoothly. “There are no bills. My family owns the company. For what it’s worth, I don’t pay either.”
“You’re too kind, but I should make up for it,” I said and shook my head. “Today isn’t going at all like I had expected.”
“How did you expect things to go?” he asked as he placed a key in a slot before pressing the top floor.
I gestured to the clothes that were now glued to my body. “Less wet,” I joked. His intake of breath was audible as his eyes followed the path I’d shown him before I realized my folly. My breasts were clearly outlined under the thin tight-fitting fabric of my wet shirt. My nipples hardened under my bra as his gaze lingered, and my arms moved slightly back. The keen focus and pleasure in his expression were alluring; so much so that my conscience was slow to stir. When it did, I angled myself away, but many seconds too late. I had exposed myself. It was bad enough that I’d watched him stare at me, but even worse that he knew I’d wanted him to.
I spoke quickly, “I don’t know what I was thinking. What you have witnessed up to now doesn’t represent my work, should you take the Emono Games project. I can’t believe I did that. If you give me a chance to start over, I promise you from here on out things will go—”
Less desperate? I didn’t know how to explain. I didn’t want him to send me home, and I should have been thinking about work and the repeated opportunities he’d given me instead of flirting with the man I couldn’t and shouldn’t have.
The elevator stopped, letting us know we’d reached the top. I could hear Paul turning the key in the lock and I held my breath. What now?
The brush of his hand under my chin made me shiver as he lifted my face to his. My heart raced. Once again, his good looks had struck a chord in me. His eyes had darkened from our lust-filled exchange. The charge in the air remained.
“I’m not innocent. I enjoyed that, too much. But I brought you here under professional circumstances as an admirer of your performance skills.”
His hand returned to his side, and I nodded a few times, admonishing myself to remember that he was friendly enough over our flirtation, but not romantically interested in me. Remember, Aubrey, not interested. At. All.
“Yes, Mr. Crane.” My shoulders dropped, and I moved to leave the elevator when he touched my elbow.
“You have the wrong idea. I’ve told you why I brought you here, but the reason I brought it up was because I need you to show me mercy.”
“Mercy?” I repeated and blinked up at him.
“I’m trying to be professional, but you keep doing things I find adorably distracting,” he explained with amusement in his tone. “I don’t know how to ask you to stop because I’m thinking you can’t help yourself, can you, Ms. Irving?”
There was the playfulness I’d liked from his call, and normally I’d cringe at being called adorable—but having insanely hot Paul think that way about me was downright stimulating.
I smiled from ear to ear. “Probably not, but I’ll try.”
“Thankfully, you won’t succeed.” He grinned, flashing a perfect set of even white teeth. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”
I grinned back at him. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Paul chuckled, opened the door, and we were instantly inside a contemporary industrial loft. It was the type of place I dreamed I’d have when I had my life together. It had it all: vaulted ceilings, exposed brick, oak wood beams, and raw wood flooring. The set up was a spacious, open plan with dark leather couches on delicately woven area rugs. It had a perfect mixture of modern and antique lamps, stylized sculptures and framed pictures that made it as scenic as an interior in a high-end magazine. Everything had its place, but with little of a lived-in vibe. I especially liked the modern circular staircase off the formal dining room and a rustic, though elegant, fireplace. And right near the row of factory casement windows was the crown of the room—a Fazioli grand piano. Stunning.
“Is this where you work?” I asked, eyeing the sheet music neatly stacked on a table.
“It used to be where I composed and played my own music,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Now it’s where I work on other artists’ music. I love helping artists achieve their goals, but it can become emotionally consuming.”
“I can only imagine,” I murmured. I’d find it so because it was a spectacular space, but then I supposed if I lived that way, I’d just get used to it, just as Paul had.
He pushed his hair back from his forehead. “It is. It leaves little energy or inspiration for writing my own music.”
“I hope you find time to write more,” I gushed, thinking of the music I’d listened to last night. “Your classical and modern performances are amazing, but your original work is brilliant.”
He gave me a soft smile. “You’re too kind. Thank you.”
Modest was definitely the new sexy.
The doorbell chimed, and he said, “That’s either the dry cleaners or your violin. I’d arranged yesterday to have one delivered to save time.”
After a brief exchange with the delivery person holding a violin case, he showed me a bathroom with a large cast-iron tub and a separate shower stall. The sink had a mirror, and what I saw in my reflection conjured up images of Prom Carrie from the Steven King novel, minus the blood. My hair was a tangled, dripping mess. I never knew clothing could rumple and sag like my skirt and shirt were doing. To top it all off, they had grit from the street splattered across the front. There was absolutely nothing pretty or adorable about me but, to my absolute glee, Paul thought so.
I swooned. Paul Crane. He w
asn’t just a man with a gorgeous face and irresistible charm, and those weren’t the only things that made him so damn appealing. The way he put me at ease had me captivated. Normally, I’d have been in meltdown mode after inviting him to stare at my boobs. I hadn’t exactly meant to do it, but I didn’t stop him. He took it in stride. He was a flirt, and I liked that. I liked him.
I knew that he would be fun to work with, and I hoped that maybe we’d end up friends. If I could just stop the jolt in the pit of my stomach when he looked at me. If I could stop the shiver down my spine from his slightest touch, that friendship could commence.
Never had I been so turned on before, but I understood Paul asking me to play was an informal test to make him decide whether he’d work with me and Emono Games. This opportunity could extend my employee contract beyond the five months I had left and lead to a full-time job. So, that was what I would do. I’d go out there and do whatever I could to impress him. I’d break my promise not to do something that was a painful reminder of all the ways I had failed: I’d play the violin for him.
The shower had the best smelling lavender conditioner I ever used, and I mentally noted the label. I wanted to linger, but I was quick.
I froze when the door opened. When it closed again, I found, to my horror, all my clothing gone. Someone had left a pair of yoga pants that were unopened in a plastic bag. The only relief was a The Empire Strikes Back T-shirt large enough to cover my butt. I went through my bag and brushed my hair, twisting it into a tight braid that would make it easier for me to play. I was ready.
Paul was standing outside the door, and an instant wave of excitement rushed through me. He had added no flare or flash, just changed into a pair of loose jeans and a blue T-shirt, but he was naturally appealing. I didn’t know what it was about him. His gaze raked me from head to toe, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his desire to laugh at my appearance.
I grinned. “Go on.”
We both laughed easily together.
“Sorry about the clothes,” he said. “This place used to be my father’s and Mom-Two’s, place. These were the only clothes I found on short notice. The dry cleaners came by while you were showering, so I sent your clothes on. Honestly, I’m too impatient to hear you play to reschedule. Thank you for staying.”
Unfinished Sympathy Page 5