by Tara Sue Me
Probably because he was at her side, no one said anything to her, but watched as the two of them stepped outside. Just a few steps away, a driver held open a door to a waiting car. It wasn’t until she sat down on the comfortable leather seat that she relaxed. Even then, her relief only lasted a second because, of course, he joined her.
She assumed someone had informed the driver earlier where they were going because the man at her side told him nothing. Had she been a complete idiot to get in the car with this man? More than likely. She tugged her bag up on the seat between them and rummaged through it until her fingers wrapped around her phone. Now at least she had a way to communicate with the outside world.
Unfortunately, the only thing on her screen at the moment were several “WTF?” and “What happened back there?” messages. Instead of answering, she rested the phone face down on her lap.
“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” she said to the man thumbing through his own messages. “With all due respect, I don’t know who you are or where we’re going.” And if he didn’t tell her both, right now, she planned to jump out of the car the next time it stopped. Which in the traffic they were in, wouldn’t be long at all.
“I’m Lance Braxton,” he said. “Barbara Murphy is my maternal grandmother, and we’re on our way to the hospital to see her. If you would like to get out of the car, let me know and I can ensure we pull over at a safe spot.”
“I’m fine,” she told him, but he’d already returned to his phone, giving her the impression he no longer found her worthy of his time. How was it a man who, from all appearance, was so wrapped up in the world, came to judge a musical audition? And not an inconsequential one at that?
On the other hand, she was excited to meet Barbara. The woman was somewhat of a legend within the fine arts community as a result of her charitable giving. Because Celeste had spent all of her free time practicing for today’s audition, news of Barbara’s hospitalization hadn’t reached her. She felt bad for not knowing and having to be told.
She’d like to know why Barbara was in the hospital in the first place and how she was and her prognosis. At the moment, however, her only source of information would be Lance. A quick peek showed he was still on his phone. No doubt he was one of those people who couldn’t function without the device.
After a few minutes, she looked his way again but longer this time in order to admire his profile; the strength of his jawline and his obnoxiously perfect nose. Looking at him this way, she could even make out his lips. His mouth twitched, and she averted her eyes before he caught her looking.
“Do you need something, Ms. Walsh?” He asked, and she knew he had missed nothing.
“How is your grandmother doing today?” She asked, speaking the first thing that came to her mind not involving lips.
He put his phone down. “We spoke this morning, and she was in good spirits, although understandably upset she would miss the auditions. I told her we could reschedule them for when she got out of the hospital, but she said under no circumstances would we move the date, insisting those of you competing needed the audition to happen today.”
And why am I here again? She wanted to ask but didn’t. Fortunately, she was spared having to come up with more items to chat with Lance about because at that moment, the car pulled up to the hospital entrance.
They didn’t stop at the desk but kept walking until they came to a set of closed doors. Lance punched a code into the number pad off to the side and a metallic click alerted them to the door's unlocking. He held it open, motioning for her to go through and as she crossed the threshold, she knew without a doubt she was not in her element when she was around Lance Braxton.
She tried not to gape and stare, but it was difficult. She’d been inside plenty of hospitals when her grandmother had been alive, but not one like this. From all appearances, she wasn’t even in a hospital anymore, but some chic hotel lobby.
“I guess if you have to be in the hospital, it helps if your room makes you feel as if you’re staying at the Ritz,” she said as they crossed the room to another set of closed doors. The biggest difference was the presence of a desk and the woman behind it, off to the side.
“Don’t be absurd,” Lance said with a sarcastic grin. “The Ritz wishes it was this nice. This is where private hospitals put you when you donate the building to them.”
“Hello, Mr. Braxton,” the woman at the desk said. “She’s awake. You can go on in.”
The double doors opened, and Celeste pulled every bit of calm she’d ever used before following Lance inside.
“Lance,” someone said. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you still be at the audition?”
Lance stepped to the side, allowing Celeste the opportunity to see the older woman propped up in bed with pillows, wearing reading glasses, and with a stack of folders on a tray. Mrs. Murphy looked at her and lowered her head to peer over the top of her lens at her grandson. “Who is this you brought with you?”
Lance placed his hand on her lower back, urging her to step forward. “This is Celeste Walsh. Celeste, this is my grandmother, Barbara Murphy.”
“Mrs. Murphy,” Celeste said, feeling a little star struck at seeing the lady she’d heard so much about. “It’s so good to meet you.”
“Thank you, dear.” The older lady took her glasses off and addressed her grandson. “Since we have that over with, tell me why you aren’t at auditions?”
“I stopped them early.” Lance didn’t seem to mind the way his grandmother’s eyes narrowed at him. Looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world, he walked to her bedside, and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Because I found who we need to give it to.”
So it wasn’t a given it was hers?
Mrs. Murphy studied Celeste. “This is her, I take it?” At his nod, she added, “It doesn’t surprise me at all you selected a female. What does she do?”
It was unsettling standing in the room while they spoke like she was too dumb to understand what they said. She was getting ready to tell them she could try to spin on her head when Lance rendered her silent.
“She plays the violin. For her audition, she played Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst’s 'The Last Rose of Summer,’ and she almost hit all the pizzicatos.”
Mrs. Murphy might have said something, but if so, Celeste didn’t hear what. Her brain was too busy working overtime trying to comprehend that Lance not only knew the piece she played by both name and composer, but he also recognized the pizzicatos she screwed up.
Well, damn.
As it turned out, Mrs. Murphy had been talking. In fact, she’d been speaking with Lance. They both stopped what they were discussing and looked at her.
“Did I say that out loud?” Celeste asked.
“Yes, you did,” Lance said with a smirk.
“Sorry.” Celeste felt her cheeks heat. “What you said was unexpected.”
“You’re surprised I knew the piece, or I knew you made mistakes?”
Her cheeks grew even warmer. “Both actually.”
He didn’t reply. He sat in the chair beside his grandmother and watched her with those intense eyes that missed nothing. In fact, the intensity he studied her with left her feeling naked and exposed.
And of course, that made her cheeks heat even more.
“Tell me why.” He spoke softer, but his tone conveyed in no uncertain terms that those three words were a command and that he expected her to comply.
“No one at the audition knew who you were.” She blinked, remembering the three male vocalists that come out complaining. “They said…” They had called him a fucking asshole, but she would not repeat that. “They said you were her grandson, that you were a big-shot on Wall Street, and that you knew nothing about the arts.”
Mrs. Murphy chuckled. “Two out of three’s not bad.”
Lance ignored her. “What else?” He asked Celeste. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Celeste glanced at his grandmother.
“Don’t worry
about offending her ears,” Lance said. “She’s heard it all and more than likely, said it as well.”
“They also said you were a fucking asshole,” Celeste muttered.
Lance looked over his shoulder to his grandmother. “Three out of four,” he said. “Their score is getting better.”
Why did she get a strange feeling in her belly whenever he spoke?
“Did they also tell you they showed up hung over to the audition?” He narrowed his eyes. “I may consider myself an asshole for many reasons. But kicking out a trio of boys who disrespected my mother’s memory by showing up to audition for the scholarship named after her hung over is not one of them.”
“I agree,” Celeste said, appalled anyone would do such a thing.
No one said anything after that, and for several long seconds, an uneasy silence settled over the three. Celeste took a deep breath and held perfectly still, preparing to slip into her calm state.
“Ms. Walsh,” Mrs. Murphy said, breaking her stillness. Her voice came as such a surprise, Celeste jumped. “Would you mind if my grandson and I spoke privately for a few minutes? Normally, I’d excuse us from the room, but…” she waved at the hospital bed.
Damn it, Celeste thought. How could she have been so clueless not to see that the woman wanted to speak to her grandson without an audience? “Of course not,” she said with a glance at Lance. “I’ll be right outside.”
Lance nodded, and she made her way to the door.
She’d thought she could chat with the woman working the desk, but the spot where she’d stood earlier was empty. With a sigh, she leaned against the wall, wondering how long Lance would be and if at the end of his current discussion, she’d still be his pick for the scholarship.
“She’s beautiful, Lance,” Mrs. Murphy said, and Celeste froze in place. The walls had to be paper thin for her to hear someone in the other room so well.
“I know what you’re thinking, and that’s not the case here,” Lance said, sounding just as clear as his grandmother.
She should move away from the wall so she couldn’t hear. It would be the right thing to do since Mrs. Murphy had asked for privacy. But she couldn’t get her feet to agree.
“Don’t you think people will think it odd that after three male recipients, we pick a woman the year you run the audition?” Mrs. Murphy asked.
“I don’t give a flying fuck what people think or say, and I thought you felt the same.”
“It’s only the whole debacle with Sabrina has finally been put to rest, and I don’t want that mess brought up again.”
Anger tinged his voice when he spoke. “Sabrina has nothing to do with this. I picked Celeste because she was the most qualified.”
“How do you know? By your own account, you didn’t listen to everyone.”
“Trust me. I know Celeste is the right one.”
They were quiet for such a long time, she thought the conversation might be over and she was getting ready to step away from the wall and move to the other side of the room when Mrs. Murphy spoke again.
“Obviously I trust you or else I’d never have asked you to take my place this year. And while that young woman might be the best choice, I’ll only agree to her holding the scholarship as long as you agree not to sleep with her.”
Chapter Three
So he’d lied to his grandmother. It wasn’t his first lie, and he doubted it would be his last. But he had no choice, he couldn’t risk Celeste not getting the scholarship. Barbara was the final authority over the recipient which meant he had to play along for now. Yes, he could tell Celeste that he would fund her education, but he knew without asking she would take nothing of the sort from him or anyone else. A scholarship was different. She could earn a scholarship and would see anything outside of that as unwelcome charity.
After leaving his grandmother, he found Celeste waiting in the next room like she said she would be. She stopped texting and slid her phone into her bag as he walked inside. Once more she was the perfect image of calm. But looking further he saw something simmering just under the surface. Anger, maybe? He wasn’t sure, but he planned to get to the bottom of whatever it was.
They left the hospital, talking as they walked.
“I’d like to discuss the scholarship with you,” he told her. “We can go to my office if you would like. Is now a good time?”
She snorted under her breath.
“Ms. Walsh?”
“I’m sorry,” she said, though she acted anything but sorry. “It’s just, you didn’t ask me before bringing me here. Why bother asking my opinion on the matter now? Why not just order me to the car and drive away?”
“Do you know what would have happened if I’d left and not brought you to the hospital with me?” He saw her answer reflected in her eyes but he gave her his response anyway. “The people at the audition would have harassed you, asking questions you wouldn’t have answers for. Even worse… maybe someone would think you and I were having a sordid affair and that made you free for the taking and your protests fell on deaf ears.”
They stood by his car, but he signaled his driver to stay where he was for the moment.
She shot him a dirty look and crossed her arms. “I never questioned why the last three recipients were male, but maybe I should have.”
Damn it. He’d known the walls were thin. He hadn’t realized they were that thin.
“Ms. Walsh.” He took a deep breath. “If this has anything to do with what you may have overheard -”
“Is that seriously how you see this going? Tell me if I have this straight. You’ll give me the scholarship and in return I’ll let you fuck me? No thanks, I’d rather wash dishes for the rest of my life than to be in debt to your dick.”
His blood boiled. Luckily for both of them, he had control over his temper. “I suggest you close your mouth and listen because I’ll only address this ridiculousness once. You’ll get the scholarship because you deserve it and you’ve earned it and you’re the most qualified. Trust me, I’d never once consider stooping so low as to barter scholarship money for sex.”
“That’s what they all say.”
“I assure you, I have a line of women just waiting for the privilege of servicing my cock for free.” Fuck, he couldn’t believe he lost restraint over his tongue and let that slip out of his mouth. So much for thinking he'd mastered his temper.
“The privilege of servicing your cock?” She rolled her eyes. “That’s some God complex you have there.”
Damn it all, but she was the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen when she got riled up. “I do not suffer from delusions of grandeur, Ms. Walsh. I am well aware that I am not God.”
She still stood with her arms crossed and regarding him as if he was a demon straight from the fiery pits of hell. “Tell it to your therapist, I don’t believe you.”
He refused to have any more of this discussion in public and nodded to his driver. The man hopped out of the car and opened the back door. “Get in the car,” Lance commanded Celeste. “I will not continue to have this conversation in a hospital parking lot.”
“Are you this controlling about every area of your life? Do this, come here. Don’t do that.”
He pulled down his sunglasses, looking at her from over the rims. “Yes. Get in the car.”
She huffed but slid into the back. He followed, making sure the divider between the front and back seat was up.
It wasn’t until they were settled and on their way that he spoke again. “Though I enjoy control, I fear our current situation with my grandmother and the auditions have exacerbated it more than normal and I apologize. I promise I’m not usually this much of an ass.”
She nodded, but her eyes told him she didn’t believe him. He didn’t argue because he had a feeling she was right.
* * *
He angled his body away from hers after trying to convince her he wasn’t a Grade A Ass. The position granted her the opportunity to study him without his awareness. For several long minu
tes, she did that very thing. While she had scoffed at his remark about having a line of women waiting, she never doubted its truthfulness. Likewise, she believed his insistence of the fact that he never exchanged money, scholarship or not, for sex.
A faint movement of his jaw signaled he was not as unaware of her perusal as she had thought. She turned to gaze out the window before he said something about her interest in him.
She didn’t want to be interested in him. He was the means to an end, and that was all. She needed him for one thing and one thing only, and that was to provide her with the scholarship funds required for her studies at Juilliard.
When looked at that way, she was the one using him. And not the other way around. Although she didn’t like to think she was using him or his family.
The faint chuckle he gave in response to her movement only showed how wrong she was. No matter what she thought, Lance allowed no one to use him.
When he told her they would discuss the scholarship in his office, it never occurred to her he meant his home office. Yet that was exactly where she stood. Not only that, but ‘home’ was nowhere near being descriptive enough to do justice to the massive estate he lived on.
They hadn’t traveled far out of the city, and yet stepping out of the car and looking up at the stone mansion before her, she could easily picture herself somewhere in Europe.
Odd because she’d pictured him as a penthouse-over-looking-Central-Park type of guy.
“The scholarship will cover all tuition and fees required for your full-time enrollment at Juilliard. Currently, it only covers undergraduate studies, but if you wish to proceed with graduate school, we may opt to extend it.”
She snapped back to attention. Her focus needed to be on Lance and the terms of the scholarship instead of gaping at the mansion’s decor.
“Room and board are not an issue,” he continued, “since you will live here. We will assign a car and driver to you for any transportation needs.”
“Wait. What?” Had she heard him correctly? “I live here? Do the three guys who are also current holders also stay here?”