Page 15 of Serving the Maestro

“Ah, he’s an asshole, then.”

She laughed again, and I wanted to say something else, so that she’d keep laughing.

It was music, that sound.

Just hearing it made me itch for a piano so I could try to capture the essence in a melody.

Maybe that was why I asked, “Well, since you don’t have an interview for the afternoon, why don’t you join me? I’m heading over to the Theater District—watching the rehearsals of the play we saw last night.”

She tipped her head back, studying me with those brilliant purple-blue eyes. “The rehearsals?”

“Yes.” I smiled, careful not to push but not holding back on the attraction I felt. “It’s actually a work assignment for me. But if you enjoy theater, you’d probably have fun seeing what’s involved before the curtain goes up.”

“I would.” She pursed her lips, her thoughts racing across her features. “You know, I don’t think we ever bothered to introduce ourselves.”

“That’s a problem easily solved.” I offered a hand. “Trent Dixson.”

“Jazz Moors.” A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “Trent Dixson...did you say you work in the theater industry?”

“Not theater per se. Entertainment.”

“Oh...oh!”

Her lips parted. Even as she started to talk, I wanted to lean in and kiss her, taste her full lower lip, bite it, then suck it into my mouth. I forced myself to focus on her words rather than her mouth and my dirty fantasies.

Completely lost in the visuals, I barely caught the tail end of her question.

“... writer...that was you, wasn’t it?”

What had she asked? I had no fucking clue. With a sheepish smile, I admitted as much. “Sorry. I didn’t catch all of that. Can I plead jetlag?”

Her cheeks flushed, and I’d bet she knew it wasn’t jetlag so much as the pure male interest, but she repeated the question.

“Yes,” I said. “That’s mine—one of my best if you want my personal opinion.”

“I have to agree. So why are you going to watch a dress rehearsal?” Curiosity brightened her lovely eyes.

“Work.” I let it go at that. “My contract limits me to how much I can discuss. But nothing says I can’t take a guest. Are you interested?” I asked, forcing my thoughts to move before I made another offer—one that would have us up in my apartment, both of us naked and preferably her on her knees as she sucked my cock. My oh my, that mouth was made for it.

Her lips bowed in a slow smile. “Well, I do have the afternoon unexpectedly open. It sounds like it could be fun.”

“Then say yes.” Moving closer now, I lowered my voice and nodded toward the window. “I’ve got a car waiting outside right now. Say yes, please.”

SIX

JAZZ

My Saturday had gone straight to shit until three minutes ago, when Trent asked me to accompany him for a dress rehearsal. If I were smart, I’d go to my apartment, change into my pajamas, and binge on a TV series and ice cream.

But an afternoon with Trent Dixson sounded more enticing than wallowing in sorrow on pistachio gelato.

“Okay.” The word came out before I’d made the conscious decision, but as a smile brightened his face, I wasn’t about to take it back.

“Excellent.” He nodded to the window—or rather, the sleek black sedan waiting at the curb. “Are you ready now, or do you want to change?”

I debated, as I looked at the long skirt I’d paired with a form-fitting blouse and knee boots. The outfit was dressier than what I’d typically wear on a Saturday, but because of my interview, I’d put more effort into my appearance than usual.

“As long as I’m not overdressed, I’m fine with what I’m wearing.”

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