Page 50 of Serving the Maestro

Won’t be in. Went to doctor. Sore throat. Don’t call, hurts to talk.

Yes, it was lies wrapped in truth, but I couldn’t handle talking. Not even to my best friend.

The short drive to my building was over blessedly quick, and I blanked my mind on the elevator ride up to my floor, focusing on the simple task of breathing so I wouldn’t think about what the doctor had said.

Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe. Almost there—

“You gotta be kidding me,” I said, voice cracking as I stepped out of the elevator to find Trent sitting in front of my door.

He rose at the sound of my voice and stepped toward me.

I jerked back, about to dash into the elevator, but the doors had already closed behind me.

“Jazz?”

I glared at him. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

SEVENTEEN

TRENT

It hadn’t occurred to me that Jazz wasn’t home. It was Monday. Of course, she was at work. Shoving away from the door, I fell back against the opposite wall.

Fuck.

Now what?

The obvious answer was to go back to my apartment, try to call her, and send another text.

Instead, I slid down to the floor and drew up my legs, frustrated and mad.

I’d spent half the night pacing the floor. By the time I’d realized how little time we had left before I returned to LA, it had been so late that I’d look like an ass calling her.

Thumbs pressed against my closed eyes to stem off the rapidly-building headache, I considered my short list of options.

What would I even say? Hey, we’re running out of time, and I don’t know if you’re pregnant, but I’ve got feelings for you. What do you want to do?

She’d been pretty damn clear on not wanting a relationship—with anybody.

Then who the hell was that guy?

It was obvious he was interested in her.

Maybe she doesn’t want a relationship with you. You’re leaving, remember?

The elevator chimed as the doors opened.

It took a second to process the sound, but then I felt my heart racing at the sight of the woman walking toward me.

She didn’t notice me right away. When she did, she stopped, eyes widening slightly.

“Jazz.” I shoved a hand through my hair. “Hey, I wanted to...ah, okay, look, this is awkward.”

She didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink.

“Where’s your girlfriend?”

“My girlfriend?”

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