Page 57 of Serving the Maestro

As I lowered my menu, I caught sight of our server and inclined my head.

When she nodded, I had to resist breathing a sigh of relief.

This lunch was already turning out to be a debacle, and I couldn’t wait for it to be over.

It dragged on, although, according to my watch, it had only been forty-five minutes since I’d sat down when the server returned with our tickets—separated as I’d requested.

I signed mine, included a tip that would cover Roger’s, too, if he was a cheapskate, then rose, giving him the first genuine smile I’d felt all day.

“I’ve got to be getting back.”

“In such a rush! I thought setting your hours was a benefit of being your own boss.” He hurriedly scribbled on his tab and rose to join me.

As we walked out together, I reminded myself I was probably being unfair.

I didn’t care.

He was annoying me more and more with every second that passed.

“That might apply to self-employed people, but business owners who employ others have to respect the time of their employees if they want to retain those employees,” I said once we were outside. I made a show of checking the time. “I have to be going if I want to catch this train. Otherwise, I’ll be holding up my employees—I think I have an afternoon meeting.”

“Yes, of course—oh, wait!” He pulled his phone out and checked, then smiled. “Excellent...I wanted to make sure everything was in line before I asked. I’ve got tickets to a show this Friday, four of them. I thought you and your friend, and her husband, might like to join us.”

“My friend?”

“Cameron?” His brow furrowed as he studied.

“Cam.” Already forming the refusal, I went silent as he turned the phone around and showed me a message via a Facebook app.

It was from Danny.

“When did you two become friends?”

He grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Not long after you and I started talking again. I figured if I was going to have any chance with you, I should make sure I got along well with your friends, especially your best friend. Danny said you and Cam loved this particular play.”

I was going to kill Danny.

“Yeah. We do.” I offered a tight smile.

“Then it’s a date!”

NINETEEN

TRENT

My alarm went off while I was going through pictures on my camera roll.

After dismissing the alarm, I went back to pictures of Jazz. It had been one of the first I’d taken, a rainy afternoon we’d spent at her place, watching a movie. The rest of the world, my job, and LA were irrelevant thoughts, too inconsequential to intrude on our time together.

A text from Stephen popped up. I dismissed it and continued staring at Jazz.

Ten minutes later, another text popped up.

Swearing at the interruption, I shot Stephen a response.

You’re a fucking mother hen. I’m up. Leave me alone.

Putting the do not disturb feature on, I dropped the phone onto the bed next to me and closed my eyes. In a couple of hours, Stephen would be picking me up for the meeting we had with the playwright and producer to go over the score I’d written.

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