Page 60 of Serving the Maestro

Stephen was amusing enough that I’d relaxed and enjoyed myself by the end of dinner, and when we climbed into the car, I could even smile.

“Hell, it’s about damn time I see you smiling.”

Looking up, I found Stephen eying me, the concern once more apparent in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” I told him. It was a lie, sure. But for the first time since I’d left Jazz, I felt like maybe I could be okay. Sooner or later.

“You did a good job on the score.”

“I know.” Looking outside at the rush of life that was a Los Angeles night, I tried not to compare it to New York City. Both were busy, thriving cities. Yeah, I’d missed the endless, almost balmy summer of LA nights, but I missed Jazz in New York City more than anything I missed here in California.

“You haven’t mentioned Avery.”

Groaning, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You talked to her?”

“She might have left a message or two. Dozen.” Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m guessing she figured out where you were by going through my phone or some shit like that.”

“I guess.” Dropping my hands, I looked out the window as he pulled onto the freeway entrance ramp. “I ended up kicking her out of my place, Stephen. The two of us had been friends for a long time. I thought if I told her I was serious about somebody else, she’d understand. But she didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Clearing his throat, he said, “For all of that—for not realizing she’d come snooping through my things to figure out how to find you, and whatever she did to make things rough while she was out there.”

“It’s not your fault,” I told him. It wasn’t. I couldn’t blame anyone else for how Avery had acted. I couldn’t blame myself, either. “She's back in town?”

“Yeah, as far as I know.” Blowing out a breath, he added, “But let’s not worry about it, okay? Today was a big deal. We need to be celebrating.”

I didn’t want to celebrate. I wanted to be back in New York, holding Jazz in my lap, her hair sliding through my fingers as we debated what to order in for dinner before picking out a movie to watch.

How fucking domesticated.

I looked up to see Stephen shooting me a narrow look, speculation in his gaze.

“Watch the damn road,” I said.

The need to talk to somebody—even my best friend who’d hassle me to hell and back—was strong. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to discuss things with Jazz. I didn’t know if I’d ever be.

So I closed my eyes and emptied my mind, listening to the low throaty hum of the car as we sped along the freeway.

TWENTY

JAZZ

“You’d think a couple of VIPs like you ladies would get better service.”

I heard him, but it wasn’t until Cam nudged me under the cocktail table with her foot that I realized Roger had been talking to me—about me. And Cam.

Looking up, I saw him offer a humorous smile.

I tried and failed to return it. Was he trying to be funny? If so, he’d missed the mark. It could have been my miserable mood, though, so I opted for a weak smile.

“We’re going to go grab drinks while we wait,” Danny said, grabbing Roger’s arm and dragging him off without giving the other man a chance to argue.

“That was...rude,” Cam said.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

I winced at my tone, wishing immediately I’d kept my mouth shut because I just sounded...wrong. Tone flat, voice husky—not because I’d done some crying last night. Nope. Not a single tear shed. A few hundred, sure. But not a single tear.

Cam turned to me, swinging her legs around and using the chair and table to balance as her big belly was getting more and more unwieldy every day.

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