Page 13 of An Unexpected Love

Muttering under her breath, she took the elevator up to Jordan’s floor, calculated which room was his and knocked boldly on the door.

A long moment passed before the door finally opened. Jordan, still talking on his phone, gestured her inside. He didn’t so much as pause in his conversation, tossing dollar figures around as casually as other people talked about the weather.

Jill sat on the edge of his bed and crossed her legs, swinging her foot impatiently as Jordan strode back and forth across the carpet, seemingly oblivious to her presence.

“Listen, Rick, something’s come up,” he said, darting a look in her direction. “Give me a call in five minutes. Sure, sure, no problem. Five minutes. See if you can contact Raymond, get these numbers to him and call me back.” He disconnected the line without a word of farewell, then glanced at Jill.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she returned, holding out the platter to offer him an hors d’oeuvre.

“No, thanks.”

She took one herself and chewed it slowly. She could almost feel his irritation.

“Something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she stated calmly. “Sit down a minute.”

“Sit down?”

She nodded, motioning toward the table. “I have a story to tell you.”

“A story?” He didn’t seem particularly charmed by the idea.

“Yes, and I promise it won’t take longer than five minutes,” she added pointedly.

He was obviously relieved that she intended to keep this short. “Go on.”

“As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t know a lot about the world of high finance. But I’m well aware that time has skyrocketed in value. I also realize that the value of any commodity depends on its availability.”

“Does this story have a point?”

“Actually I haven’t got to the story yet, but I will soon,” she announced cheerfully.

“Can you do it in—” he paused to check his watch “—two and a half minutes?”

“I’ll hurry,” she promised, and drew a deep breath. “I was nine when my mother signed me up for piano lessons. I could hardly wait. The other kids dreaded having to practice, but not me. From the time I was in kindergarten, I loved to pound away at the old upright in our living room. My heart and soul went into making music. It was probably no coincidence that one of the first pieces I learned was ‘Heart and Soul.’ I hammered out those notes like machine-gun blasts. I overemphasized each crescendo, cherished each lingering note. Van Cliburn couldn’t have finished a piece withmore pizzazz than I did. My hands would fly into the air, then flutter gently to my lap.”

“I noticed you standing by the piano at the dinner party. Are you a musician?”

“Nope. For all my theatrical talents, I had one serious shortcoming. I could never master the caesura—the rest.”

“The rest?”

“You know, that little zigzag thingamajig on sheet music that instructs the player to do nothing.”

“Nothing,” he repeated slowly.

“My impatience was a disappointment to my mother. I’m sure I frustrated my piano teacher no end. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t make me understand that music was always sweeter and more compelling after a rest.”

“I see.” His hands were buried deep in his pockets as he studied her.

If Jordan was as much like her father as she suspected, she doubted he really did understand. But she’d told him what she’d come to say. Mission accomplished. There wasn’t any other reason to stay, so she got briskly to her feet and scooped up her beach bag.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Thank you for the caviar. It was a delightful surprise.” With that she moved toward the door. “Just remember what I said about the rest,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

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