Page 64 of Out of the Gold

Chase

Exhaustion roils throughme. Not from jet lag, but from the audition. It’s like someone ripped my heart out, wrung it dry, and tried to put it back in without a jump-start. The taxi stops in front of a brick building two blocks from Central Park on the Upper East Side, and I double-check the address Melody texted me. Yup.

Sweet.

I lug my tired body out of the taxi and walk toward the front door, where a doorman opens it for me.

“Mr. Wright, so delighted to have you at The Mission. Miss Hunte’s expecting you.”

“Thanks.”

Behind me, the doorman stops someone with a food delivery. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten a decent meal since Ravello. At least our meal last night was delicious. Both the hotel’s food and the even more scrumptious morsel in the bed.

“For Hunte, six-zero-nine.”

My footsteps stop, and I spin toward the deliveryman. “For Melody Hunte?” When the delivery guy nods, I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and pay him, taking the bag. Sniffing its contents, Chinese aromas tickle my nose. Leave it to Melody to select a cuisine we haven’t had since stepping foot in Italy.

And to anticipate my needs.

I take the elevator to the sixth floor and stand outside her door for a few moments, gathering my thoughts. What should I tell her about the audition?

About how the three-person panel were ready to leave before I opened my mouth?

About how they tried to hide their eye rolling when I walked in?

About how their body language changed as I gave my audition? Well, somewhat.

The smell of the food in my hand diverts my thoughts. “Fuck it,” I mutter. “Just wing it and eat.” I knock on the door.

Melody flings the door wide, holding her wallet. Her mouth drops open when she realizes it’s me, holding the delivery bag. “Expecting someone else?”

“Charles.” She flings her body at me, causing me to stumble backward before gaining purchase of her body. Food in one hand and her in the other, I step into her apartment and kick the door shut.

She leans back but doesn’t disengage from my body. “How’d it go?”

“I’ll tell you all about it if you feed me.”

She giggles, and my body perks up. How can she give me energy when I swore I was down for the count? She drops her legs, which dangle until I bend down and she regains her footing. Not one to miss out on a chance like this, I steal a kiss from her more than willing lips.

When her stomach rumbles, I pull back. “Food. We both need food.”

“I was setting the table.” She kisses my mouth once more and leads me into the kitchen. Not a table, but an oversized granite-covered island with two placemats. “I’ll finish here if you’ll please take out the food.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I tease, smacking her ass, which elicits a cute squeal.

Shortly, my chopsticks rest on the side of the plate. “That was the best General Tso’s shrimp I’ve ever had.” I rub my now full stomach.

“Yeah, they’re the best around here. And my orange-flavored beef was great, too.” She drops her chopsticks onto her plate.

Now that my physical hunger has been satisfied, my natural curiosity about all things Melody rises. Standing, I head into her living room, picking up various framed photos. The one of her father holding her high up in the air catches my eye. The sheer joy on her face is contagious. I doubt I’ve ever felt this way about my parents. “Oh my God, you were so cute. How old are you here? Four?”

She peers at the photo in my hand. “Yeah, about that. We had just returned from an extended tour, and Mom caught the shot.” She smiles at me. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see why. And you were an adorable kid, Goldie.” I wink at her, and color rises to her cheeks. I fucking love that.

She gets on her tippy toes and pecks my lips. “Thanks.”

I return the photo to the shelf and continue my exploration. Requisite romance novels on the shelf. Flat-screen TV. Off to the corner, a sewing machine is set up, together with plenty of bolts of fabric and other sewing stuff. Skipping that area of her condo, which is more about work than anything else, I head over to another part with lots of musical instruments. Tapping the ivories of the piano, I ask, “Do you play?”

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