Page 19 of Strings
“Did I pass out in front of everyone on my first day?” I whisper.
He smirks as he looks around. “Ahh, I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“Are you okay?” Cherese asks as she bends down to me. “Tomorrow you’re eating more for breakfast. String cheese wouldn’t keep a mouse from getting lightheaded.”
“Right,” I say, playing along as if lack of food is the reason I passed out. I start worrying about what I told Sebastian once more. “Could you give us a minute?”
Cherese and Sebastian make eye contact. It seems to be a conversation without words. Cherese turns and walks back to her seat, dragging Bella along with her.
“I should have gotten you some water first thing. I knew it. You looked dehydrated.”
“Amy, could you give Bash—I mean, Sebastian—and me a minute alone, please?”
Amy is understandably confused as she says, “Okay. Yeah, sure.”
Sebastian helps me stand and we move toward the doors and away from inquiring ears.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper as I regain my composure. “Did you follow me?” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize how ridiculous they sound. I shake my head.
“I think the real question is, didyoufollowme? Why are you here, Talia?”
“I work here. I started today.”
“Thisis the new job? You work for the Sym? Why didn’t you tell me that?” He’s angry. What the hell? He may look like the same guy from the plane but he sure isn’t acting like him.
I place my hands on my hips. “Why would I fucking mention I was working here? Why didn’t you tell meyouworked here?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Neither did you.”
“Yes, I did. I said ‘This is a nice building, where do you work?’”
“Well, I thought you were a serial killer, not some damn fiddle player.”
He huffs. “Fiddle player? Do you not know who I am? What do you do here? Clean bathroom stalls?”
“Fuck you, you asshole. I’m the events manager.”
“Yeah, well, I’m the principal concertmaster.”
“Well, la-dee-da and good for you!” I shout.
Heads turn and we both realize we’re too loud. He takes me by the elbow and leads me into the hall outside the doors.
I pull my arm out of his grasp and he scrubs his hand over his face. He takes a deep breath to compose himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell,” he says calmly. “I was just shocked to see you.”
“Well, it wasn’t like I was expecting you here, either. I thought you were a doctor or a Russian mobster.”
“A Russian mobster?” He cracks a grin. “You were serious?”
“Yeah. It’s your weird name. And in case you didn’t know, my string cheese breakfast was fine. It wasn’t why I blacked out.”
“You should have protein for breakfast, like eggs. Even toast would be better than cheese.”
Why is he focusing on food at a time like this? “That would require cooking and I don’t cook.”
“Technically making toast isn’t cooking.”
