Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Chloe’s blood stopped flowing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . .” Grace drew out the word while rolling her eyes. “There’s a reason I had no notes for you yesterday. Chloe, you are . . . indeed formidable. And you have more mettle than I originally gave you credit for. Because of that, I met with the board of advisers and head of conducting late last night. They’d already been informed of my impending departure and sent a flood of our session videos taken over the last two weeks. To say they are eager to add someone with your talent to the ensemble is an understatement.” She took a pleased breath. “As of Monday, you’re the new first chair harpist for BSO. Don’t fuck it up. And for the love of God, do not fuck your stepbrother, either. Or I’ll come back here and shove the harp up your butt. Don’t assume it can’t be done.”
Chloe almost collapsed to the floor, but she couldn’t name the emotion that made her feel weak everywhere at once. Relief that she’d found the silver lining to her heartbreak that she’d so desperately needed. Or sadness that it wasn’t even close to enough to make her happy. Proud of herself, yes. Determined to do justice to the first chair position. Yes.
Happiness remained elusive, though. Maybe it always would.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Grace’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied Chloe. “Are you okay?”
There was no simple answer to that, so Chloe went with an answer that she desperately hoped had some truth to it. “No. But I will be.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sig looked down at the contract in front of him and had the strangest urge to laugh. One of those ugly, high-pitched hysterical laughs that would make everyone around him uncomfortable. One he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. David, his agent, currently sat to his right, with dollar signs in his eyes. Reese, who’d just slid the contract in his direction, had her usual pin-straight spine and a satisfied expression on her face. She no doubt believed she’d just given him everything he’d ever wanted.
An eight-figure contract. Five more years on the team that had become his family.
A way to support himself. Ensure his mother continued to live comfortably.
It might as well be a plate of worms.
The irony of it all was like brass knuckles digging into his jugular. The thing that had been driving him to re-sign a hefty contract with the Bearcats . . . was now out of his reach. Chloe.
Chloe.
Goddamn it.
Any urge he’d had to laugh, humorless or not, sunk in his throat like a rusted anchor.
She was officially his stepsister. No more playing house, no more hope. No more . . . her.
That phone call from their parents in Vegas marked the last time he’d felt coherent. Since then he’d been sitting in his living room staring at a television he didn’t bother turning on. Drinking more than was responsible, damn the upcoming meeting with Reese.
Burgess had come over at some point to speak with him, but Sig couldn’t remember if he’d even formulated responses to his friend’s questions. Everything was a blur.
This moment, though, was becoming crystal clear.
Like a diamond with edges sharp enough to score his skin.
“Until I sign this, I’m still a free agent,” he heard himself say—and God, he sounded like death. “Isn’t that right?”
David leaned back in his chair, cleared his throat. Steepling his fingers. As if he was reading Sig’s energy, interpreting his desire to negotiate. But the dude wasn’t interpreting shit. He didn’t have any inkling of the hell in Sig’s mind. No one did. No one knew he was on the verge of self-destructing. A walking time bomb.
Chloe.
“Yes, that’s correct,” said his agent. “We’ve had several organizations reach out to us.”
Reese narrowed her eyes at Sig. “You told my father once upon a time that you never want to play anywhere but Boston. That you wanted to start and end your career as a Bearcat.”
“I don’t feel that strongly about it anymore.”
I don’t feel anything except pain.
“What changed?” Reese asked, though he could tell she already knew. Or, at the very least, who had caused his change of heart. “I knew approaching you about . . . the situation with Ms. Clifford was going to be delicate, but I hope you understand that I had no choice. And the issue has been resolved, as much as possible. The press appears to have dropped the story and we’ve blocked any mention of her on the message boards—”
“What issue are we discussing, exactly?” asked his agent. “Is there something I should be made aware of?”
Reese and Sig ignored him.
“How can you be so sure it has resolved itself in the space of two weeks?” Sig asked. Reese didn’t have an answer for that. “More than likely, I’ve just been playing so well, you no longer have a choice but to lock me down, skeletons and all.”