Solo (Symphony Hall)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more New Adult titles from Entangled Embrace… Confessions of a Former Puck Bunny
Trusting Tanner
A Star to Steer Her By
The Rule Book
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Lauren E. Rico. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Embrace is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Jenn Mishler
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill
Cover art from Shutterstock and Period Images
ISBN 978-1-63375-953-4
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2017
For the dedicated music students who spend long hours locked away practicing.
Whose parents wish they would just outgrow this whole ‘music thing’ already and get a business degree instead.
Who spend way too many late nights roaming the music department preparing for lessons, juries, auditions, and recitals.
You can do this! Just remember to find a little time for friends, and fun…and love.
God bless you and good luck!
Chapter One
Kate
I don’t know what I expect to see when I raise the hood of the car. It’s not as if there’ll be a neon sign flashing Broken Hose or Blown Tranny—whatever the hell a tranny is. But there’s nothing like that. Just the greasy, metallic guts of my old Toyota. I recognize the plastic container that holds the blue washer fluid and the cap that I twist off to put antifreeze in. I see the dipstick I use to check the level on the oil that this bucket of bolts guzzles down and smokes out the tailpipe. But that’s it.
“Hey, do you need some help?”
I’m so startled by the voice behind me that I jump and hit my head on the hood of the car. The pain comes in a single blinding flash.
“Shit!” I hiss, my fingers flying to the spot on my forehead. When I pull them away, they’re smeared with blood. Great. Just great. This is exactly what I need this morning on top of car trouble. On top of being late. On top of freezing my ass off in this parking lot.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you okay?”
The voice is right next to me now, and when I turn to face it—turn to face him, I’m met by some seriously broad shoulders. Wow. His concerned eyes are a blend of blue and green that are sexy as hell. His hair, just a little too long in the back, is a sandy blond and he’s got a little matching stubble. Like Ryan Gosling. Make that a double wow.
“Here,” he says, pulling a crumpled McDonald’s napkin from his backpack. “It’s clean. It’s just a little squashed is all.”
“I…uh…thanks,” I mumble, accepting his offering and his apologetic smile. I use the napkin to apply pressure to my bleeding head.
He looks amused, the corners of his eyes crinkling into the slightest hint of crow’s-feet. It makes him look a little older than I thought at first glance. He must be a grad student. No, actually his clothes are too nice. Grad students don’t have money for nice clothes. He must be faculty or staff. Older, for sure. But that’s okay. I can work with older.
“Something wrong with your car?” he asks, his gaze moving between me and my eighteen-year-old Corolla.
I swivel to look down at the vehicle that is the bane of my existence most days.
“It won’t start,” I say dejectedly.
“And…you know something about cars, do you?” The amusement in his tone tells me that he’s wondering why I even bothered to raise the hood and have a look.
I shake my head and immediately regret the movement, wincing through another surge of pain.
“No, I just thought it might be something obvious. A broken hose or something. But it’s not anything I can see.”
“You know, you really should have that looked at.”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll have to get a tow truck,” I mutter.
His cheeky grin grows into a broad smile and he throws his head back, laughing loudly.
“What?” I demand, suddenly embarrassed over something I can’t even identify.
“Not the car, your head!”
“Oh. Oh.” I laugh with him now. “Are you suggesting I have my head examined?” I ask with faux indignation. God! Am I flirting with Hot Older Guy?
“I am, actually,” he says, still smiling but not laughing anymore. “That looks like a pretty deep gash. And you know how those head wounds are. They bleed a lot. You might need stitches or something.”
He’s not wrong. I can feel the blood soaking through the napkin. But at the same time, I can also hear the ka-ching! of the cash register as I do the mental math on a car tow, car repair, and a trip to the ER. The blood will regenerate; the car won’t.
“If it’s still bleeding in a little while, I will.” I lie through my reassuring smile. “But hey, thanks for checking on me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if I’d left you alone you wouldn’t have a gash in your forehead,” he says, looking remorseful. “Listen, the least I can do is give you a lift. Where’re you headed?”
“Oh, the Music building. But it’s not too far. I can walk from here,” I say, pointing toward a cluster of brick buildings barely discernable across a small lake and through some trees.
“Yeah, not too far if you have forty-five minutes to kill.” He snorts, closing the hood of my car. “That’s all the way on the other side of campus. What are you doing over here? Do you live in the dorms?”
I shake
my head. “No, I work in the North Dining Hall. But you know, I’ll bet I can catch a shuttle.”
“Nope. I just saw it go past. Won’t be another one for twenty minutes. Why don’t you let me give you a lift? I was headed to the Art department anyway and that’s right next door. I mean, unless you have the time to wait.”
I pull my phone from the pocket of my jeans for a time check. Seven forty-five. That’s the thing. I don’t have the time to wait. There’s no way I’ll make it to my eight a.m. Orchestration class if I try to walk it now. And by the time the university shuttle gets me there, I might as well just skip class all together.
I consider the hot guy. I don’t know him. Not even a little. What if he’s some handsome sociopath who picks up girls in parking lots? With my luck, I’d become a Lifetime Movie of the Week. Some C-list actress will play me as the stupid, unsuspecting girl who gets into the car of the tall, handsome stranger. Next thing you know, my picture is on a poster, they find me stuffed down some drainpipe in Encino, and Dateline NBC is interviewing the jurors in my murder trial.
When he extends a hand, I don’t have to wonder if my reluctance is on my face. Everything shows on my face.
“By the way, I’m Kevin,” he offers.
“Kate,” I reply, giving him a quick shake with my free hand.
“Music department, you said?”
I nod. He squints thoughtfully, turning to walk away from my immobilized vehicle.
“Do you know Dr. Markham?” he asks.
“Ohhh, yeah. It’s his class I’ve got at eight.”
“Seriously?” he asks, eyebrows up, like I might be messing with him.
“Seriously,” I say solemnly.
“Well, that’s that, then,” he declares as he puts a reassuring hand on my forearm and starts to steer me through the rows of parked cars. “I’ve heard what a dick he can be and I refuse to be the reason you’re late for his class. It’s the least I can do.”
“How do you know him?” I ask, allowing myself to be pulled along. The question is part test, part curiosity.
“I’m a teaching assistant in the Art department. Everybody over there knows him. Or, about him, anyway. His dickishness is kind of legendary.” He grins at me over his shoulder.
I chuckle at the idea of that, but I still can’t quite shake the niggling feeling that something’s not right with this guy.
“So, what are you teaching?” I press, needing just a little more convincing to reset my stranger danger radar.
“Art Appreciation for non-majors,” he says, edging sideways through two closely parked sedans. I follow him as we cut through to another row. “I get all the business majors who consider the Mona Lisa to be a financial investment rather than a work of art. They’ll be lucky if I don’t strangle one of them before the semester is over.” He laughs and then stops himself with a look of faux alarm. “I’d better be careful or I might get a reputation as the next Markham.”
“Not likely.” I groan, rolling my eyes.
“Well, come on, there isn’t much time to get you to class.”
I stop and look at him.
“Really, be honest with me. Do you mind? Am I taking you out of your way? Because I can walk,” I offer with some reservation in my voice.
I get the dazzling smile and the crinkly eyes again.
“Kate, please. I really am on my way over there. Same parking lot. You won’t be taking me a single foot farther than I was going to go anyway. I swear to God.”
I nod, satisfied at last, and follow him through the sedans and small SUVs until we’re standing in front of a shiny white BMW X-something or other. Someone’s got a little cash, I see. My reflection in the tinted window gives me my first glimpse of the gash on my forehead. “Ughhh,” I mutter as I rearrange my long, dark hair to try and camouflage it. But it’s no use. I return the saturated napkin to my head and get into the leather passenger’s seat with a frustrated sigh.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but your ride’s seen better days. Might be time for some new wheels,” he suggests as he slides into the driver’s side and shuts the door. “Just saying.”
“Yeah, well, not everyone can swing a bimmer,” I counter.
“Oh, come on now,” he coaxes. “What are you? A junior? Senior? You must have family to help you out.”
“I’m finishing up my masters, actually,” I respond, ignoring the family comment as he pulls out of the lot and onto the main road through campus.
“What? No way!” he says, giving me a surprised sideways glance. “Good for you! Got plans for after graduation?”
“I’m going to sleep. For about a month,” I mutter.
“Oh yeah. I crashed at my parents’ place for the entire summer after I finished my grad degree and I don’t think I left my bed for the first week. What about you? Will you be headed back home to your folks, too?”
“Nope,” I say, poking at the napkin over my wound.
“No?”
Oh, hell. I know this trick. He’s hoping I’ll feel compelled to elaborate. I won’t. But it’s got me wondering if maybe Hot Teacher Guy recognizes me as the daughter of “Senator Satan” and is fishing for a little info. It wouldn’t be the first time a potential date has started out by way of morbid curiosity.
“I’m sorry,” he says before I can comment. “I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just a bad habit of mine. I meet an interesting, funny, pretty woman and I jump right into the personal details.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” I say softly, his compliments making me feel suddenly bashful.
“Hey, you wanna have coffee sometime?” he asks, quickly looking over at me. He seems a bit taken aback by his boldness, with the lip biting and all.
“Really?” I laugh. “I’m bleeding all over your posh leather interior and you actually want to see me again?”
“Why not? I like being the white knight.”
“What? Rescuing the damsel in distress from the parking lot, riding in on your white BMW?”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’ll rescue you from the big, bad Dr. Drew the Dragon, too, if you want. We could run off to the Pancake Cottage and live happily ever after. Well, for an hour or two, anyway.”
“Oh, so tempting.” I groan and grin at the same time. “You’ve just stumbled upon my Achilles’ heel.”
“Breakfast?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“Well, come on, then! You can get the notes from someone else, can’t you?”
I sigh heavily, allowing my mind a nanosecond-long fantasy involving this Kevin guy and pancake syrup.
Stop it!
“No, I can’t,” I reluctantly decline. “I have an assignment due and Markham won’t take it if I don’t come to class.”
He looks a little disappointed, but still determined.
“Okay, well, how about a cup of coffee later, then?” he presses.
Oh, what the hell? What else have I got to do except study scores in my apartment and work on my midterm project?
“Um, yeah, I think I’d like that,” I agree at last.
“Great! What time are you free?” he asks just as we’re pulling into the Arts Complex lot. I notice that it’s already full. Even if I had been able to get my car running, no way I’d have found a parking spot. I glance at the dashboard clock: 7:58. If I fly into the building and right up the stairs, I should just make it.
“Uh, noon?” I ask as I reach for the visor so I can flip it down and take a quick peek in the mirror. I want to be sure my face is blood-free before I get out of the car. The car which now jerks to a sudden stop, propelling me forward against the seat belt.
“Oh, wait, don’t…” Kevin says, reaching toward the visor and sounding suddenly alarmed.
But he’s too late. I see it.
My heart sinks, breaks, and explodes all at the same time. This guy is obviously not who he says he is. And I am obviously a fool. I twist around to face Kevin, who looks considerably paler than he was the last time I checked.
“I—uh… That’s just a…” he stammers.
“Microphone,” I say coolly, examining the small black disc about the size of a button. There’s a black wire running from it. When I follow the line, I see how it’s carefully tacked around the headliner.
The epiphany or realization or frying pan to the head or whatever the hell this is, takes my breath away as everything snaps into crystal clear focus. I’m adding it all up in my head—something I should have done much sooner. Along with the slight crow’s-feet, I now spot a few threads of silver hair camouflaged by the blond. Then there’s the BMW. And the expensive clothes he’s wearing. Why didn’t I put it all together before? My eyes narrow on him as the last of the pieces falls into place. How could I have been so goddamned stupid? I know better.
So, so stupid, Kate!
“Who do you work for?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Who do you work for?” I demand louder this time, a little surprised by the edge in my tone. “The Post? The Sun-Times? The Ledger? Christ! You don’t work for the National Enquirer, do you?”
Kevin—if that’s even his name—takes a deep breath. His voice is calm and soft.
“Kate, it’s not what you think.”
“No? Then what the fuck is it?”
“I’m a reporter for the D.C. Courier,” he explains slowly.
Of course he is. Because, why would a good-looking, smart, funny guy want to help me out? Or ask me out for that matter?
I take a deep breath and regroup. This is not the time for self-pity. Anger. That’s what this situation calls for. Good, old-fashioned rage.
“What did you do to my car?”
Seeing that his cover is totally blown, Kevin tosses charming out the window, replacing it with smugness.
“Not that I’m admitting to anything,” he begins coyly, “but you might want to have your battery cables tightened. And, just out of curiosity, why is the daughter of a senator—and a presidential hopeful at that—driving around in that piece of shit?”
“You son of a bitch!” I hiss, unable to restrain myself any longer.
“Oh, come on, Katie,” he says, turning to me with a conspiratorial grin. My fingers twitch with the temptation to slap it right off his face. “Your father’s the most detested politician on the Eastern Seaboard! And, I’m guessing, he’s not exactly ‘Father of the Year’ material. I mean, aside from the clunker you’re driving, you’re working a crap job. I know you don’t have any health insurance. I mean, Christ, Katie! You don’t even have a winter coat! Does your father know you live like this?”