Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(58)

“When all the banging and pounding stops, I imagine.”

“Thank you,” I say.

I go in and study the directory, reluctant to go up. Was Kelsey right? Is he just a master player? Because, banging and pounding?

I find Namaste Way on the directory. Studio 503. It takes up half the entire floor, and it doubles as a ballet studio. It’s pretty common for yoga studios to share spaces with ballet studios. All that expanse of wood flooring. Not cheap.

I take the elevator and get out on the fifth floor, dreading what I’ll find.

As I head down, I hear music—Bach—played badly. Noisily.

What. The. Hell. Camouflage for the banging?

I draw nearer. No way is it Max. No way could Max have lost his abilities so completely. Is this some sort of perverse live accompaniment to whatever is happening?

The same prelude is played again, but this time, it’s played beautifully. And then it’s played poorly again.

I draw nearer to the door. Is he having dueling pianos with his alternate shitty-at-piano self?

And then Max’s voice. “Listen.” A string of notes. “Let’s play the left hand. Do you hear the voice here? This voice is telling a story underneath the top voice. I’ll play the top voice, you play the voice that tells the story below it. The quiet story.” I hear murmuring. Not Max. It’s a kid.

Notes. Faltering stops and starts. A few more stabs.

I blink, unsure what I’m hearing. There’s more talk about voices. Notes.

It seems that Max…is teaching a piano lesson?

Yes. A piano lesson.

Laughing, drink-swirling, Ferrari-driving Max secretly teaches piano?

Suddenly there’s the sound of shuffling. Mumbled questions. Footsteps. I step aside as the door opens. A kid comes out. He’s maybe thirteen. He nods and heads to the elevator.

The door closes behind him.

I knock.

“Did you forget—” The door flings open and I’m face-to-face with Max. His shirtsleeves are rolled up; his tie hangs loose. My heart skips a beat.

“What are you doing up here? I thought you were going to call first,” he says.

“Somebody let me in.”

“Well…you didn’t have to come all the way up here.”

He’s tentative. Did he not want me to find out? I push in and look around until I find it—the piano, glinting in a dark corner. I go to it, ignoring the click of the door. The footsteps behind me.

“Were you giving a piano lesson?” I ask stupidly.

“Yeah.” Arms snake around me.

“I don’t get anything that’s happening here,” I say.

Or at least, most things I don’t get. I sit at the bench and run my fingers lightly over the keys. It’s a Kawai—a nice one. That’s the kind Max would prefer, I think with a rush of affection. He’d want it for the tone.

“You’re secretly teaching piano?”

“Busted,” he says.

I turn to him. “Why the secrecy? It’s not like you’re making troll doll full-costume sex fetish films up here or something.”

He look at me strangely.

“I mean, it’s piano lessons.”

He sits down at the bench next to me and plunks the middle C. “I don’t want anyone to know. I don’t want it to be a thing.”

“A Max Hilton persona thing.”

“It would turn into a circus. A performance.”

It comes to me here just how much he hated being made to play. To perform. The child prodigy alone on the stage. I feel this wave of compassion for him. “But you like teaching?”

“I love it. I love getting kids to connect with the music, but not forcing them or shaming them. Just…showing them. I love when a kid catches fire with the piano.”

Goosebumps prickle over me. He wants to give them a chance to love music. To have what he didn’t have.

“Do you feel like you’re undoing it?” I ask softly. “With the lessons?”

“Maybe.”

I trace a finger over the cool, glossy keys. I play part of a scale. I can feel him cringe. He used to play scales so perfectly. “You could have a piano at your place. A baby grand.”

He gives me a jaded look. “You know what they say about people who decorate with baby grands.”

I snort. “Okay, Max Hilton. So who are the kids?”

“Employees kids.” He plunks another note. “What songs are you preparing for Anything Goes?”

“Wonderful” from Olympus on My Mind for my comic one. It’s a little risky. Bawdy.”

“I love that for Reno. A big personality piece.”

“I have that one down cold, but my challenge is ‘How Could I Ever Know?’ from The Secret Garden. It’s tricky.”

“But it would show off your high notes like crazy.”

“Right? It goes up to F5.”

“You know you can nail that.” He plunks a few notes of it. He’s familiar with the song. At least the refrain. Then he plays a few chords.

“You know it?” I ask.

“Not really.” He grabs his iPad and looks up the music.

“You’re going to play it?”

“I want to hear you sing it, and I’m thinking that’s the only way that happens.” He’s got the music up. My heart pounds. “I want to hear.”