Dark Notes(119)

“Someone who has access to the admittance records. The Leopold faculty is all in a buzz about the young virtuoso from Le Moyne. Yet not one person there has mentioned Prescott’s name.”

I’m going to go out on a limb here. “Prescott set up that camera and gave it to you months ago. You didn’t want to use it because you didn’t want the scandal. Now you’re panicking, because you realized I have no intention of pushing your worthless son past the auditions.”

One, he’s not good enough for Leopold. Two, I’ve drawn attention to myself after Ivory’s audition. The Leopold faculty would question why I didn’t bring Prescott for an audition as well. Someone would dig, and it would lead to my mom’s involvement.

Beverly called me in so she could deliver Ivory’s unfortunate news herself and gloat over having the upper hand. She expected me to let Ivory take the fall alone and push Prescott through to keep my job.

Now, in a weak grasp at straws, she’s threatening to call the authorities. Except the video doesn’t implicate me.

She’s got nothing.

I pull the tablet closer and launch a browser. “Ivory will graduate from Le Moyne, and you will treat her with the utmost respect.”

“No!” Beverly glares at me so hard I think her eyeballs might burst. “I want her out of my school.”

Logging onto a cloud storage platform, I access the account I set up in the event Beverly decides to be a bitch.

Kicking Ivory out of school? Definitely a bitch.

I cue up the first video and turn the tablet, rather enjoying the symbolic turning of tables.

Beverly snatches it from my hand. As she stares at the screen, her fingers clench around the plastic casing.

A fist knocks softly on the door.

I leave Beverly to watch her husband pile drive Deb’s ass and open the door. I’m met with huge brown eyes, red-rimmed and swollen.

Ivory silently steps in. I shut the door, tangle our fingers together, and guide her to one of the chairs in front of Beverly’s desk.

We sit side by side, hand in hand. She moves her gaze from our fingers to Beverly then to my face, her eyebrows lifting in question.

I would love to kiss her, but that might be pushing it. “Beverly was just about to tell you to return to class.”

Beverly looks up from the screen, her complexion a sheet of white. She doesn’t cry or rage or freeze up. I suspect she already knew her husband cheated. But given her strong need to maintain an image that captivates and impresses everyone around her, she wouldn’t want anyone to know her marriage is a steaming pile of shit.

I imagine right about now she’s mentally shitting herself as she thinks through the fallout if those videos were ever made public. Her career as dean? Fucked. Her husband’s face on all his car commercials? Forever associated with the money shot on Deb’s ass. Prescott’s connections to other colleges? As worthless as his musical ability.

With a look of defeat, she powers off the tablet and sets it down. “What do you want?”

I squeeze Ivory’s hand. “I already told you.”

Beverly sets her jaw. “I can’t allow this…” She waves a hand between us. “To go on in my school. End things with Miss Westbrook.”

Like hell. But I’m willing to compromise. “Ivory stays. I’ll submit my resignation immediately.”

Ivory flinches beside me. “Emeric, don’t—”

I cinch my fingers around her wrist in a tight shackle, reminding her to trust me. I have her.

My unwavering gaze narrows on Beverly. “Tell Ivory to return to class.”

Beverly stares at me from across the desk, her eyes deep cauldrons of hatred. “Miss Westbrook, return to class.”





I wake the same way I do most mornings. Drowsy, happy, horny. Except today is different.

Today, I’m a drowsy, happy, horny Le Moyne Academy graduate.

Yesterday’s ceremony was held in the campus theater. The very same theater that almost cost me that diploma. Stogie and Emeric’s parents were there. The dean demanded Emeric not show his face, though I’m certain I glimpsed his fedora in the crowd. When I asked him about it, he kissed me into a warm, gooey stupor. I’d love one of those kisses now.

I reach behind me, expecting to bump into warm skin. Instead, I encounter cold, vacant blankets.

Blowing out a breath, I sit up and glance at the clock. 7:13 AM.

Damn him. He told me the morning workouts would stop. I hate waking up alone.

I climb out of bed, wrap a robe around my nude body, and set off to find him.

Ten minutes later, I come up empty and check the garage. The GTO is gone. Maybe he’s picking up breakfast?

As I shuffle into the kitchen, something moves in my periphery. “The hell?”

I spin just as a tiny streak of black darts across the floor and disappears around the island. Is there a rat in the house?

Cautiously, I tiptoe around the corner and gasp. “Oh my… What?” I cover my smile with trembling fingers.

One look at those bright yellow eyes turns my vision into a wet blur.

A kitten. He brought a kitten home. My throat closes up.

Coal black fur covers the cat’s body from the peaks of the ears to the tip of the tail. I press my lips together as a sob rises up.

In the next heartbeat, I’m f*cking crying. A damn mess of soggy snivels, runny nose, and noisy hiccups for no reason that makes sense. I did the same thing when my dad gave me Schubert.