RUSH (City Lights, #3)(25)

“Height, weight, build? You don’t sound fat, but short. Are you short?”

“Am I…?” I crossed my arms again. “My build is irrelevant, and it’s inappropriate to even ask.”

Noah barked a harsh laugh. “Oh, Christ, don’t flatter yourself. My dick seems to have been broken along with my skull, so if you’re afraid I’m going to come on to you in any way, don’t be.”

I squared my shoulders. “I’m five-three, and that’s all you need to concern yourself with. And don’t talk to me about your dick—broken or not. I’m your employee now and that’s sexual harassment.”

I was shocked to see him look the littlest bit contrite.

“Whatever you say.”

There was a silence then, and he seemed to be waiting for something. I had a feeling that, despite the scowl seemingly carved onto his face, he sort of enjoyed our conversation. He needs a friend, Lucien had told me.

Well, I’m not scarred for life just talking to him, I thought. May as well start earning my salary now.

“So. You read the Secret Garden?”

“What.”

“Earlier you talked about the girl visiting the sick little kid. That’s the Secret Garden, right?”

He shrugged. “I read it a long time ago.”

“Have you always liked to read?”

“Yes. Does that surprise you?”

“A little.”

“Why? Because I was a dumb jock who liked to throw himself off mountains?”

“Maybe,” I admitted. I also had to admit—to myself—that Noah’s handsomeness had prejudiced me too. I never expected a man this good-looking to be into books, let alone classic literature. Shame burned my cheeks.

Noah shrugged. “You can’t write for shit unless you read a lot and I used to write the articles that went with my photos. For the magazine I worked for. And I liked the writing almost as much as…” A grimace of pain flashed over his face. “Fucking hell, what am I saying? Never mind. We’re done. You can go and don’t forget your damn violin this time.”

A strange twinge of disappointment nipped at me. “I won’t.”

I gathered up case and jacket and got to my feet.

“Why did Lucien want you to bring it, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he thought you’d want to listen to me play. He said you probably won’t hear me from downstairs but I’ll be practicing every day…”

“Probably won’t hear you?” Noah snapped. “I can hear everything. Are you good? Or am I going to be treated to the sounds of cat torture and nails on a chalkboard?”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been playing since I was five years old and graduated Juilliard last year. At the very least, I don’t suck.”

“What are you practicing for? An audition for some big orchestra? Sort of defeats the purpose of working here, now, doesn’t it?”

“No, no, there’s no audition. I don’t…I have to practice to keep my skills sharp.”

Noah narrowed his eyes that were staring just to my left. “Okay, go.”

I blinked. “Go?”

“Play something.”

“Oh. I don’t play much in front of people.”

He cocked his head. “You blew 40K a year on a school that teaches you how to play in front of people and you don’t play in front of people?”

“I do, sometimes.”

“Now is some time. Let’s hear it.”

“Really?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“Sounded more like a demand, but okay.” I sat back down. “Any requests?”

“Surprise me.”

I opened the case, took out my violin, and set my chin to the rest. A hundred different pieces floated around in my head. I set the bow to the strings, thinking I’d try Paganini’s 24th Caprice. It was insanely hard, and while I wasn’t a show-off by nature, I sort of wanted to see the smug, dubious expression slide off Noah’s face.

Instead, out of nowhere, the adagio to Mozart’s Concerto No. 5 came pouring out of my violin.

I played, the notes swirling and filling the living area, like honey infused with fire. I was merely a vessel, watching my fingers vibrate and the bow glide up and down the strings. This sort of sublime experience hadn’t happened to me since the audition for Spring Strings. I thought it was lost forever but here, now…

Before the melody could change to a faster, fiery tempo, I ended off, letting the last note hang gently in the air before I let it go. My heart raced and I stared at the bow, surprised it was my hand that held it.

I looked at Noah. He was sitting back, stunned.

“Why did you stop?” he asked, only a shadow of his ever-present bitterness lingering in his voice.

I stammered for a moment, unable to answer, and then returned my instrument back to its case. “I’m going now. I have to go.”

“Charlotte?”

I spun around. “What?”

“You should play for people more often.”

I had nothing to say that either. I felt strangely exposed, betrayed by the music that just poured out of me for the first time in almost a year. I zipped up my jacket.

Noah turned his head toward the windows that overlooked the street. “Is it raining out? I don’t hear rain.”