Page 32 of Not Another Love Song

His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, and there was something missing in his pale blue gaze. He was about Nathan’s age, maybe older, and his posture and clothing screamed money.

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, struggling to find small-talk topics. “Do you play an instrument yourself?” “I’m simply an admirer.”

His eyes didn’t drift over her body, but they might as well have. She felt a strange chill move through her.

“Thank you very much for introducing yourself, Mr. Lorenz. I hope to see you at more Pops concerts next season!”

She was stepping around him when suddenly he produced a card from his pocket. “If you’re ever in need of an agent, Miss Jackson, I encourage you to give me a call.”

Her eyes flickered down to the card and back up. “Oh. I hadn’t even thought about that. Is that something first chairs need?”

“Gwen.” Nathan’s voice made her jump. He took her elbow firmly. “Can I borrow you?” he said with a tight smile and a nod in Calvin’s direction. “Calvin, good to see you.”

“Mr. Andrews. Such a little diamond in the rough you’ve found,” Mr. Lorenz said.

“Well, we’re both collectors now, aren’t we?” Nathan’s chuckle was as fake as it could be. “Thanks for joining us.”

And then Nathan was steering her away swiftly, through the crowd, around pillars, and out of sight.

“Did he give you his card?” Nathan asked, once they were far enough away.

“Yeah.”

“Do yourself a favor: tear it up.” Nathan gave her a knowing look before waving to someone and leaving her side.

She looked over her shoulder, trying to find Mr. Lorenz in the crowd, but he had been swallowed up. Glancing down at his card, she saw he was an agent and a music producer. It was a tempting connection to have, but if Nathan had rushed over to intercept the conversation so abruptly like that, he must have good reason not to trust Calvin Lorenz. Gwen tore the card in half and tossed it in the closest trash bin.

She wandered back to the bar. She’d lost track of Jacob and Declan, and based on previous experience going to Pops events with Jacob and one of his dates, that usually meant she wasn’t supposed to find them. There was no sign of Mei or Ava or anyone she could chat with. After nearly an hour of nonstop conversation, she was oddly alone. She was tempted to duck out early, treat herself to a cab home, and call Mabel from the back seat, but she thought thirty more minutes would be best.

The bartender asked her for her order, and Gwen only had eyes for the glass of champagne he was pouring for the woman next to her. Once poured, he informed her that the open bar ended five minutes ago. Gwen sheepishly retrieved her credit card.

She had just finished signing for a twenty-seven-dollar glass of champagne when she felt someone at her shoulder.

“I think I’ve figured it out.”

She sipped and felt it all go down the wrong way when Xander Thorne’s towering figure appeared next to her. She’d forgotten how tall he was when they’d been sitting at the wedding. Nearly six-four, at least.

She cleared her throat, patted her lips, and said, “I’m sorry?”

“You were stiff tonight,” he said. “There was nothing natural about the way you played.”

She blinked at him as his eyes flickered over her face like he was scanning her, memorizing and taking notes. He had been there. He watched her play tonight. He watched her play his Chaconne.

Her face heated, and she had to look away from his intense stare.

“Okay…” Too stiff. That, she already knew. “Is that what you ‘figured out’?”

He shifted until his body was facing hers, one elbow still leaning on the bar. He held a glass of something amber and took a deep sip from it, watching her over the rim. His tongue flicked out over his lips.

“You play as if you have someone to impress.”

Her brows drew together. “Don’t we all?”

He watched her for a moment. “We don’t have to, no.”

There was a stretch of the vowel, a moment of meaning, on the “we,” she thought. But maybe she was imagining it.

She looked away, remembering his upbringing. His cello worth almost a million dollars. His life as Ava Fitzgerald’s son that could have provided years of comfort and opportunity.

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