Page 94 of The Pucking Arrangement

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whisper, running a hand through my hair.

Tanglewood was the dream I thought I needed. But maybe—just maybe—the universe knew better than I did.

I pick up my phone again, forcing myself to reread the rejection letter. It’s still there, still final, but the weight I expected to feel crushing my chest just...isn’t.

A FaceTime request interrupts my existential crisis.

“There’s my favorite cellist.” Luka’s grin is all easy confidence, his hair artfully tousled, dimples making a dangerous appearance.

I roll my eyes. “Do you say that to all your duet partners?”

“Only the stunningly talented ones,” he quips, then lowers his voice, teasing. “Have you checked your socials today?”

I shake my head. Between last night’s high and, well, this morning, I haven’t looked at my phone much.

“Oh,draga, you’re in for a treat.”

There’s something smug in his tone, but I’m already opening YouTube, scrolling to my channel?—

And freezing.

A hundred thousand new subscribers. More than enough to start making a livable wage from my channel alone.

In less than twelve hours.

My stomach flips.

“This is…” I trail off, scrolling through the endless flood of notifications, comments, and shares.

“Just the beginning,” Luka says smoothly. “Which is why I’m calling. We need to ride this wave. Keep the momentum going. I have an idea for our next collab, something that could really put you on the map.”

His enthusiasm is infectious, jolting me out of my haze.Thisis what I’ve been working toward—visibility, recognition, a real shot at growing my audience.

I sit up straighter. “I’m listening.”

“There’s this gorgeous rehearsal space in Chelsea—perfect acoustics, great natural light. Ideal for filming.” Luka leans back against what looks like a hotel headboard, his confidence effortless. “I was thinking we record a few pieces on Monday. I need a second cellist for a cello arrangement of theBrahms Double. You’d be perfect.”

My stomach tightens. TheBrahms Doubleis a beast of a piece. Double stops, breakneck arpeggios, extreme range shifts—it’s not just difficult. It’s exposing.

“Are you sure?” I hesitate. “It’s insanely difficult.”

“I’ll play the violin part,” he assures me smoothly. “And if Monday is too soon, we can start with something else and tackle it later in the week?”

I stay silent, my brain spinning.

“But visually?” Luka continues. “With our stage presence? It’ll go viral.”

The opportunity dangles before me, golden and impossible to ignore.

“What time?”

“Say…eleven?” The satisfaction in his voice deepens. “I’ll send over the sheet music. Someone of your caliber can do this easily.” A beat. “And I’d suggest you wear something camera-worthy. Like that dress from last night.” He pauses just long enough to make it deliberate. “You looked...stunning.”

Heat creeps up my neck.

“I’ll figure something out,” I say lightly, even as my pulse thrums.

“Brilliant. I’ll text you the details.” He shifts casually. “This is just the beginning of?—”

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