Page 33 of Closer

“You have to travel for all of your jobs. Unless you go back to Bastien with your tail between your legs and beg his forgiveness, there is not a venue in this city that will let you play.”

“Never going to happen.”

“Then away jobs are all you have,” she says resolutely. “Besides, this client is offering big money.”

I join the crowd of many headed for the tube. “Why?”

“It’s an overnight request.”

She’s joking, right? “Overnight? Am I playing a swinger’s party?”

“Not exactly,” she says hesitantly. “And ... it may be more than just the one night.”

“How much more?”

“He wants you to stay for the whole week.”

“Well, you can tell Monsieur Billionaire that I’m not that kind of girl.” I take a sip of my coffee. It’s hot. Too hot.

“Not even for twenty-five thousand euro?”

Coffee sprays from my mouth all over the man in front. He stops walking and turns to me with a very unimpressed face, and I grimace. “Excusez-moi. Je suis vraiment désolée.” I quickly scurry away, melting into the crowd, and giving Piaf my rapt attention. “What did you say?”

“That’s the offer. Twenty-five large. Your travel expenses, food, and accommodation are taken care of. All you have to do is play.”

“But I don’t have a cello.”

“I know, but he does.”

This is insane. Who just happens to have a cello lying around? Then again, he is a billionaire. Perhaps he himself plays but can no longer. Or maybe he simply wishes to learn. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. That’s it. You play when he wants you to. There is a female housekeeper on staff, so it’s not as if you’ll be in the chateau alone with him.”

I toy with the cardboard holder on my coffee cup and sigh. “I need to think about this.”

“Non, you do not need to think about it at all. You work too hard. If you take this one job, play for a week, you can take several months off to work on your own music. Besides, it will be like a holiday because you’ll be staying in a billionaire’s house. Did I mention it’s on the coast?”

“Which coast?” I ask directly, because she knows as well as I do that I have no plans to go back to the French Riviera.

“Did I say coast?” She laughs. I know that laugh, it’s a nervous laugh. “I meant country. It is a country chateau twenty minutes from Nice.”

Oh hell, no.

“Piaf,” I say slowly, drawing out her name. “Twenty minutes from Nice is still the French Riviera. I cannot just up and leave. There’s my father to consider.”

“Yes, and that is what your mother is for.”

“He’s. Not. Well.”

“Nor will you be if you keep working yourself into the ground for a pittance,” she says. I am not working myself into the ground. “It’s twenty-five thousand euro, Brie, think about how that could change your life, or your father’s life.”

I have no students this week, because I have no cello so I wouldn’t be losing money there. I wrack my brain for more excuses as to why I cannot take this job, and I come up empty. This is much, much more than I would get in several years playing the orchestra, and my lessons combined. I inhale through my nose and release a resigned sigh. “Fine, I’ll do it. When do I leave?”

“I’ve already booked your plane ticket.”

“You what?”

“Don’t get mad, I knew you would do it anyway.”

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