Page 146 of The Oscar Escape
“Fine, whatever.” She could tell them to go eat worms. “Do you have your laptop?” she pressed.
“It’s in front of me.”
“I need you to look into a piece of property.”
“You want to buy real estate minutes before you’re expected on stage?” the man balked.
“Yes, now. It can’t wait.” She pictured a row of Adirondack chairs lining a porch. The crash of the surf meeting the sand with driftwood dotting the beach. She heard music that spoke to her soul. And could feel Oscar cupping her cheek in his hand as he kissed her in the salty breeze. “I want to buy The Sweet Escape Inn on Havenmatch Island. I know it’s been recently appraised, and I have a feeling the owners would sell it to me.”
She listened to the click of Dom striking the keys.
“What do you know about owning an inn?” her manager asked amid the taps.
She knew how to bang in every guest room.
She glanced at her uncle and chose to refrain from sharing that tidbit. “I’m a fast learner. Can you please check?”
“I’m looking at the listing,” Dom said, disappointment threaded into his response.
“What’s wrong?”
“It says sale pending.”
No, no, no!Everything hinged on her buying the inn. It was her destiny. She felt it with every beat of her heart.
“Call the realtor. I want to make a counteroffer. Tell them I’ll double the price.”
She’d drain her trust. She’d do whatever it took. This place mattered to Oscar and her. This is where they were their true selves. This is how she would prove her love. She touched her ring finger, aching for the bit of gold and silver.
“Aria, we’re here,” her uncle said as the car slowed.
The police escort muted their sirens and peeled away.
She was out of time.
Dammit!She’d have to table the inn situation. She had to concentrate on the show. “Dom, we passed through the main gate. I need you to act quickly. Let the crew know we won’t need any pyrotechnics. No smoke, no lasers, and no goddamned crane. If that harness so much as grazes my body, I’ll set it on fire.”
“Noted,” the man chimed.
“We’re stripping every superfluous element from the show to focus on the music,” she continued. “Let the musicians know the set list is changing. Hold on. I’m sending over some sheet music.” She turned on the interior light and started snapping pics of the music she’d composed in her notebook. “We’re going acoustic tonight with my current pop hits, and we’ll add the instrumental pieces. I’m flying by the seat of my pants. It’s what I do best,” she added, recalling when Oscar echoed a similar sentiment on their wedding night.
Mrs. Elliott, we’re going to fly by the seat of our pants and make it up as we go.
“I see the images now. I’ll send them to the musicians,” Dom said, breaking into her thoughts.
She got her head back in the game. “They’ll have some extra time to look over the music. I’m taking the stage by myself for the first song. Just me and a piano.”
“What are you planning, Miss Thing?” her manager purred.
She stared ahead at the majestic amphitheater, drinking in the rocky masterpiece set aglow by the outdoor lighting. “Something I should have done a long time ago.”
“What about hitting double platinum? We’ll have the final numbers any second. We’ve been hyping it to the press. People are expecting a reaction from you on stage. The crew and I have worked out a slick way to reveal it. Wait!” Dom exclaimed, changing tack. “I see your uncle’s car. I’m coming out.”
And he was gone.
No bother. She’d tell him in person that they could screw the numbers. Irritation prickled in her chest, then receded when she caught a few bars of music on the breeze. It didn’t sound like the techno beats they played before she took the stage.
Her uncle pulled up to the crew entrance as Dom emerged with a bag in his hand.
