Page 70 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“Very.” I landed earlier today. Although Sam claimed his assistant “forgot” to remind him, I know he didn’t pick me up from LAX as a symbolic protest over my return. Thankfully, Byron was waiting at the airport, having heard from Julie about my flight from Vienna. “But don’t let me fall asleep too early. I have to get back into my routine as quickly as I can.”
He nods. “Thai and a movie?”
“Fantastic. Tomorrow I’m also going to work on my résumé. Well, once I figure out what to put on it.” And see who I can ask to review what I’ve written.
“I can help you with that.”
It’s like Byron read my mind. “That’d be great. Thank you. You’ll know exactly what to say.”
“You sure you want an office position, though? You can always be a concert pianist or something. If you get stage fright, you can do duets with Julie.”
My mood deflates. That used to be what I was working toward. Sam confirmed it. But I can’t pursue that anymore.
I don’t have stage fright. What I have is far worse—terrible panic attacks, which developed since the coma, according to Sam. When I tried to force it at a small recital six years ago, I fainted dead away, my heart beating hard and fast, cold sweat drenching me. It was so awful I thought I was in the middle of a heart attack.
But if you were to play with that guy from Hammers and Strings? Something for four hands, so you could sit side by side, his body close…
The question comes unbidden, and I shake my head. Ridiculous notion.
Except the butterflies in my belly don’t think it’s that ridiculous.
