Elena tilted her head, and as Nathan's mouth pressed closer, the room seemed to fade away, leaving only the pulsating energy between them. His lips pressed against hers in a searing kiss, obliterating the dam of pent-up desire she’d built brick by brick and sending fire through her veins.
Elena's fingers tangled in Nathan's hair, pulling him closer. Their tongues danced with—
"Miss?"
Megs jolted in her seat and stared up into her instructor's face. Her cheeks flamed, and she slammed her laptop closed.
"Yes, I'm sorry." She shifted in her seat and swallowed hard. "I was very into the . . . charts."
His eyes lit up. "The example patient charts? I spent a lot of time on those. I'm glad you found them helpful."
Megs smiled a little too brightly and glanced around the room. She was the only one still seated. "Is class over?"
He nodded, and Megs hopped up, nearly tripping over her chair as she crammed her belongings into her backpack. "I'm so sorry I kept you, Mr.--"
"Fletcher."
"Right. Thank you so much for the class, Mr. Fletcher." She slung her backpack over her shoulders. "I'll see you tomorrow evening."
He nodded and watched her curiously as she exited the classroom.
Megs chewed on her lower lip as she drove the thirty minutes home, her excitement at booking the studio unraveling like the bag she'd knitted for herself in ninth grade. The audition wasn't long, but she knew nothing about recording. A flurry of questions bombarded her mind.
Would she be able to figure out the equipment? Would it plug into her computer to record there or would she need a separate device? Would her voice sound good through the mic?The scene couldn't take longer than ten minutes to record, so if she studied ahead of time and knew exactly what to do, she wouldn’t even have to be late to class.
Megs pulled into the driveway and locked her car, then took her backpackinside and flicked on the living room light. It was dark in the house, which meant her mom was either at the theater or already in bed. It was only nine, but stranger things had happened.
She set her bag down and grabbed an apple from the fridge, then the jar of peanut butter from the cabinet. She sliced the fruit and dipped it straight into the jar. When she was halfway through her snack, she pulled her laptop from the bag and set it on the counter. The screen lit up, and she stared at the 'book now' button under the five o'clock slot.
Megs' heart thumped wildly in her chest.Zero risk. She could do this.With a deep breath, she clicked the button, almost expecting a triumphant fanfare to ring through the air. Instead, a message blinked onto her screen:
Booking not allowed.You are not a currently enrolled student.
Megs lookedat the top right corner and saw her avatar symbol. She was logged in, and she was enrolled. In the certification program.
She flipped back to her email and scrolled through Gideon's message. She hadn't misread it. Any enrolled student was supposedly allowed to book a recording studio even if they weren't enrolled in an audio class.
Megs clicked back and tried again, only to get the same message. She exhaled in frustration and dipped another slice of apple into the peanut butter jar as she glanced at the clock.Nine-thirty.She couldn't call the registration office, and they'd likely be closed all weekend. But the audition was due Sunday night.
Flipping back to her email, she composed a new message to Gideon. He wasa professor, which meant he likely wouldn't see this until Monday either, but since he had studio time available over the weekend, maybe there was a chance?
Megs hit send, then ate another slice of apple. She stared at the screen and refreshed it twice before spinning around and searching for a distraction.
The dishes.She would unload the dishes and clean the frying pan that was still soaking from breakfast. She thought about turning on an audiobook or podcast, but couldn't handle more input above the clanging of her own thoughts. She’d thought she didn't care about this audition, but the idea of missing it made her feel like someone was scooping out her insides.
Megs stacked the plates and lifted them into the cupboard, then went back for the silverware. It was stupid. She would be going up against actual voice actors, and Calloway, or whatever staff he'd hired to judge the auditions, would be able to tell the difference.
Still, her fingers trembled, and she sent a silent prayer up into the universe that Professor Adams would see her message and respond with a fix for her problem.
When the dishwasher was empty, she turned to the sink and saw it. A new email at the top of her inbox.Re: Booking a recording slot.
Megs almost choked on her own spit as she lunged for her laptop and opened the message.
Dear Megs,
I apologizefor the inconvenience you've encountered. Unfortunately, the recording studio is reserved for currently enrolled students only.
I took the liberty of taking a look at your student ID and saw that you are enrolled for our medical coding certification course. However, this is not a semester course (it's considered a community class that happens to be taught here at Champlain).
