“Give me a minute,” I tell Phillipe.
I move further along the bar, closer to the stage, and lean back, sipping my water, pulling out my phone so it appears like I’ve moved to make a call.
“Sullivan and I aren’t a… thing,” Tate tells Vincent in a low voice, glancing at Molly as she happily holds her baby doll and mimics it pressing the keys on the piano. “I’m helping out with Molly. He’s my boss.”
“Sorry, my mistake. I thought he mentioned a dinner date,” Vincent says, sounding far too friendly for my liking. I’ve heard that tone before when he’s flirted with women who gush over his piano playing.
“Oh, that’s with a woman we just bumped into. Claudia, I think her name was,” Tate replies.
“Blonde? Tall? Beautiful?” Vincent asks.
“Yes to all the above.” Tate smiles.
“Uh-huh.” He runs a hand around his jaw. “That’s his ex-fiancée.”
“Really? Wow. Well, yeah, he’s going on a date with her,” Tate replies.
Damn it.The only reason I told Vincent I might be dining at The Songbird soon is because I know he’s desperate to know what set the pianist they have plays. She’s excellent apparently. And Vincent’s intrigued.
Like he’s too fucking intrigued about Tate’s personal life right now.
“No boyfriend, then?” he asks.
Tate’s smile widens. “No boyfriend.”
“Do you want one?” He winks.
She laughs. “That soundslike an offer?”
“How about I take you on a date, and you can decide if I’m in with a shot?”
“Um…” Tate’s laughter strains like she’s shy, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
I lean closer, straining to hear her response.
“Sure, why not.”
I slam my glass down so hard on the bar it echoes through the room.
“Time to go!” I bark.
Tate looks over in surprise. “You’re done?”
“I’m done,” I reply through gritted teeth.
I questioned whether having Tate back working for me was a wise decision or a monumental mistake. The way my hands are curling into fists like I want to punch something tells me… it’s the latter.
21
TATE
“Whispers of the past,the future’s calling... Unleash your potential… let the world hear your sound.”
I play the notes that accompany the gentle words, and the melody fills the room.
Molly sits beside me on the piano stool, her eyes wide as she watches my fingers glide over the keys.
“Did you write that?” a deep voice rumbles.
