The woman who runs the operations of the hall gives me a sour look from behind the ticket booth as we move past her. She’s probably in her fifties, but she looks a lot older with that scowling expression on her wrinkled face.
She doesn’t like me, probably because I’m not supposed to be here.
Most of the musicians don’t bring company to these sessions.
Harper’s the exception and I think that pisses her off.
It’s hard to refrain from flipping her the bird, but I remind myself the old bat would use any excuse to stop me from entering the building with Harper, and I don’t want to ruin this for him, so I smile and wave at her on the way out, knowing it’ll piss her off just as much.
Once we’re walking down the front steps of the building, I sigh in relief.
I can take my jacket off before we get in the car, and I can loosen this stupid tie.
We walk to the car in silence, knowing we’re still playing our parts.
I unlock the doors from a few feet away, and Harper goes straight for the backseat.
When I turn to head around to the driver’s side, I notice one of the female musicians heading for her car across the lot. She smiles briefly at me, giving a small wave before she slips into her car.
I wave back out of habit.
She’s gone from the lot before I can get the driver’s door open.
It won’t be long until the rest of them are out here, so I unbutton and shrug out of my jacket quickly, tossing it onto the empty passenger seat before I get into the car.
It probably doesn’t look too professional that I took it off, but I doubt it’ll get us caught out as mates. I sit for a second, unbuttoning and rolling up my sleeves, freeing my tattoos from captivity, while Harper moves the divider down that separates the front of the car from the back.
“I need you to remember I have a girlfriend called Maria.”
I burst out laughing. “What?”
Harper’s grinning at me when I glance back.
He’s still far enough away that I shouldn’t trigger his perfume, but we should probably get going.
I start the engine while I wait for Harper to explain himself.
“One of the violinists has been getting too close, as if you haven’t noticed.”
I raise an eyebrow as I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror.
“Just one of them? Could have fooled me.”
“I’m serious!” he exclaims as I start to drive out of our parking space.
“Which one?” I ask, as I begin to mentally picture each of their faces.
Thinking back over what I witnessed today, nothing sticks out as different.
They were all fawning over him at the start, and at the end, but no one looked like they were being particularly inappropriate.
I guess I couldn’t hear every word they were saying.
“Emerald Jasmine. The one who dyes her hair black,” he tells me. “She always wears lace over her clothes.”
“Emerald Jasmine?” I ask, making him nod.
It sounds like the kind of name an Omega would have, but I don’t say that out loud because Harper really hates the stereotype that Omegas are always given unusual names.
