“At the fellowship gala next week. Between the scheduled performances. Just one piece.” I opened the folder and spread three of Harper’s compositions across his desk. “These aren’t student exercises, I promise. They’re professional-quality work.”
Brennan didn’t sit, but his eyes went to the music. After a moment, he leaned forward, his expression shifting as he scanned the first page.
“Where did you get these?”
“She showed them to me once. Said they weren’t good enough to share with anyone.” I swallowed hard. “But they are. They’re incredible. And she needs to hear that from someone other than me. She deserves to know how truly talented she is.”
He picked up the second composition, and his fingers moved silently along the page. The silence stretched on, and I had to force myself not to fidget.
Finally he looked up at me, and even though he didn’t say that he liked them, I could see the interest in his eyes. I was right—they were good. “Why isn’t Ms. Tinsley approaching me herself with these?”
“The truth? She doesn’t think they’re any good, so she’d never dream of giving them to you. For a long time, she’s been the only one who believed in herself—in her music. Her family isn’t supportive, although they’d have to be blind not to see her talent.”
“She seemed plenty confident at her audition.”
“You were there?”
He nodded. “I wasn’t officially part of the audition panel, but I like to watch and see the performances. So what changed from then to now?”
This was the part I’d been dreading, and the words were like glass scraping up my throat. “I fucked up—excuse my French.” I met his stare, letting down all my walls and being vulnerable. This was for Harper. I’d fall on any sword if it meant fixing this. “This is the only thing I can think of to prove myself to her.Ibelieve in her, always have and always will. She deserves to believe in herself just as much.”
“You think a public performance of her work will fix whatever happened between you?”
“I think it’ll show her that her music matters. Thatshematters. Not just to me, but to everyone who hears her art.” I met his eyes. “The rest… That’s between us. But Harper deserves to hear her work performed by the best musicians in the state, regardless of what happens with me. The world needed to hear her music.”
He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze moving between the compositions and my face. “These pieces would require extra rehearsal time, not to mention that these compositions are only for solo violin, although she hassignificant notes about harmonic layering and instrumental voicing. Any piece we consider would need a full orchestral arrangement.”
“I understand this is a big ask, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it would be worth it for everyone involved.”
“And Ms. Tinsley has no idea you’re here?”
“None.”
Another long pause.
Then he picked up the first again, studying it more closely. “If I agree to this—and I’m not saying I will—it’s because Harper’s talent deserves to be recognized. Not because of whatever guilt you’re trying to work through.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” He leaned forward, his expression stern. “Because if this is some grand romantic gesture that uses my orchestra as a prop, you can forget it right now. I won’t be party to that.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” He arched a brow again, and I raised my hands, chagrined. “Fine, maybe it is a little, but it’smorethan that. I’ll do anything for her.”
Maestro Brennan studied me for another long moment. He must’ve taken pity on me because he gathered the compositions into a neat stack.
“I’ll think about it. That’s all I can give you.”
My shoulders sagged. It wasn’t defeat, but it wasn’t a victory yet either, and I was sick of living in limbo.
“Thanks for your time,” I said, standing up and heading to the door.
“Mr. Dumontier?” I turned around. “If this backfires or causes Ms. Tinsley any additional distress, you’ll answer to me personally.”
The threat was delivered mildly, but I didn’t doubt he meant it. “Understood.”
“For what it’s worth, I hope things work out.”
So did I.
