Page 68 of The Beat Match

“Wes got a text and seemed really bothered by it.”

“Sounds like an ordinary day to me.”

Possibly, but something felt off and she’d had all the drama she could handle. She’d drop it for now. Give Wes the benefit of the doubt and let his driver shuttle her around. Mollify the anxiety that had him scared he’d lose her. As long as his need for control didn’t get out of control.

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Joyce’s last piano notes vibrated in the air, the entire phrase perfectly played.

Annie whooped. “You’re a virtuoso,” she said, beaming.

“I told you, dear, I don’t pay you to lie.”

“You’re paying me to teach you piano while boosting your confidence with my exuberant personality.”

Joyce clutched her wrinkled hands on her lap. “A job well done, on both accounts. When I set out on this piano mission, I expected a dowdy teacher and dull days. You’ve made Thursday my favorite day of the week.”

I will not cry. I will not cry. Annie had become embarrassingly emotional these days, the dam she’d burst with Vivian and Wes infecting her life. She’d just never expected teaching others would move her this much. “I love Thursdays, too. You’ve become my favorite student.”

“I’m your only student.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I signed someone up last week, and I’ve had two more inquiries.” Thanks to Annie’s scrapbooking skills, she’d created fun flyers that she’d posted around public transit and at several bars. She wasn’t taking on advanced pupils yet, but if this kept up, she’d be able to cut back on waitressing shifts eventually. “I’ll be turning people away before I know it, but you’ll always be my favorite.”

Joyce gripped the piano edge and used the leverage to stand. “You should spend some of those earnings cleaning up this place. Hire yourself a maid.”

“You should use that smart mouth to do stand-up comedy. Start a Golden Girls revival.”

Joyce coughed while laughing. “You’re definitely my favorite, dear. See you next Tuesday.”

“We meet on Thursdays, Joyce.”

She grinned. “I know.”

Annie frowned while making sure Joyce took the stairs okay, then she snickered. C U Next Tuesday. Joyce had just lovingly called Annie a C U N T.

She smiled while piling the piano music sheets. She stacked them next to a shipment of Sudoku books that had magically appeared last week. Below them was a mysterious bag of buttons she’d found tucked in her purse. Scissors that could cut through steel had materialized on her coffee table after a waitressing shift.

Whenever she asked Wes if he’d sent her the secret gifts, he’d shrug and say, “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Total liar.

If there was a boyfriend contest judged by attentiveness, thoughtfulness, and bedroom prowess, Wes would win gold with his hands tied behind his back, or her hands, as was the case that one time. He and Annie had been incredibly in sync the past few weeks, sleeping together every night, splitting their time between her tiny apartment and his massive loft. He didn’t seem to mind staying over. He said her place felt like a real home, but when they made time to work on music, his loft was the go-to.

He had somehow mollified Rosanna’s father, their merger still full-steam ahead, and he’d loved the video montage she’d created. Eyes glazed and voice thick, Wes had thanked her for focusing on gun control and making Leo part of the project. They had tweaked a few sections, played with different classical music fragments to heighten the emotional impact. He was planning to unveil it at his next big show, and she was really doing this DJ thing. Thanks to a push from Wes and more nudging from Vivian, she’d finally agreed to DJ Sarah’s birthday party next month.

A deadline to focus on. Her first real gig.

Everything was absolutely, positively perfect…and she was absolutely, positively terrified.

If truthfulness were part of the boyfriend contest, Wes would fail epically. The control freak had become a domineering vigilante. He had his driver pick her up and drop her off everywhere. He kept tabs on her constantly, asking her to check in, messaging her at all hours. Every time she asked him what was up with the obsessive worrying, he’d play to her heart, and say, “Because you’re the most important person in my life.”

She’d get all moony and accept his lame excuse, then later, when she’d catch him sneaking off to talk angrily on his phone, she’d worry this slice of paradise was too good to last.

Her doorbell rang. She finished organizing the sheet music and answered the door.

A woman held out a large box. “This is for you, Annie.”