The Billionaire and the Runaway Bride by Nadia Lee

Chapter Thirty

Declan

“Oh, thank God you’re here!” Melvin has a voice that sounds like it had eight whiskeys and stayed up too late the night before. He clasps his hands around mine the moment we walk in to see him.

The overenthusiastic welcome is a little shocking. He’s too cool and too jaded to be like this. Besides, it isn’t like I’m some superstar like Ryder Reed. On the other hand, Melvin doesn’t want Ryder Reed. He wants a fresh face—me.

“I’ve been pulling my hair out,” Melvin says. “And I don’t have much left to lose!”

“What can I do to make your life easier?” I’ll forgo commenting on his hair, or lack thereof.

He takes my elbow and leads me to a couch in the reception area. Yuna follows and sits on a stool nearby. Melvin ignores her—to somebody like him, assistants are about as significant as a pen a hotel leaves by your bed.

“I hear you collect classical music. Piano pieces,” he begins.

“Yeah, Schubert,” I say.

“Amazing. I knew you’d be perfect!”

For what? Should I point out that Schubert isn’t really known for his waltz, in case it’s about the dance I’m supposed to do? Or should I just continue to nod and smile until Melvin tells me what he wants?

“My daughter’s applying to conservatories next year, and she’s been driving me crazy, asking me to critique her audition pieces! What do I know about dead people’s music? Eh? Eh? You can’t even sing to it!”

“Uh…” Just because I collect Schubert recordings doesn’t mean I know anything about applying to conservatories. I didn’t even go to college.

I glance over at Yuna, who’s looking at Melvin like he’s a loincloth-wearing barbarian.

“Since you’re so informed about classical music, I thought you could help me,” Melvin says, putting an I’m counting on you hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah. Sure.” Anything to make you happy so I can get the role I want.

I gotta branch out from romantic comedies before I get typecast. And a spy flick would be perfect. Except I don’t understand why I have to be his daughter’s conservatory admissions consultant to get the role. Jesus. Tim should’ve warned me before I showed up. I would’ve had Yuna research it. Actually, wait… Yuna went to one. I could’ve asked her to share everything.

“Perfect. I knew you were a team player! Not like some of the snotty assholes I have to work with. Hollywood egos. I tell you. Think they’re so big and popular.” Melvin shakes his head and fumbles with his phone.

A tune comes out. I don’t know the title, but I recognize the dramatic opening theme. I’ve only heard it performed by an orchestra, but the piano version isn’t bad. Actually, it’s pretty well done. Enjoyable.

But I don’t know enough about music to critique it. But Yuna…

I steal a glance at her. She’s listening, tapping her index finger on her knee to the beat. But other than that, she isn’t showing any indication of how she feels about the piece.

Come on, Yuna. This is not the time for stoicism. I need a small hint. Just enough so I can say something intelligent.

When it ends, Melvin looks at me. “So. What do you think?”

I have no freakin’ clue, since I’m not a music critic. But he might not want to work with me if I give him the wrong answer. Like some actual criticism. Nobody likes to be told their kid isn’t a fucking genius, especially in Hollywood, where egos are the size of galaxies.

“Uh… It’s well done. I’m impressed. Your kid’s like…what? Sixteen?” The recording sounds professional enough. I don’t see why she wouldn’t get in, but then, I could be missing something.

“Turned seventeen just last week.” Melvin puffs out his chest.

“It’s incredible for her age. But if you want something a bit more concrete, you should ask Yuna.”

“Who’s that, a model? Do I know her? What movie was she in?”

“No, my assistant.” I gesture. “She went to Curtis. It’s a very famous—”

“Hey, I know that place! Vicky’s applying there, too.” Melvin turns and gives Yuna his attention. “Let’s have your opinion, young lady.”

“You sure you want it?” Yuna asks. “I don’t hold back when it comes to music.”

I mouth, You don’t have to be honest, at her from behind Melvin, although I don’t know if she receives the message.

“Vicky can’t improve if nobody tells her the truth,” Melvin says. “Lemme have it.”

“She plays it at tempo and the notes are correct, but her touch is so even, it feels like MIDI,” Yuna says.

“MIDI?” I ask, hoping it means “amazing performance” in Latin or something.

“Computer-generated music,” Yuna says. “Do you know the piece? It’s ‘Montagues and Capulets’ from Prokofiev’s Ten Pieces from Romeo and Juliet. It’s a piano arrangement for a ballet, actually.”

Melvin is looking like he has no idea about the music he just heard. But the man understands theatrics, and he directed a retelling of Romeo and Juliet that did well early in his career. I watched it along with a few of his movies, to see his style of directing.

“Anyway, the opening’s supposed to be loud and dramatic, but that doesn’t mean she should just bang out the chords. Every note should get its own touch. And the lack of proper interpretation is even more evident during the pas de deux between Juliet and Paris. It’s not just a break from the pounding opening. It’s a lovely, but doomed, courtship for Paris, who her family wants her to marry. And at the end of the dance, she bumps into Romeo, who she immediately falls in love with. When the opening theme returns after that, it should take on a sense of tragic destiny for the young lovers.” Yuna shrugs. “Right now there’s none of that, so the piece doesn’t really elicit any emotion.”

Melvin’s looking at Yuna like she’s a goddess, and I can feel myself staring, too. She ripped apart what I thought was a fine performance. Does she do this every time she listens to a recording? Then I wonder what she really thought about the “Chopsticks” I played with her.

“Why don’t you start as Vicky’s new piano teacher? I’ll pay you ten times whatever he”—Melvin jerks his thumb at me—“is giving you.”

Annoyance surges. Yuna’s my assistant, damn it!

“I can’t do that,” Yuna says before I can open my mouth. “I’ve committed to working for Declan.”

“I’ll give you a part in my new movie,” Melvin says.

Shameless bastard. He knows it’s an offer most people can’t refuse.

But Yuna merely shakes her head.

Good for you, Yuna! A special bonus is waiting! Whatever you want.

Melvin adds, “A speaking part.”

She cocks an eyebrow.

“With at least three lines!” he yells, like a man in an auction frenzy. “We need more diversity in the casting, and you’re perfect! I also promise not to edit you out at the end. And you’ll be listed in the credits.”

She sighs. “Thank you, but no. I’m afraid I’ll stumble over the words. I get nervous when there’s a camera on me.”

Melvin is staring like he doesn’t understand what’s coming out of her mouth. Probably no young woman has ever said no to him before.

“But I’m going to be done working for Declan in eight weeks,” she says with a smile.

I hate the reminder that she could be gone so soon. Not even eight full weeks left now until Benedict returns. I don’t want her gone, but I don’t know what to do precisely to keep her with me. Damn it, why can’t she be working for money, rather than to prove herself to her family?

Hope returns to Melvin’s face. “So after that…?”

“We’ll see. By the way, do you want to see the waltz? We practiced quite a bit for the part.”

Melvin nods. “Of course. Let’s get started.”