The Treble With Men (Scorned Women's Society #2) - Piper Sheldon Page 0,1

a white painted skull covered most of his face, except where two dark eyes peered out at me from under his cap. In just that glance, his gaze burned up the distance between us. My breath was sucked out of my chest.

The Devil of the Symphony. Known simply as Devlin. One name to rule them all.

He was the new conductor who had been stirring things up in a big way at the Symphonic Orchestra of Knoxville, a.k.a. the SOOK. My conductor. I hadn’t recognized his voice because he rarely spoke, and certainly never gently. He yelled. Or growled. “The woodwinds need to save some of that hot air for their fortissimo and not for mindless chatter!” or “If I wanted to fall asleep, I’d ask for a lullaby—not allegro!” Everybody knew the Devil of the Symphony came to Knoxville after being fired from several of the biggest symphonies around the world. Nobody knew why he chose the SOOK though.

My stomach dropped. He’d said he had an offer.

What would he want with me? I was a nobody in the back. The other cellists probably didn’t even know my name. Christine Day kept herself small and unnoticed for a reason. I hardly made it on anybody’s radar, let alone the Devil’s.

My skin felt weird and hot and tight.

The door swung back and broke me from my internal musings. He gently closed the door, separating me from my parents.

“Christine Day.” Devlin stood in front of me and all around me. His head tilted to the side.

“Maestro,” I said. “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I mean, not intentionally,” I clarified.

“I’ve already spoken with your parents, but I wanted to ask you directly.” He said the words while his eyes bored into me.

His words were clear, not muffled, despite the barrier. The mask only made his focus all the more flustering. There was nowhere else to look. All I could do was stare back into those deep, dark eyes.

My eyes were brown too. Boring brown, like an Ikea side table. They matched my long, brown, stick-straight hair. I was easily forgettable. Tucked away in a corner, most people thought I was a side table. But his eyes were almost black. Where did the pupil end and where did the iris start? And why was I spending so much time thinking about his pupils when he had clearly just said something?

“What?” I smiled. It was a nervous knee-jerk reaction. It usually gave me enough time to disarm somebody until I thought of what I needed to say.

“My showcase. I need a cellist to help me work through some issues with my newest composition, Smokey Mountain Suite.”

“A cellist?”

“Yes,” he said flatly.

I wanted to ask, “What about Carla?” The first chair cellist would love that. I was nobody. I was fourth chair. Literally by rights, I was the fourth most qualified person to help him. But my words got stuck. The longer I stalled, the more the tension built around us. With every second that passed without me answering, the little furrow between his brow deepened.

But what was I supposed to say? Had he even asked me a question?

“I—I … Are you asking me?” That was definitely not what I should have said.

I had meant it sincerely, but he obviously took it as snark. The slice of emotion I could see turned downright thunderous. Suddenly the stories of holes punched in walls and flying music stands were believable.

“Yes,” he growled.

This was a big decision. I needed more information. I needed to talk to Mom and Dad. So why couldn’t I just say that? I could not decide this right now. Not with him standing there, studying me like that. What did he think my reaction would be to him showing up in my house? I was wearing pink flannel PJ bottoms and a tank top, for crying out loud. I hadn’t even messed with a bra today. I hadn’t expected to leave my suite of the house.

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to appear casual, despite feeling anything but.

“Yes or no.” Without seeing his mouth, I sensed he was scowling. That more-familiar growl was back in his voice. “Forty-eight hours.”

And as though we had both decided the conversation was over, he turned on a heel and left. Only when the rumbles of his bike were no longer audible did I finally breathe easy.

I wasn’t sure how long I stood there like a wall-eyed fish out of water. Eventually, my parents came out from the sitting room