Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
“You won’t get any judgment from me. I spent seven hundred dollars on eye cream instead of paying my rent this month.”
Grace looked horrified. “You rent?”
“Well.” Chloe turned partially on the stool. “I live there. Sig rents it for me.”
“What is a Sig?”
Chloe released a gusty sigh. “The most perfect human on earth.”
“Right.” Another hit of the vape. Before Grace could say anything else, a dog started barking somewhere in the back of the cavernous penthouse. “Goddamn it.”
“You have a dog,” Chloe breathed, rising to her feet. “What kind?”
“It’s also my ex-girlfriend’s. And do I look like a breeder? I have no clue what kind it is. It’s got fur and I have to take it for walks. Like, consistently.” Grace pushed Chloe back down onto the stool. “You can pet the damn thing in a second, but I’m going to read you the riot act first. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not really the inspirational guru type. I’m doing a favor for a friend by giving you some guidance. They think you’re worth the effort. With your talent and Connecticut blue blooded-ness, they think you’re BSO material. But if I’m going to put my time into you, Clifford, I need to know that you want to be the best. Because I won’t accept any less than that.”
No one had ever spoken to her like this. Her first instinct was to apologize to Grace for wasting her time and ask politely to please, please pet the dog, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the need to play the golden instrument from heaven again. Or maybe . . . maybe it was months of watching Sig play hockey. Watching him sweat and bleed and sacrifice his body for a little black puck. For his teammates. For Boston.
What would it be like to apply herself with that degree of tenacity and succeed?
She’d sort of coasted on her God-given talent her whole life, but she could see, could feel that this dynamic woman would be the one to push her to the next level. If Chloe wanted it. If she worked hard enough.
“What does the best mean? What does it look like?”
“First chair, bitch. Principal harp. What else?”
“You’re first chair for the Boston Symphony Orchestra.”
“Yeah, but I’m restless. I’m a nomad. I won’t be here forever. For instance, Berlin is calling my name pretty loud right now. I don’t lose easy, especially to a cellist.” Her smirk faded, leaving a serious expression behind. “If you want a shot at the spot, Clifford, you need to be above reproach. I can’t stress that enough. You show up on time, work your ass off. Do not shit where you eat. Do not give the powers that be a reason to doubt your character. Swift said it best, keep your side of the street clean. And when the situation calls for it, you schmooze with donors. The BSO prides themselves on a virtuous image. Is that you?”
“I don’t know about virtuous. I mean, I like to go out . . .”
“Of course. We all do. You just have to be quiet about it.”
This sounded quite arduous. She could keep things status quo, couldn’t she? Finish conservatory, find a nice position with the orchestra that wasn’t so front and center. No pressure, no one’s reputation riding on her back, continuing to coast on the prodigy status. When she’d decided to come to Boston, first chair hadn’t been her goal, anyway. It was too lofty. Too grueling for someone who could have an easy life, regardless of her job. Or was that her mother speaking?
Was this her sign to find out what she was really capable of?
“Can I have a day to think about it?”
“Actually, I’d rather you took a day.” Grace stowed her vape. “It proves you’re not going to take what I said lightly. We’d be working hard.”
Pressure built in Chloe’s chest, but she smiled through it. “How was the piece?”
“Decent. But you could be a bit more technical. I’m all for your weird, loopy dream state, but you dropped three notes. That won’t fly when you have an orchestra behind you. We’re going to need a higher level of concentration.”
Wow. Three notes?
Breathe. Breathe.
She didn’t have to do this. Her instructors at Berklee rarely pointed out errors.
“You don’t like hearing you made mistakes.”
“I’m just not used to it.”
“Can you get used to it?”
“If I can’t, what does that say about me?” Grace shrugged at her, paced to the window, and stared out at Boston, arms crossed. “Have you seen Whiplash?” Chloe asked.
Grace cast her an exasperated, sideways look. “You don’t think I’m as scary as Terence Fletcher, do you? I’m not.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Or am I?”
Chloe gulped. “I—”
The dog barked—and kept right on barking. “You wouldn’t happen to want a side gig as a dog sitter, would you?” Grace asked. “I can pay you in eye cream or cash, your choice.”