Chapter 6
“YES, MR. KATZ, I UNDERSTAND many of your guests already have holiday plans, and we’re happy to refund your table purchase if needed.” Christine spoke with the confidence of a woman who knew how the conversation was going to end. She’d already had eight such conversations in the last hour. Fortunately, her stage fright didn’t extend to phone conversations. “But I thought you would like to know that we’ve secured Jessie Skies as entertainment for the New Year’s gala. Yes, that Jessie Skies.” From this point in the conversation, Christine operated like an automaton, barely listening but answering affirmatively as Mr. Katz’ interest was piqued and converted to additional donations.
Marie approached Christine’s desk, and the middle-aged woman indicated she should finish her conversation. “We’re adding on a VIP cocktail hour before the event, and donors who purchased tables for the September event can purchase tickets to attend for an additional $250. Yes, Miss Skies will attend the cocktail hour. Ten tickets? Shall I run the credit card on file? Excellent, sir. I’ll email you the receipt. I look forward to seeing you. Please give Mrs. Katz my best.” She hung up the phone with a satisfied smile.
“I take it the conversations with the donors are going well?” Marie leaned against the wall of Christine’s cubicle with her arms folded. Christine turned to face her directly. Exhaustion notwithstanding, Christine enjoyed her job. Each conversation was a victory at a time when they were sorely needed.
“Are you kidding? We’re going to sell out the VIP cocktail hour by the end of the month. Sending out invitations is going to be superfluous at this rate. Even the auction donors are falling over themselves to up their contributions.” Christine didn’t hold back a satisfied smile. Her idea was proving to be quite lucrative.
“This event might be our most successful in decades, including splitting the proceeds with The Noah Liff Opera Center.” Marie was in her mid-forties with dark hair she kept up with attractive low lights of caramel. According to her daughter, Meg, Christine’s good friend, Marie had started life as a ballerina. An unfortunate injury in her late teens waylaid those dreams, but the woman she had become was a force to be reckoned with. Christine admired her immensely.
“That reminds me, I need to reach out to our contact in Nashville. We need to get their priority list. Will we be able to put tables on the mezzanine for attendee overflow?”
“I’ve spoken with our events company. At capacity, we can add another 600 seats,” Marie assured her. “We’ll need to find a new location for the silent auction—perhaps in the hallways on the orchestra level.”
“There could be over 1,200 people… I hope we’ll have room…” Christine fretted. When she moved on, she wanted to leave the opera on a high note, and it was satisfying to know her efforts would lead to record donations.
“Let me worry about that for now. Unfortunately, I have another task I need to put on your plate today.” Marie looked almost apologetic.
“Am I missing a meeting?” Cynthia’s voice rang out as she entered the small space. The woman missed nothing and seemed to take it personally whenever Marie and Christine cut her out of a conversation.
“Nothing to concern you, Cynthia.” Marie smiled a bit tightly. Sometimes, Christine wondered if Marie saw through Cynthia’s machinations. “I need Christine to run an errand for me today.” Marie turned to Christine, holding out a large brown envelope. “Erik Gardner is asking us to drop off the documents regarding the latest audit. He needs to sign them for us to submit to our accounting firm tomorrow. Would you mind running by his apartment after work? It’s not far from your place.”
Christine’s mouth hung open as Cynthia interjected, “Oh, Marie, I’m going up that way since I’m having drinks with my contact at Chanel. I’ll be happy to get this right to Mr. Gardner.” She extended her hand for the envelope.
“Oh, I don’t want to ask more of you when you’re already attending an important donor meeting,” Marie said, holding on to the documents tightly.
“It’s no trouble. I know the area well—I jog there most nights.”
“No.” Marie’s voice was stern and brooked no argument. She paused and put on a smile. “That’s kind of you, Cynthia, but I’d rather not have these documents out and about. Christine is going right home afterward.” She speared Christine with a fierce look. “Isn’t that right, Christine?”
Christine, for her part, was watching the exchange like a cat in front of a ping-pong tournament and enjoying it immeasurably …until she realized where she was being forced to go, and Marie was in on it.
“No problem, Marie.” She nodded, taking the documents. “I’ll get these back to you first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you so much. His address is on the envelope. His doorman will be expecting you.” She turned to Cynthia. “Why don’t you and I discuss how the VIP cocktail party is coming together?” With that, she lightly pushed Cynthia out of Christine’s cubicle, but not before the former woman glared daggers at Christine as though she was responsible for the results of the previous back-and-forth. Christine could already tell she was going to pay for this one.
Shaking her head with instinctive fear, Christine regarded Marie’s envelope with a kind of horror. She’d been avoiding making a decision about the NDA, and unless she was mistaken, her time was up.
Erik’s building, The Riverside Park Palace, stood like a monolith of black glass and metal on the west side of Manhattan, overlooking the Hudson River. It dwarfed the other impressive buildings flanking it on either side, reaching approximately seventy stories into the Manhattan skyline. At 6:00 p.m., the sun was still relatively high in the sky, but in about an hour, the sun would set, and the view from those apartments facing the river would be spectacular. Perhaps, if she was done quickly, she would walk along the river to see it.
She procrastinated going inside. Marie had said she just needed to drop off the papers with the doorman and wait for them to be returned. In and out in fifteen minutes, she’d said.
They both knew she’d been lying. Christine’s stomach was currently residing somewhere in her feet.
“Man up, Derring,” Christine muttered, forcing her feet forward. A well-dressed doorman held the door open to her and offered a polite nod. She looked around, breathing deeply as she took in the elegant lobby. An elevator bank with ten operating elevators lined the back wall while men and women in business suits returned from their daily outings. Nannies plodded forward with their charges in Baby Jogger strollers, arms filled with their bosses’ dry cleaning. Uber Eats and DoorDash messengers carried $200 delivery dinners that would mostly go to waste. Christine shook her head in disbelief.
What was it like to live in a place like this? To not have to wear the same pair of stockings five times and use clear nail polish to stem runs to avoid spending money on a new pair until payday? To not have to rely on the fifty-nine centstore-brand macaroni and cheese to help extend one’s food budget? Breaking out of her self-pity, Christine walked to the concierge desk, holding the manila envelope in front of her like a talisman. The middle-aged woman sitting there looked at her from beneath dark-framed glasses and hair pulled back in a high ponytail.
“My name is Christine Derring. I have a package for Erik Gardner.” She offered up the envelope. “I’m supposed to provide it to the doorman for his signature and wait for its return.”
“Yes, Miss Derring. Mr. Gardner has his own concierge by the rear elevator bank. He’ll be happy to help you.” She pointed to a side hallway apart from the central elevator banks. It was unobtrusive but in no way lacking in luxury. The marble floor was interlocking navy stones with flecks of gold throughout.
Christine followed the narrow pathway until she came to a separate elevator bank with one set of doors. A single concierge sat looking at his phone. Christine wondered what he did all day and if Erik was his only tenant.
“Excuse me…”
“Joe.” The young man looked up at her with a smile and put down his phone, chagrined. “Sorry—it’s my girlfriend’s birthday, and we were texting about our plans for later.”
She smiled at his enthusiasm. “Happy birthday to her! Do you have anything exciting planned?”
“Yes! I got us tickets to the latest Social Robot concert! She doesn’t know yet.”
Christine gave a half smile. If her memory served, Social Robot was also under contract at Borderline Records. She wondered if Erik Gardner had anything to do with how Joe got his hands on tickets to the hottest show in town.
“Well, I hope you have a good time.” Christine smiled and lifted her envelope. “I have some documents Mr. Gardner needs to sign. I was told to give them to you to take up to him.”
“Are you Christine Derring?” Joe’s smile grew. “Mr. Gardner told me to expect you and to send you right up.” Eager to help, Joe didn’t notice Christine’s smile fall. “Let me call him and tell him you’re here.” He picked up the phone and pressed a button to open the elevator doors.
“Thank you, Joe. Um, what floor?”
“The elevator is only programmed to go to Mr. Gardner’s floor. It’s the only apartment up there.”
Christine nodded and mumbled, “Of course.”
She stepped in and couldn’t help but remember her last elevator experience. Since the night at the opera, she’d walked the stairs up to the seventh-floor offices. She couldn’t get on the elevator even at school—thankfully her classrooms were on the lower floors. Fortunately, her home was a basement apartment. Still, she’d developed a bit of claustrophobia, and it threatened to get out of control if she didn’t get a hold of it. Like the rest of the building, the elevator to Erik’s home was sleek and modern. This was not the kind of elevator that broke down easily.
The trip was swift and silent. Her ears popped, implying she’d gone quite high with great speed. Despite her trepidation, her desire to see Erik’s home was undeniable. If the outside of the building were enough to intimidate her, what would the interiors do to her ability to stand her ground? She was on his turf. Thinking of her tiny studio, it was impossible to imagine what his home looked like. She made a mental note to look it up on Zillow later. She decided not to chastise herself for her desire to see how the other half lived. Hadn’t success like this been the pipe dream since her father passed? Its seeds almost certainly started long before then—maybe the third time her father mended work slacks that should have long gone into the garbage bin.
If she were being entirely truthful with herself, she was equally excited and terrified to see Erik again. Would he be the gentle, attentive, funny man in the dark or the beast of a man who threatened her livelihood in the light? What was she walking into, and was she equipped to deal with the fallout from whatever she decided to do?
When the elevator opened, sunlight assaulted Christine, temporarily blinding her. The apartment entrance faced west, and the light from the floor-to-ceiling—those impossibly high ceilings! —windows blasted her senses. She blinked away the brightness and placed a hand over her forehead to get her bearings. She saw the tall shape of a man comparatively dark against the sunlight.
“Christine,” he said, his voice low and musical, “Thank you for coming.”
Christine blinked up at him, the light still catching her off guard.
“Oh right, the sun is about to set. Let me…” Erik walked toward a wall and pressed a button. Almost instantly, a film covered the windows to block out the worst of the sun’s glare. “There, that should help. I forget how strong the sun is this time of day.”
Christine closed her eyes, letting the dark ease away the sting from the glare. “Give me a moment.” She opened her eyes experimentally. Erik was standing close to her. Dangerously close. He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt with rolled-up sleeves, along with the same black mask from the gala that covered his face from his forehead to below where his nose ought to have been. He looked at her with a concerned expression in his dark-blue eyes.
“Would you like a glass of water?” he offered. His tone was kind, patient even.
“No, thank you. I’m fine. I have the papers you requested.” She stepped back, ignoring his slight frown, and lifted them toward him.
“Yes, well, thank you for these.” He took the envelope and walked to a glass table off the side of the great room, placing the envelope there. “I think you know I asked you to bring these here so you and I might speak in person.”
Christine nodded hesitantly, her suspicions confirmed. “I assumed that might be the case.”
Erik leaned against the table, his arms folded while he studied her. “And you came?”
“I’m not aware I had much choice.” She surprised herself with her bravery sometimes. Did Erik look chagrined at her comment? Christine glanced around his apartment, cataloging her surroundings. Apartment was such a weak term for this castle in the sky. The main room featured a large sitting area with two large dark gray sofas surrounding a center table and a fireplace. Off to one side stood a sleek black grand piano. In the distance, she saw hallways and a curved staircase, and she wondered how many floors his home was. She didn’t see a balcony but assumed there must be one based on the building’s exterior.
“And if you had a choice, would you have come? ”
“Probably not. I didn’t want to be yelled at again and I’m not going to sign the papers Mr. Khan gave me.” Christine didn’t know she’d say that until the words fell from her lips.
“I’m not going to yell at you.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Would you mind sitting down? I’d like to talk with you if you’re willing.”
Again, she hadn’t much choice, so Christine complied, but there was something more. She thought back to what Rafe said about Erik Gardner. He had no father, a distant mother, and a car accident that might have been the cause of his current state. She had a curiosity about him that was one part morbid, one part pity, and another part intrigue. She’d gone over their elevator conversation so many times, and afterward, she couldn’t tell if she’d dreamed his kindness or if it disappeared in light of the revelations that followed. Had it been an illusion? She didn’t know. So she sat, and she listened.
Erik sat beside her at the head of the table and took a deep breath. “I want to apologize for how I treated you. It was unacceptable for me to yell and threaten you. You gave me no reason to treat you like that. I’m not used to being in the company of others, especially those I don’t already know. That’s why I had Reza ask you to sign the NDA. You can secretly find out I’m a devil-worshipper who roots for the New England Patriots, and you couldn’t breathe a word.”
“Don’t all Patriots fans worship the devil?” she countered. Her father had been a die-hard Jets fan. She saw Erik fighting a grin, and a part of her melted. It felt good to make him smile. She’d have to ponder why later.
“An excellent point. Regardless, I don’t take trustworthiness as a given. I’d rather have it in writing that I have your silence.”
“I don’t want your money,” she said, realizing this was a negotiation.
“No—you want your own money. I see that now. But you didn’t take the job offer either.” He held his chin as if deliberating over the matter. “I can make it a longer contract. Five years guaranteed, management role in three. If you do well, you’ll continue on the same track. You can work your way to success like you’ve always dreamed.”
Christine rolled her eyes. “Believe me, this is not how I wanted my dreams to come true.”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You…” Christine’s throat burned. It wasn’t often she lost her temper, but the signs were unmistakable. Her skin flushed, and the fine hairs on her arms stood on end. “You ruined what I wanted already. I worked my ass off in college, at a state school, knowing your stupid company wouldn’t even consider me because it wasn’t one of the Ivies. I got myself into grad school by myself and got a job at an opera house of all places, hoping its name, your name, would grant me entrance into the elite. I couldn’t believe my luck when I met the Erik Gardner.”
“And then the mask came off, and I threatened you, and your fantasy crashed down.”
“You’re an idiot. I was frightened when you threatened me, but I wasn’t mad. I understand why you might feel alarmed when I found out…” She motioned to his face with a nod. “I still understand that part. But you sent your henchman to bribe me. My dream isn’t worth anything if I can get it for free. I want to be the best at what I do. I want to be the obvious choice and not the choice because you think you need to protect yourself from me.” She turned away with a scoff. “Never meet your heroes.”
“Christine…” Erik sat up and gently put a hand on her shoulder .
“No, no more. I have to go.” She shook off his hand. “I need to work on my thesis presentation or this whole grad school thing will be for nothing.”
“What do you mean?” Erik looked at her, his posture alert with confusion.
“Nothing—it’s a school thing.”
“Maybe I can help?”
“Unless you have a cure for my mind-boggling stage fright, this one is out of your purview.” She grabbed her purse, ready to bolt. She was emotionally exhausted by this conversation, and it was time for it to end. She wasn’t going to take the money, she knew that now. In which case, she was wasting her time here when she had more important priorities. It was time to put Erik Gardner and his presence in her life behind her.
“Stage fright?” Erik looked at her doubtfully. Most people would be terrified of him, yet this young woman had no trouble speaking her mind. “Pardon my disbelief, but for someone with crippling stage fright, you don’t struggle with me. I don’t think it is an exaggeration to call me…off-putting.”
At the least, he thought to himself. He was fucking terrifying.
“I’m usually fine one-on-one, but you put me in front of a group where I have to present or speak, and it feels like my throat closes up. I’m incapable of having or speaking an intelligent thought. It’s been this way since my father insisted on me giving a piano recital in the fourth grade. I ran offstage before I could play a note. I nearly failed my communications class last year. The professor only passed me because he knew I did the work. I just literally could not present it.”
Christine sat on the straight-back, sleek chair at Erik’s table and miserably hung her head in her hands. “And now, in about seven months, I have to present my thesis, and even if I manage to present the material, I know I won’t be able to defend it worth a damn.”
She looked up at him, and Erik saw the hopelessness in her eyes. She was right. She was going to fail because she’d already decided to do so. He knew what he needed to do—to earn her trust and loyalty but also because he couldn’t bear for her to walk out the door and to not see her again. He turned around and ran a hand through his hair, incredulous at the thoughts in his head. He could feel her watery gaze on his back.
“I can help you.” He turned back and looked at her. “You and I will work together to get you past your issues relating to presentation.”
“How are you able to do that?” Her look was disbelieving.
“What do you mean by that? Why wouldn’t I be able to help you?” Her questioning his skills irked him. Who was she to think otherwise? She was the one with stage fright, wasn’t she?
“I understand you don’t often put yourself out to the public. How can you help me speak in front of a crowd?”
Erik’s stomach sank. She was referring to his face, albeit indirectly. And in a way, she was correct. Apart from audio-only conference calls and the annual masquerade, Erik had removed himself from almost all public interactions. Who was he to advise someone on fear of crowds?
“I can see why you would think so. I wasn’t always,” he loosely highlighted his masked visage, “like this.”
“Was it the car accident in college?” Christine whispered. When he stared at her in alarm, she clasped a hand over her mouth.
“How did you hear…?” He paused. “Have you been looking into me?” Erik felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up on en d. He had to pause to bring his breathing under control. He couldn’t lose his temper with her again.
“I ran into a friend at school. He knows I work for the opera and said he went to college with you.”
“Who’s your friend?” Erik’s stare bored into her, and she turned from him. He’d frightened her and hated himself for it.
“His name is Rafe Cantor. I knew him when we were kids.”
Erik took a deep breath. He couldn’t control the gossip. People talked whether he wanted them to or not, and no loose thread could be completely clipped.
“Yes, Rafe and I were in the same frat.” He steadied himself and willed his temper under control. “But to answer your concern, I spent most of my childhood performing piano recitals to large crowds. I know what it’s like to be nervous, and I know what it’s like to work past it. I promise I can help you, if you’ll let me.” While they spoke, Erik sat next to her at the table. His hand itched with a desire to take hers—to feel that light caress he felt in the elevator. He nervously clenched and unclenched his fists to stave off the phantom sensation.
“How exactly will you help me?”
He could tell she wasn’t suspicious—she wanted to know how he could transform her situation.
Erik knew business and performance. What he didn’t know was where Christine was struggling. “I can’t tell you because I don’t know enough about your struggles. Have you put together the draft of your presentation yet?”
Christine hesitated. “It’s rough, but yes. The bones are there.”
“Come back on Monday after work. I want to see what we’re dealing with.”
“But I’m not nervous in front of you.”
Erik smiled. No, she wasn’t. Was that why he wanted her to come back?
“Good. It will make it easier to work together.”
“But if I’m not nervous around you, how will we fix…”
“Let me worry about that.” He spoke with finality.
“But—“
“No excuses. Monday—5:30 p.m.”
“5:30…” she mumbled. “And thank you, Mr. Gardner.”
“Please, Christine, please call me Erik.”
Christine blinked at him. “Thank you, Erik. You have no idea how much I appreciate your help.”
What in the world had motivated him to make the offer? How had he capitulated to her needs while sacrificing his own genuine need for privacy? Erik couldn’t quite understand why he wanted to interact with Christine Derring regularly. Still, as she sat in his apartment, stressed and refusing to give in to his financial offers, he realized he wanted to be in her company. She wasn’t scared of him even though she’d witnessed the worst of his formidable temper. She hadn’t been repulsed even though she’d seen what lay beneath his mask. Whether it was pure determination on her part to act normal or whether she was just the rare person to react to the person within, he wanted to see more of her. Would he act that way with anyone, or was it only Christine who reached beneath the exterior he had so carefully crafted?
The fact that she was the daughter of a trusted friend was almost an afterthought, barely worth considering. That had been an item on his to-do list, something he oversaw the same way he reviewed financial statements and practiced his compositions.
In person, Christine Derring was a puzzle. She couldn’t be bought—not with money or prestige. All she ever wanted from him was a mentor. Did she even realize what she was asking for? What she wanted from him would bring her into his orbit—or perhaps thrust him into hers. The world, after all, didn’t revolve around either of them .
It’d been a moment since either of them had spoken. The verbal commitment they’d entered had winded them both.
Erik took a deep breath to center himself, then smirked. “You might regret your decision after our first session. I’m a strict tutor. In the meantime, I’ll see you on Monday evening.”
He showed her to the elevator. As she left, he noticed she purposefully avoided his gaze, looking instead at the wall of the elevator. He understood. He needed to process their interaction as well, but for the first time since the gala, he was certain he’d sleep well, knowing he’d see her again in four days.