4. Amelia
Chapter 4
Amelia
HARPER
Hey everyone!I'm Harper, and I've been put in charge of welcoming all the new apprentices. There are 9 of you, so I thought we'd have a little get-together to break the ice! We're meeting Thursday night at the Purple Piano bar. Hope to see you all there! Any questions, just shoot me a message! See you soon!
The message meant for all nine of us came through a few days ago, and even though it's not my thing, I decided to go tonight. I'll be working with these people for the next year, maybe longer if my contract gets extended.
It's not that I struggle to make friends or find it challenging to talk to people. I can do small talk, make connections, and blend in when needed.
But people… they exhaust me.
Dressed in something comfortable but appropriate enough for a bar, I make my way to the Purple Piano.
The street buzzes with life around me—shouts and laughter spill from overcrowded patios, car engines rumble in the distance, and snippets of conversations slice through the air as people push past one another. However, my attention is drawn to the large front window of the bar where an actual grand piano sits in the center, painted in a shade of purple so loud and unapologetic you can't help but stop and stare.
The piano not only sits there, but it commands the entire space, mirroring the man sitting behind it. He's an older guy, maybe forty-five, possibly fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair neatly swept back and tucked behind his ears.
I can't help but watch him and the way his fingers effortlessly glide across the keys. It's the kind of ease that comes with years of dedication, a level of artistry that blurs the line between the creator and the creation.
Some people perform.
Some people become the art, and he's definitely the second kind.
"Amelia?"
A voice cuts through the air, and I hear my name. I blink and turn toward the door, where a woman who looks around my age with shoulder-length peroxide-blonde hair and the happiest smile I've ever seen stands before me.
"Yeah, that's me."
"I'm Harper," she says, her eyes twinkling, and I can already tell I'm going to like her. "You coming in? You're the last one."
"Oh, right, hi. Yeah, I'm coming." I nod toward the man playing the piano. "I was just watching this guy play."
"He's good, right?" she says, glancing over her shoulder at him with a small smile. "Come on, let's get you inside."
I force myself to look away, reluctantly leaving the piano man behind as I step through the door after her.
"By the way, knowing who you are wasn't a lucky guess… I stalked you all on social media before tonight." I follow her as she leads me to a round table where four others sit. "This is Amelia. She's our final new starter out of the ones of you who bothered to show up tonight."
A few "Heys" come from the group, and I give them an awkward wave that definitely looks as lame as it feels before I slide into the empty seat.
"I know I've already introduced myself, but I'm Harper. That's Logan—he's in his second year at the company, like me, but I dragged him out tonight because, well, he had nothing better to do."
"Thanks for that, Harper," Logan says, shooting her a playful eye roll before sipping his beer.
His dark-blond hair is messy, as if he's been running his hands through it, while his golden skin glows under the lights.
He's hot—not my usual type, but definitely hot.
"This is Michelle, Poppy, and Natalya," Harper continues, pointing to each girl sitting around the table. I offer them all a polite smile as I tuck a stray piece of my hair behind my ear. "They're brand new, just like you."
Sitting here with these strangers is a little awkward. Okay, it's a lot awkward, or maybe I'm just awkward—hell if I know.
"So tonight is about answering any questions you might have and letting us get to know you a little. Hopefully, when you all start in a couple of weeks, it won't feel so overwhelming since you'll recognize a few faces."
I'll have to get drunk or find an excuse to leave.
"So who wants to go first and tell us about themselves?"
Screw it. I need a shot.
Two hours later, I'm four glasses of wine down, and I'm starting to feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through me.
During that time, I found out that Poppy, a stunning redhead with freckles that look like they've been kissed onto her porcelain skin by the sun itself, had moved here from a small town in England.
Michelle used to dance with a company in Miami, but like me, the Royal Chicago Ballet is the company she's always dreamed of working for. She's unfairly beautiful, with flawless ebony skin and a head full of gorgeous, wild curls that frame her face.
Then there's Natalya. She didn't say much about herself, and honestly, she didn't have to. It's evident in the way her gaze flicks over people like she's deciding whether they're worth her time. When it comes to people, I always trust my gut, and she screams bad vibes and entitlement. It's subtle, but it's there, and it rubs me the wrong way.
"Excuse me a minute," I say, standing up and escaping to the bathroom. The second the door closes behind me, I pull out my gloss and swipe it across my lips, needing a second to reset. But before I can take a full breath, Harper bursts in and leans against the basin beside me.
"God, I had to get away from there," she says with a dramatic sigh. "Natalya just asked me if we could move on to a cocktail bar. Apparently, this place is a little trashy compared to what she's used to." My jaw drops open, and she continues, "Right? That look on your face is exactly why I'm hiding in here."
"I can't believe she said that."
"Logan nearly choked on his beer."I can't help but laugh, and she groans, rubbing her temples. "I don't know why I agreed to this."
She suddenly freezes, her eyes widening as she looks at me."Oh, god. Not this—like, this . I mean, I'm happy to be here with you. Sorry, that sounded awful."
"It's fine. I can't imagine anyone signing up for this willingly,"I say with a shrug.
"Considering nobody volunteered, you would be right."She reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. "How can she call this place trashy?There'sa guy playing the piano, for God's sake."
"I like it here. It's different."
"I knew I'd like you the second I saw you grinning at Jason."I blink in confusion. "The guy in the window,"she clarifies.
"Oh, thanks."I chuckle as I meet her eyes in the mirror. "You wanna go straight to the bar? I'll buy us a shot, and we can hide out there instead."
"God, yes."
I push the door open, and Harper follows closely behind me.
Resting my elbows on the purple bar, I take in my surroundings. Everything in here is purple—except the tables and chairs, which are black. However, various shades of violet bathe everything else, from the walls to the lights.
"What shall we have?"Harper asks, eyeing the shelves stocked with every imaginable bottle. "Tequila? Vodka?"
"Sambuca?"She grimaces as soon as the word leaves my mouth. "Okay, no sambuca."
Harper laughs, shaking her head, and I'm sure I see her shudder a little. "I have so many bad memories from drinking that crap."
Logan stands beside me, his muscular arms resting on the bar. When I look up at him, I notice that his eyes are a deep shade of blue—nothing like Tobias's eyes.
Tobias's eyes are pale, so light they almost resemble shards of ice.
In our case, I'm the Titanic, and he's the iceberg. One look from him, and I feel myself drowning in this forbidden lust that wraps around me, and no matter what I do, I can't break free.
Or maybe I'm Jack, and he's Rose. Won't let me on that damn door, leaving me to die all frozen and pathetic while he floats off comfortably on his little makeshift raft of physical perfection.
I'm such a loser.
"What are we drinking?" Logan asks, pulling me out of my drunken spiral of dumb girl thoughts.
"Well, we're definitely not having sambuca, so we'll go with tequila."
A few minutes later, we drink our shots, and the tequila burns its way down. The lime makes me shudder, and I glance over at Logan and Harper, who are both making the same that was a huge fucking error face.
"Well, that was disgusting." Logan groans.
"It beats a thirty-five-dollar cocktail, though," Harper adds, and she's not wrong.
I look over at the table and see Michelle and Poppy huddled together, deep in conversation. Meanwhile, Natalya is glued to her phone, looking bored out of her mind and counting the minutes until she can leave, as if enduring this place is some kind of punishment.
"Do I have to go back over there?" Logan asks, and Harper gives him a playful punch that hovers between affection and assault.
"You know you're supposed to be the eye candy here. Go and make her night better."
"You're unbelievable. You know that?"
"I'm just playing. You know I love you."
"I think I'll head out if that's okay. I have stuff I need to do tomorrow," I cut in, feeling the tequila hit me just enough to remind me that one more and I'll be the drunk girl crawling home.
"Of course, that's fine," Harper says, smiling at me. "I appreciate you coming, and thank you for not being an asshole."
This is definitely a friendship in the making—brutal honesty as a love language.
"So Amelia gets to leave, but I don't?" Logan raises an eyebrow at Harper as he waits for her answer.
"We live in the same building. It makes sense for us to leave together."
Logan's smile softens at her words, his gaze lingering on her in a way that suggests he'd drop everything if she asked.
I grab my purse and pull out my phone, already pulling up the Uber app. "Could you please tell the others I said goodbye? And thanks again."
With one hand raised in a half-assed goodbye, I step outside, and the night air slams into me. My cheeks are flushed, and every breath I take tries to claw some sobriety back into my tequila-soaked system.