Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Y ou could only call rooms at the Massey Hotel they weren’t staff members. The Wallets .
“Oh, come on.” A third man. This one sounded almost clearly like Mr. Holland. “They’re a charity. That means they’ll fold the second the numbers don’t work in their favor. I can’t imagine anything else stopping them.”
“Sentiment. They actually care about this place.” The second man scoffed. Mr. Massey? “You know what’s better than music? Massages. Maybe their CEO needs one.”
I sucked in a breath, and Aaron gave my arms a soft squeeze. My gaze lifted to his, a scant few inches between us. With his dark eyes on mine, Aaron gave his head a small shake.
There were footsteps out on the main floor, not on the stage. I strained to hear. “We really need to convince them by the fundraiser if we want to have the sauna ready by summer.” Definitely Dr. Conan. The voice was coming closer. “The contractor won’t wait for us forever. He’s already told me he has other jobs.”
“Impatient idiot,” one of them muttered.
“Hopefully letting them see the space will make them realize how small it is. Unfit for what they want to use it for. Otherwise, my wife and I were talking, brainstorming, on how to make it harder for them to operate.”
“What were your ideas?”
“Zoning restrictions. Inspections. You have friends in city hall, don’t you, John? One call, and suddenly, they’re drowning in fines and paperwork.”
“ Huh .”
I nearly blew our cover by gasping, because the voice came almost directly at our side. Mr. Holland had walked around the stage to the stairs, coming up. I grabbed a fistful of Aaron’s sweater and tugged him closer while he simultaneously pushed forward, pressing me wholly into the corner. There was nowhere else for me to go, and no more distance between us. My nose nearly brushed his chest, and he ducked his head, his chin grazing my temple. His skin was warm to the touch.
Don’t see us, I chanted desperately in my head, tightening my fingers around Aaron’s sweater. Don’t see us, don’t see us .
Footsteps creaked on the stage’s floor, and I held my breath.
“Or we could make them think selling is their only way out,” Mr. Holland murmured as he walked deeper onto the stage. “We make it clear that holding onto this place is a liability, not a legacy. One whisper about outdated safety codes or water damage. Investors hate risks—so do donors. Take them away, and what’s left? A building with no revenue and no future.”
Listening to The Wallets scheme like lame villains might’ve been laughable, if A) I wasn’t distinctly aware that Aaron could probably smell my morning-shift sweat or B) this wasn’t the Du Ponte Music Hall they were talking about. How could they look around and see nothing but a waste of space? How could they not feel inspired? Or, at the very least, show some appreciation to the dedication Nancy Du Ponte possessed to create something beautiful. How was it that no one could see its magnificence?
Dr. Conan’s voice was close, following Mr. Holland onto the stage. “And if that doesn’t work?”
There was a smirk in Mr. Holland’s voice. “Then we remind them what happens when they stand in the way of progress.”
One of Aaron’s hands slid from my upper arm to the wall behind me, bracing himself. It brought him even closer, and this time, my nose did brush along the collar of his shirt. I drew in a deep breath, but I shouldn’t have.
The scent of Aaron was everywhere —in my nose, in my lungs, in my mouth. Smooth cedar and crisp bergamot with just a whisper of something darker, something undeniably masculine. I couldn’t tell if it was his cologne, shampoo, or body wash from his shower—and I really shouldn’t have thought about it at that moment. I still had a fistful of his sweater, and it pulled the collar down, exposing a long stretch of his throat. A throat that my lips were inches away from.
My heart stirred in my chest, kicking up, creating a simmering heat in my stomach. It was different from the way it had felt moments ago when the board members walked in. Vastly different.
I closed my eyes, swaying in place with an unsteady breath out. So not the time!
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Mr. Massy said. “We have time before the fundraiser. We’ll?—”
The sound of the theater’s door opening sounded again, and this time, the lively chatter of the staff was immediately identifiable.
“Either way, we’ll get what we want,” Mr. Holland muttered, and he retreated past us once more, off the stage. Never spotting us. “We always do.”
I let out a breath of relief, nearly ducking my forehead against Aaron’s chest.
“You all have been quite hard at work!” Dr. Conan announced in a voice that was too bright, trying to diffuse any suspicion. “We just dropped by to see how it’s coming along. Turning this dump around quite nicely, aren’t we?”
I lifted my head, looking up at Aaron. I expected our gazes to meet, but instead, I found his own eyes shut. Squeezed shut, almost as if he were in pain. There was a crease between his brows, and his lips were a firm line.
“Aaron,” I whispered.
He didn’t budge, but he did blink his eyes open. They roamed my face, as if searching for something in the darkness. His hand on my upper arm tightened nearly imperceptibly, a twitch of a movement that I only caught because every nerve in my body was hyperaware. The adrenaline of the near-miss still hummed through me, intensifying every passing second. Each of my thoughts related to Aaron Astor. His proximity, his scent, his touch—there was no room in my head for anything else.
Aaron’s stormy eyes dropped to my lips, and for one inexplicable, wild second, I thought he was about to kiss me.
But then the tension shattered in an instant as Aaron dropped both of his hands and stepped back. It threw me back into reality with a snap, the irrational thoughts disintegrating like a dream after waking up. He stepped to the side, further into the maroon curtain, offering me a wider door of escape.
“Stay here,” I whispered to him, the heartbeat in my ears nearly overpowering my words. “I’ll distract them so you can sneak out.”
It wasn’t just to save his own skin, of course. If I got caught sneaking him in here, I was in hot water, too. So, without a backward glance—and with fire-burning cheeks—I bolted. I rushed onto the stage before anyone could climb up, my brain scrambling for a plan, any plan.
“Hey!” My voice rang out, too chipper, too forced, but I was committed now. I found Paige’s eyes below, but all five workers still turned up to look at me. But no Wallets. Good . “How was lunch?”
And then, with all the grace of a baby deer, I “tripped” over a stack of boxes. My body hit the floor with a brutal, graceless thud , and the air knocked from my lungs in a gasp. The boxes teetered for half a second before crashing down into another stack of boxes, creating a domino effect, with all of them collapsing on top of me. The noise was deafening—cardboard and cleaning supplies and other random things that’d been stored flew in all directions.
I lay there for a moment, disoriented, every muscle screaming as I forced myself to stay still, hoping the commotion was enough to keep everyone distracted.
And it worked. Paige, ever the dramatic one, let out a shriek, and then there were thudding footsteps everywhere as my coworkers rushed to rescue me from the wreckage. Just enough time for Aaron to slip from the corner, go down the stairs at the side of the stage, and rush from the music hall.
I stared at the stage lights, letting them blind me as my head pounded, one thought. I’m never waving the white flag first again .