Chapter 22 – Don’t Stress.
You had one job, Margo, one job!
You come here, you play the piano, you go home. That’s it.
It was meant to be simple, just a job, something good to look at on my resume.
Still, this is me, and somehow, every time I try to do something to make my life better, I somehow fuck it up. Gosh it’s a mess. Absolutely a mess.
I knew what would happen. It’s him. It’s the Colton Shaw curse. I’m not the first to be starstruck by him, and I’m probably not gonna be the last either. Why do I do this to myself?
My phone ringing pauses me from my thoughts.
For a split second, I hoped it was Hadley sensing my dire situation from across the sea, but it’s not.
Mr. D flashes on my screen. Ah, fuck, here we go. Maybe I fucked up so bad last night that Hallie rang him and told him. With shaking hands, I answer.
“Miss Jones.”
“M-Mr. Donovan.”
“So how did it go?” he asks cheerily, and I pull the phone away from my ear, staring at my screen.
“Well, I think it went okay.” I’m not entirely sure what’s been said, as I haven’t seen Hallie since last night, but she has officially entered the honeymoon period, so maybe she hasn’t spoken to him yet?
“Um, that’s good. So do you want the good news or the bad news?” Good news or bad news?
Why the hell is he saying this?
“Okay, well, um, I will take the good news first. That’s a clever idea, right? Okay. Good news, please.”
“Alright, good news it is. I’ve already spoken to Hallie, and she said you did amazing.
Well, done.” I feel relieved, internally bashing myself for doubting my ability.
“So, the bad news is?” I ask in a faint voice.
“Is that your audition …” And he pauses at that exact moment. I can hear him scuffling about in his office or his home, wherever he is right now.
“The bad news is that your trial for the NYC Symphony Orchestra has been brought forward.” What?!
“To tomorrow.” Everything goes silent for a moment between us, and I’m not quite sure if I heard what he said.
“Can you just repeat that please, Mr. Donovan.” “Which part, the good or bad?” Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Obviously the bad. I’m on about the bad,” I snap.
“Okay, well, your audition for the NYC Symphony Orchestra has been pulled forward to tomorrow.”
Okay, so I heard him right the first time. “What?” I screech. “You’re kidding me, Mr. D.” “Mr. D?” he repeats in a stern voice.
“I mean, Mr. Donovan. Tomorrow.” Oh shit. Panic rises in me, and I start pacing my room. Is it hot here? Is it just me? I’m sweating, profusely sweating. Oh shit. Oh shit.
I go off on one, talking out loud, “My flight is not booked until the end of the week. That’s like three days away. How the hell am I gonna get back.” He’s obviously hearing all of what I’m saying in my panic mode.
“Well, I’ve already rebooked your flight for this morning. You need to make sure you’re on that plane, you have an hour to leave the hotel?” Oh my God, I’m not ready.
“I thought I had more time, God, oh God.” I pace faster in my room; certain I’m wearing the wooden flooring down.
He stays on the phone and listens to me.
“You can do this,” he says whilst laughing down the line.
“Okay, well, glad you’re having a fun time here,” I snarl.
He chuckles. “Well, Miss Jones, I’m gonna leave you to pack. Don’t worry about it. We’ll do a quick lesson when you’re back. Don’t stress.”
Don’t stress? “O-kay, well, goodbye, Mr. Donovan.” I fake a laugh that comes out like a psychotic cackle.
“Goodbye, Miss Jones, and well done again.” Then he hangs up.
I scream, pulling up my hair, jumping on the bed, screaming more. I got a feeling Lala will be up here soon thinking somebody’s finally murdered me. Dear God. Dear fucking God, please help.