When Fred turned onto Lexington Avenue instead of my apartment, which was in the opposite direction, I knew my guess was right. I just had a smooth ten-minute drive in a cool car that smelled like berries and brambles. The plush leather upholstery makes me feel like I’m sitting in the most sumptuous seat in the world. Stopping in front of the Le Papillon, I notice Professor Sebastian’s car pulling over the driveway, and a valet opens his door. Fred opens mine. “Ms. Anya.” “Thank you,” I mutter, and then I step down. Ahead of us, I catch my professor’s watchful gaze, observing me. I make my way toward him. “You ready?” he asks. “Yes, but we’re eating dinner here?” I know I asked the obvious, but having dinner with him here is not a good idea. Somebody from the school might see us. “Yes. It’s late, and I’m hungry,” he says plainly. Oh. The restaurant’s head waiter, Harold, welcomes us at the door. “Good to see you again, Professor Sebastian—” he glances at me with slight confu
It didn’t take any longer than fifteen minutes before we arrived in front of my apartment building. “Thank you, professor. You really didn’t have to do this,” I say as he walks me to the front entrance. He looks over the seven-floor complex and nods in approval. A smirk forms on the corner of his mouth. “Who do you share your space with?” “Lora. Our apartment is quite pretty, and it has two separate bedrooms. Having security is a plus. Even though it’s expensive, we’re splitting the rent.” “Maybe I can stop by for a coffee sometime.” My mouth drops open. “Oh, I’m sorry about that. Would you like to come in for a cup?” “No, it’s fine. I already have other plans for tonight. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Ms. Scott.” I chew my bottom lip. I wish I could ask where, but I obviously can’t. “I guess I’ll bid you good night. Good night, professor.” “Good night.” He strolls back to his car. For some reason, as I continue to go inside, I can’t help but see him one more time from
Professor Sebastian sits at the edge of the desk and clasps his hands. “Today, we’re going to talk about point of view,” he says in a firm voice. I’m curious to see how he differs from our previous professor in terms of how he instructs us on songwriting. “A point of view describes the relationship between the audience and the singer. Here’s a case: a story of a man’s selfless devotion to the woman he loves.” My eyes move around the room to look at everyone’s faces. All eyes are focused forward, mouths are sealed shut, and everyone else has their notes ready. I sit properly. “Let’s call him Joe,” the professor continues. “Joe loves this woman, but as listeners of his story, we don’t know that because we don’t know them. Only the songwriter can tell you that story...” Professor Sebastian tenses up and walks to the center. “What we want to do here is to express an idea. What am I going to say? Which approach should I take? From personal experience? Perhaps you’ve had your heart bro
I tighten Kristoff’s bowtie and smooth his black lapels. My boyfriend looks dashing in his tailored tux today. The latest single of the quartet he’s on is finally getting its music video.It’s actually pretty hectic. Cameras and videographers are working behind the scenes. There are cables, tech machines, and equipment everywhere in the studio, and the stage artist is yelling at some people while the director speaks to one of the members.Kristoff plays the cello and has been a part of the Dream String Quartet since his freshman year. The other members, Flynn, Jace, and Seth, all have different majors but come together as an ensemble. They have become Whitlock’s pride because their music has been featured in television and film soundtracks, major school activities, professional theater plays, live performances, and concerts.More than ten million people follow them across their social media channels.I smile as I look up at him.He strokes his hair with his fingers. “How do I look?”I
Julian takes me to an exclusive nightclub on the Upper West Side, but there’s no single customer in sight. It appears it hasn’t opened up yet for the night. I tense up as I scan the vast bar area, manned solely by a muscled bartender in a classic vest and white shirt with tattoos on his arms.But seriously? He brought me here? The professor really is peculiar.Is this something he frequently does? Bringing women to nightclubs?But nope. I’m not his woman.“Mateo. My usual,” Julian says to the bartender as he approaches the bar.“Si, señor. And for the señorita?” Mateo asks, his Spanish accent precise and clear. He also has a pretty high voice for such a large and powerful man. I bet he can sing in falsetto up to a higher C5 note.“Mudslide, please,” I say. It’s my usual drink when Lora and I go to a club.“Are you sure?” he asks me again, now smiling. “Because we have something better.”I laugh. “Está bien, señor barman.”“Ah, you speak Español?”“Si, solo un poco. Mi madre era Colomb
I lift my gaze, yearning to my professor’s beautiful face, listening to his voice, observing his gestures, and marveling at his kissable moist lips. I’m captivated and terrified at the same time, becoming cognizant of how strongly I’m drawn to him, which isn’t right. It’s most likely the cocktail. I no longer have control over my words. “Kristoff’s mom hates me. She didn’t even need to say anything. And America is a brat who is really straightforward. They have no right to look down on others just because they were born wealthy. I’m poor, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings or a mind.” His brows knitted together. “I’m not surprised, but have you told Kristoff?” “It wasn’t necessary. I’m sure he’s aware. He doesn’t like his family either.” I sigh hard and shake my head before drinking again. “Melissa and America are almost alike. But Kristoff’s mother wasn’t born rich, Anya. Her father used to work as a blue-collar employee for Sebastian Records.” I wipe the drink from my li
When I come out of the bedroom, I find Julian sitting in the living room with papers strewn across the center table. And seeing him in those black-framed glasses is always a delight for me.Damn. A small grumble escapes my mouth as I chew my bottom lip. I could never tire of that sexy, smart look.I avert my eyes and stride to his dining area, which is adjacent to the floor-to-ceiling windows. I can’t help but admire his private space. It’s enormous and modern, much like his workplace. The living room’s walls are mostly glass, which overlooks the city’s panoramic view. There are no photographs on the walls, only vibrant abstract paintings.His space reflects his personality. It’s bright and well-organized. I’ve met men like him who are gentlemanly, but Lora used to say that nice guys are almost boring. I wouldn’t understand her because she prefers bad boys to nice boys.Well, Kristoff is nice...Julian, on the other hand, is anything but boring if I understand Lora correctly. The man
Lora wraps her arms around me the moment I walk into our place. Her embrace tightens around me, and she sobs like someone has died. I wish I could be a little enraged, but I can’t. That was yesterday.“I’m so sorry, Anya. I really am.”I close my eyes and give her a tight hug. My heart hurts for her, but I miss her. “Why don’t you just start explaining?”“I will. I swear.” She lets me go. I notice her puffy face and nose. With her swollen eyes, she appears to have been crying all night. “But where were you?” She takes notice of my baggy outfit. “And what are you wearing? Are those men’s clothes?”“It’s a long story.” I sigh. “But does this mean I didn’t lose you?”“Come on, Anya! You’re my best friend. My only one.”“Yes, but you will tell me everything you know.”“Yes, of course.” She wipes her tears away with her fingers. “We’ve been calling and waiting all night.”“Come.” I reach out and take her hand, leading her gently to the couch. I see that the house is also a mess. On the liv