Like I was going to say no. “Sure,” I said, but he was already on his feet, my acceptance merely a formality. He held out his hand. I glanced up at him, trying to decide what to do. They told me he didn’t make physical contact.
Finally, I put my hand in his. I never realized how small my fingers looked until they were nestled inside his massive palm. I took a deep breath as I stood, half-expecting a candelabra or nearby clock to start singing. I mean, this was where magical mice stepped in, right? It felt every bit like a fairy tale come to life. I honestly felt a little woozy. I was so much closer to this enigmatic man that I ever anticipated. It was making my senses go haywire.
He didn’t release my hand as he led me towards the French doors. We spilled out into a darkened garden. With every step, orbs lit up beside the walk away, lighting our path.
“That’s cool,” I smiled. “I feel like I’m in a Michael Jackson video.” The corners of his mouth tugged as he tried not to smile in return.
As we walked along, he held onto my hand, helping me navigate the cobblestone path.
“Tell me the kind of music you love,” he said.
“Songs are stories. I love them all,” I answered.
“Playing it safe, I see.”
“It’s the truth. I can find something to like in all genres. My mom taught me to be open to different points of view. She says life is a mosaic. All beautiful pieces of jagged glass fit together to make something beautiful.”
“I think I’m in love with your mom,” he said with a sideways smirk.
I chuckled. “Everyone is. She used to turn my friends onto music. Still does,” I had to amend. “She had me listening to everyone from the Beatles to Beyonce, Elvis to the Eagles to Evanescence. Really good music transcends.”
“Sounds like you have music in your soul. Do you play?
I shook my head. “I never learned how.”
“Me either,” he admitted with another smirk that would put Christopher to shame.
I knew he was telling the truth though. He learned how to play everything by ear. He was never formally taught.
“Still. I suspect there’s something musical about you. Poetry, maybe?”
I nodded. “In high school mostly. Teenage angst and all that.”
“Nothing now?”
I shook my head. “When I move words around on the page, I prefer it be about other people.”
“Like I said,” he murmured. “Playing it safe.”
We stopped on a hill. In the distance I could see the inky blackness of the ocean to my left, and a brilliant sunrise to my right. For a second, I went into sensory overload. “Oh, my God,” I finally breathed. “This is beautiful.”
He nodded. “I feel healed here. I always come to rejuvenate. It’s like being plugged into the world.” He caught my gaze. “You’re going to need all the healing you can get if you’re going to join me on tour.”
“What?” I echoed, disbelieving.
“You have a unique perspective, but one that feels very familiar and relatable. I think I’m in good hands with you,” he said softly. “I want you to tell my story.”
“Wow. Thank you,” I said. Since I still didn’t know how to address him, I simply didn’t. “I was a little worried after everything that happened.”
“That was never my focus,” he assured. “I’ve always prided that I see things beyond what others see. We’re a lot alike in that way. That’s why I want you.”
Just to hear him say those words in any context made my knees knock. I hope he didn’t feel the tremor in my fingers, though I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if he did.
“When do we start?” I asked.
He tugged my hand to follow him back to the Purple Room. “First, we need you well. Five months on the road requires a lot of stamina. I’ll have the driver take you to your office, where you will give them the good news. Since I’m hiring you exclusively as of this moment, I say you go home and sleep off whatever flu you have left. Rest through the weekend and we’ll start preparing for everything on Monday.”
“I’m feeling better already,” I insisted, but the look in his eyes shut me up fast.
He was the one in control. He might as well have been King.
“Yes, sir,” I saluted. I still didn’t know what to call the guy.