When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,86
she told him.
“Did you now?”
She turned on the bathroom faucet. “And I went to see my old voice teacher.”
He ignored the broader significance of that. “How’d you get there?”
“I walked.”
“Not smart.”
“It’s hard to get abducted in the Loop at midday. And I need my car back. I have to look at apartments.”
“I’ll do it for you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You’re working. I’m not. It’s only fair.”
The offer was enticing. The last thing she wanted to do after a full day of rehearsals was go apartment hunting. On the other hand, the sooner she found her own place, the better it would be for her, especially after what had just happened.
* * *
That night, he went to her room, testing the new boundaries she’d set. “I think I’ll sleep in here,” he said. “But no touching, okay?”
She gave him a soft smile and held out her arms. “No touching.”
He laughed, got in next to her, and pulled her body to his. As he kissed her, he thought how much he loved being with this woman. Not love-love. But pure-enjoyment-love. What meant the most, however, was how well someone who wasn’t part of his world understood him. If The Diva had been a guy and athletically gifted, she’d have made a hell of a teammate.
He rubbed her earlobes with his thumbs. Kissed her. It wasn’t long before she was making those beautiful, throaty sounds. They traveled together, climbing, reaching, falling . . . The world splintered into a million pieces.
Afterward, God help him, she wanted to talk. He snuffled into his pillow and pretended to be asleep, which didn’t do anything to discourage her.
“This is only temporary, Thad. Temporary insanity on my part. It all ends on opening night. I’m serious.”
He muttered something deliberately unintelligible. Mercifully, she said no more.
He didn’t get it. Career or not, even prima donnas needed a private life, and he wasn’t high-maintenance like her. Sure, he attracted a lot of attention when he went out, but she wasn’t exactly invisible. And yes, now that the tour was over, he had a lot of catching up to do—putting in extra hours with his trainer, digging deeper into his sideline work. There were people he needed to see, meetings he had to take, rookies who wanted to talk to him about managing their money. And maybe he hid more of himself than she did, but all that didn’t add up to him being high-maintenance, right?
In the end, she fell asleep long before he did.
* * *
Wednesday. Thursday. The rehearsals ticked away. Olivia worked with Batista every day and started feeling a little more like herself. But it was never good enough. Next Monday’s sitzprobe hung over her head like a guillotine blade. She could mark through Tuesday and Wednesday’s technical rehearsal, but not sitzprobe and not Thursday’s final dress rehearsal, where there would be a selected audience. Friday was a rest day, and then opening night on Saturday.
She sensed members of the company talking about her behind her back. Their highly trained ears noticed the muting of the dark, tonal luster in her low range. They detected the occasional wobble, the awkward phrase. But everyone believed she was recovering from a cold, and only Sergio had begun to look concerned.
Lena, in the meantime, had become Olivia’s shadow, watching everything Olivia did during rehearsals, asking the occasional question, but also never being intrusive. Despite her youth, Lena was the consummate professional, yet Olivia had begun to hate the sight of her. She’d never felt this way about any of her other covers, but then she’d never felt so threatened by one. She was ashamed. Lena wasn’t a vulture standing on the sidelines waiting to fly off with Olivia’s bones. She was hardworking and respectful, doing exactly what she’d been hired to do, and once this was over, Olivia would make up for her unjust thoughts by buying her a great piece of jewelry or treating her to a spa weekend or . . . What if she fixed her up with Clint Garrett?
The last idea seemed genius until she saw Lena kissing a long-haired young man she later identified as her husband. Jewelry, then.
* * *
Thad picked her up at the Muni after his first day of apartment hunting. As it turned out, he’d found fault with every place he’d seen. One was too noisy, another too dark, the third had no place for her piano, the fourth had a Jacuzzi, but no decent shower. And the fifth . . .