Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
"Stop fluttering around, Vincent Jeffry, or I'm never going to get this icing right," I said.
"Make sure you get put another flower over here. There seems to be a gap."
I slapped his hand away from the four-tiered wedding cake. "Don't you have champagne glasses to put out, or silver to polish or something?"
"Give him a break, Kiara, he's only trying to help," Ivy said. She reached out a finger to swipe a taste of frosting, and I slapped her hand, too. "Ouch!"
"I just want everything to be perfect," I said.
They backed off. Vincent Jeffry fluttered out the door to check on the place settings in the dining hall, but Ivy settled down at the kitchen island to watch me. Her eyes drifted from my frosting flowers to the large, luxurious kitchen of the Brickman Estate.
"This is like ten of our cottage kitchens all in one," Ivy said. "Doesn't this place intimidate you?"
I looked around the room and shook my head. "I thought you always wanted a place like this. Weren't you going on and on about having a mansion and a yacht, too?"
"Right now, I'd settle for a date to the wedding."
I laughed and offered her a spoonful of frosting. "You'll find someone when you least expect it. Trust me."
"I didn't know you could bake, too," she said.
I smiled. "Turns out I'm good at weddings."
Ivy raised her eyebrows. "Really? Is that why you're hiding in here instead of getting dressed and greeting guests?"
"I am not hiding," I snapped.
She held up both hands. "Sure. Fine. Everyone freaks out in their own way."
Vincent Jeffry burst back through the kitchen door. "There are no dessert forks at three place settings, and I can't find them anywhere. Someone is trying to drive me mad."
Ivy snickered. "See? Everyone freaks out over weddings."
"Give him back the dessert forks, Ivy," I told her.
She reluctantly gave up the small, silver forks. Vincent Jeffry snatched them from her hand and polished them vigorously as he marched back into the dining hall. The door had hardly stopped swinging when he burst in again.
"We have the dessert table all set. Is the cake ready?" the butler asked.
I sighed. I had run out of excuses. "Yes, it's ready."
Two hired waiters carefully hoisted the wedding cake and carried it through the door to the dining hall. Ivy and I could hear Vincent Jeffry instructing them every step of the way.
"Maybe that's what you need," she said. "Step by step directions. First, put down that bowl and turn off the water. There is no way you should be washing dishes right now. Second, go upstairs and get dressed. Third, find your stepsister someone to fall in love with before she grows old alone."
"Ivy, you're hardly old enough to get married, much less grow old alone."
"Tell that to Madison," she mumbled.
"You're still here?" Vincent Jeffry clapped his hands as he marched back into the kitchen. "That's it. Time to go. Put down that bowl, Kiara."
"All right, all right," I laughed as he shoved me towards the door. "What's the big deal?"
"This is one event you cannot watch from the kitchen," the butler said. "Everyone expects to see you walking down that aisle in exactly two hours. Now go get ready."
#
Vincent Jeffry was there at the door to the ballroom when I arrived. After a quick inspection of my dress, hair, jewelry, and make-up, he nodded. I was ready.
"Thank you," I said and squeezed his hand.
The butler nodded, choked up with happy tears. "I just love weddings."
I did, too, but it was hard not to feel a pang of loss. My father and brother were still overseas, and though they were going to watch via satellite, it wasn't the same as having them there. It was hard to imagine what they would be like at a wedding, both in tuxedos instead of flak jackets. The thought made me smile even as tears swam in my eyes.
At least, I wouldn't have to walk down the aisle alone, I thought.
"I look like a giant marshmallow, don't I?" Madison asked. She stood back so I could see her dress, but her hand reached out to grip mine.
"You don't look anything like a marshmallow," I said. "You look beautiful. Radiant."
Madison snorted. "Everyone tells pregnant women they look radiant when they really mean rotund."
I looked at her dress and smiled. "You look absolutely wonderful. Cameron Falcon is going to eat his heart out."
"Unless I do it first," she said. "I'm starving. I don't think I can do this."
"I'm not walking down that aisle alone," I told her.
"Is my dress really pretty?"
I stepped back and studied my eight-months pregnant stepsister. The white gown was off the shoulders except for a wisp of lace on each. The satin neckline was overlaid with the delicate lace and then gave wave to yards of flowing, floating, sheer fabric. Her baby bump was noticeable, but it only added to the glowing goddess effect of her wedding dress.
"Madison, you are the most beautiful bride I've seen," Teddy said. He slipped an arm around my waist and squeezed me close. "So far."
"Is he really there?" Madison asked.
"Falcon?" He nodded. "Oh, don't worry, I walked him to the altar myself. The ballroom's packed, so there's no way he can slip away unnoticed now."
"I'm so happy for you," I told Madison.
Cameron Falcon had broken down a week after he heard that Teddy and I were together. He stood outside the cottage for almost twelve hours straight before Madison decided to listen to him. She'd been pasted to the window the whole time, trying to interpret his every blink, but she wanted to make her point. He had hurt her once, and she was not going to let it happen again. He proposed to her the next day.
"Hold everything," Ivy called. "There's some problem with the doves. We have to wait until the dove guy gives us the thumbs up. Then you can open the doors."
Teddy leaned closed and brushed a kiss along my neck. "Please tell me our wedding will not be this complicated."
I laughed. "I'm not sure Vincent Jeffry can handle another fancy wedding."
We watched as the frazzled butler spun in circles in the foyer, trying to catch a wayward dove.
"Please, Kiara, you promised. Our wedding is the one day you'll let me spend money without watching every penny."
I held up my hand and my giant engagement ring caught the light of the chandelier. "This is as fancy as it needs to get for me."
Teddy grinned. "So we're eloping?"
I kissed his cheek. "Even better. Small ceremony, just our closest friends. I know the perfect little chapel out in your garden."
Teddy smiled and moved from kissing my neck to kissing me. In between smiling brushes of his lips, he asked, "Will you at least let me hire some fancy chef so you can take the day off?"
I shook my head and pulled back from his soft kisses. "No. No fancy chef. I've got a better idea."
"We elope?" he asked again.
"No," I laughed. "Small ceremony, just our closest friends, in the little chapel in the garden. And we have the reception catered by our favorite Brooklyn pizzeria."
"Perfect," he breathed hot in my ear. "I love it. And, I love you."
"Enough, you two," Madison said. "Someone's got to get me down the aisle."
I took my pregnant stepsister's arm and squeezed it tight. Teddy and Vincent Jeffry pulled open the doors to reveal the ballroom. It was decorated floor-to-ceiling with garlands of roses, and there at the altar by the fireplace, Cameron Falcon grinned from ear to ear.
I blew Teddy a kiss and walked down the aisle towards a happy ending.
Zack grinned, lifting me up on top of him, positioning me over his hips. He thrust into my hand, reaching down to stroke me to another fever pitch of arousal.
“Evie, baby, you already have. Now, how many more times can we do this before we have to get dressed and go back to my place?”
I leaned in and kissed him.
“Let’s take our time.”
Zack thrust up into me slowly and I moaned against his lips, knowing that everything was finally right—and that we weren’t going to get shaken up by anything else.
BEAUTY AND THE BILLIONAIRE
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Corsica
I gritted my teeth and headed up the steep incline of the next block. If this place is any farther, I'll be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought.
North Beach hummed with diners on sidewalk patios, the buzz of neon signs, and lines of people waiting behind velvet ropes. The towering skyline of San Francisco blocked out the wide bay, but I could still feel the chill of the water. Wisps of fog clung to the taller buildings. Summer always brought cool ocean breezes and banks of fog to the city, and this June was no exception.
"Why did you make me wear these heels?" I whined to my friend.
Above me on the steep sidewalk, Ginny was almost even with my height. "Because they make your legs look great," she said over her shoulder.
I inhaled the chill night breeze and smiled. My feet were killing me, but I felt loose and free for the first time in years. My little black dress clung to me like a secret power. I dressed up like that to feel that way.
"Love that smile." A mountainous man stepped in front of us. He was at least a foot taller than my 5'6" frame and muscled like a Mack truck. His dark eyes glittered with male appreciation as he held open a velvet rope.
"Thanks." Ginny blew him a kiss as she dragged me into the swanky nightclub.
He winked at me, and my stomach skittered with excitement. Still, I grabbed Ginny's arm and stopped her in the narrow hallway by the coat check. "What are you doing? We can't afford this place."
"Who says we have to afford anything?" Ginny fluffed her short-cropped, dark curls. "You're on fire, and gentlemen still like buying hot women drinks. And just wait until they hear you sing."
"Oh, no, wait." My fingers lost strength, and I let go of my friend's arm. "We're just here to dance and have fun. In fact, I don't know how you talked me into this in the first place. I have 101 things I need to be doing. Did you see my list of applications I need to complete and send?"
"Corsica, we just graduated. You're allowed to celebrate," Ginny sighed.
I crossed my arms. "Graduating is not about celebrating; it's about the next steps," I said. "A bachelor's in hospitality is not going to get me a job or a place in an MBA program."
"You can study hospitality at the bar." Ginny looped both her arms through the crook of my elbow and dragged me into the dance club. "And then you're going to sing in the karaoke lounge. I know you secretly wish you'd studied music performance. You should have. Now, enjoy yourself for once. Take a night off. Just one night."
"You want me to take the whole summer off," I grumbled.
Ginny slipped into the crowd and skipped down the stairs to the dance floor. I hesitated on the top step, and suddenly, he was in front of me. Even in the dark, pulsing light of the nightclub, I could see gold flecks spark in his eyes. Shocked by the burning response I felt, I dropped my eyes to his lips. He frowned at me, and I knew what he saw.
I was just some ditzy, blonde rich girl. As if I could help the color of my hair. And I was proud of the haute couture dress I'd found secondhand at a garage sale. I took pride in how I looked. He, on the other hand, had the careless look that normally repulsed me.
Despite the generous line of those frowning lips, his square jaw was hidden by a thick beard. The arm flexed on the banister was tattooed with an intricate web of interconnected designs covering almost every inch of skin. I even saw the point of a tattoo reaching up past the neckline of his worn T-shirt. He brushed back his dark, wavy hair and swept a gaze over me.
The heat I felt melted my insides, and my brain kicked into panic mode. How could I be so attracted to this man?
His dark-brown eyes clashed with mine again, and the flare of anger made me step back. It disappeared as he stepped forward, a rueful smile on his wide lips. "You are goddamn gorgeous," he said.
"And that's a bad thing?" I flipped my hair and then cringed inside. Misfiring nerves fried my system, and I defaulted to aloof.
He chuckled and brushed back the few strands of hair that I missed. His coarse fingers skimmed my bare shoulder, and a fissure of electricity lit up my whole body. "It is for me. Let me guess, I'm not your type."
"I don't have a type."
"Yeah, sure, princess. Look, your friend snagged a couple of financial district boys. Better go have a few free drinks." He took the last two steps in one stride and stopped an inch in front of me. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"I'm from Santa Cruz." It was important to put that distance between us. I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes, but my body refused to step back from him.
"Of course you are. Dammit." He shook his head and twirled one of my golden curls around his finger. "I'm there a lot for work."
"You work?"
The words were a defense mechanism. I didn't trust myself around him. His rock hard chest was only inches from my lips. If I was snobbish and horrible, he would back off and I could get myself back under control. At least, I hoped. I had never felt this knocked out of orbit before.
"Relax, princess. I was just walking by." He stepped around me and slowly let my hair slip through his fingers. Then, he shook his head again and disappeared into the nightclub crowd.
I reached Ginny and took a long sip of the martini her new friend in the gray suit handed me. She made the introductions, and I smiled at the businessmen, but my eyes kept dragging to the man I'd met as if he were a magnet. I watched him shake hands with a waiter, then slip past a velvet rope and up a curving staircase.
He was the opposite of every man I had ever found attractive. Ginny often joked that my fantasies were cut from a J. Crew catalog. I liked clean-cut, clean-shaven men whose wardrobes were exclusively business casual or tailored suits. No jeans, no worn T-shirts—no matter how the soft fabric clung to his chiseled shoulders.
Tousled hair, thick beards, and tattoos did not mesh with the vision I had of my future.
Just one night off, I thought as I glanced at him again. What if, for one night, I was someone completely different?
"Come on; I want to sing."
Ginny bounced with excitement and grabbed my hand. We waved goodbye to the businessmen as she dragged me across the corner of the crowded dance floor to the arched doorway on the other side of the club.
"Wait, who was that guy you were talking to?" Ginny stopped with one hand on the doors.
"What? Nobody."
She fixed narrowed eyes on my face. "It didn't look like nobody. He looked like a whole lot more than that."
I smoothed my long hair. "He wasn't my type."
She tipped her head and grinned. "I think looks can be deceiving. I mean, you look like a million dollars."
"Very funny," I said. "One of these days, I'll have a million dollars."
"At the expense of fun." Ginny shoved open the padded doors. "I'm just glad he inspired you to sing."
She skipped ahead before I could correct her. Through the padded doors was another set of glass doors, but the bouncer had it open as soon as he saw us.
The karaoke lounge was a world apart from the nightclub. The round tables ringed a raised, black stage backed by black, velvet curtains. A piano player lounged on his bench and waited for singers brave enough to opt away from the karaoke machine.
Three chandeliers lit the stage, and a wrought iron railing separated a second level. Black, leather booths and larger tables ringed the balcony where waiters darted back and forth.
"What's up there?" I asked.
The bouncer glanced up at the balcony. "VIP lounge. Access is at the staircase in the dance club."
VIP lounge. Is that where he'd gone? He didn't look like the VIP type. My stomach tightened. I wasn't the VIP type either, but one day, I'd be different. I wouldn't be the Midwest girl that ran away from my namesake hometown of Corsica, South Dakota. I would be rich, recognized, and standing at that railing with an ever-full glass of champagne.
Then, I caught sight of the vintage microphone on the small stage. I knew I'd get to the VIP lounge if I stuck to my practical plan, but there was always a wild twinge of hope when I thought about singing. It was silly. I'd never make a living as a singer. Yet that was exactly what my heart wished for every time I was near a microphone or a stage.
I stopped and shook my head at Ginny. Why get my hopes up?
She planted her fists on her slim hips. "Oh, no. You're not backing out this time. I graduated, too, and this is my celebration, and I want you to sing!"
Ginny sat me down at a small, round table and went to talk with the piano player. After a few minutes of negotiations, he looked up and grinned at me. Ginny sauntered back to the table looking very pleased with herself.
"I'm not ready," I said.
"You have a few minutes." She sat back and clapped as the next singer climbed the stage and waited for the karaoke machine to kick in.
"If you picked some pop tune, I'm not going up there."
She waved my anxiety away and smiled at the tall waiter that appeared next to our table. "With compliments from the VIP lounge," he said.
"See?" Ginny asked, raising her fresh martini in a toast. "Someone else wants you to sing, too. Here's to liquid courage."
My throat was so dry, I was sure I'd choke on the drink. Plus, there was no way I could lift the thin-stemmed, wide-mouthed glass without sloshing alcohol all over myself. I laced my fingers together in my lap and tried to breathe.
No one knows you here, Corsica. Just let yourself go. It's just one song.
The reedy-voiced singer finished as the small crowd clapped wildly. I watched the piano player stretch his fingers and dance them over the keys in a quick warm-up. The key was familiar, and I knew the song before the host announced it.
"One of your best," Ginny winked.
She'd chosen an old lounge singer's tune about what the stars look like when you are in love. I knew it well and was on stage with one hand curled around the microphone before my mind could protest anymore.
Then it happened: the wave of joy that washed away all my fears and worries. I gave the piano player a sultry smile, and he jumped in to the bouncy syncopation of the first bars.
My voice sailed over the top, smoothing out the strong beats and tinkling flourishes of the piano. The crowd was all shocked smiles. I swayed my hips and emphasized the lyrics with flutters of my free hand. People began to nod and cheer.
Then, I saw him.
He was leaning over the wrought iron railing with the hint of a smile curving his beard and mustache. Despite his shaggy hair and the distraction of his tattoos, I was suddenly singing to him alone. The lyrics, my voice, reached out to those dark, eyes sparkling above me like I was wishing on a pair of stars. I couldn't help it; my stage presence had taken over and it felt great.
The song came to an end, and the piano player jumped off his narrow bench. "That was great! Damn, girl! I never would have guessed you had it in you. Please tell me we can do another one."
The small crowd filled the little lounge with applause. I looked up to see if he was clapping, too, but he wasn't at the railing. "Is he allowed to do that?" I asked.
The piano player glanced at the narrow, blocked-off staircase that ran from the VIP lounge balcony to backstage. "Him? You mean Penn? Sure."
Penn had jumped the gate that secured the staircase. He jogged down the steps to disappear behind the black velvet curtain. I felt him before he appeared, like a wave surging in the water. Then, he flipped back the curtain and walked around the foot of the stage.
"Tell her she has to sing again, Penn," the piano player begged.
"You really should," Penn held up a hand to help me down from the stage, "later."
"What do you want?" I asked Penn as he pulled me towards the bar.
"To buy you a drink."
"No, thanks."
He turned and grinned down at me. "Why? You only let rich and appropriately-dressed men buy you drinks?"
The quiver in my stomach brought my defenses up again, and I could hear the snobby tone as soon as I opened my mouth. "You must work here to be so free with your drink offers."
Penn blinked. "Work here? No, I don't work here. He does, though. He's a bar-back. And, she's actually the owner of the karaoke lounge."
I looked at the people he pointed out. The woman he named as the owner was petite and wearing an even smaller dress. Her long hair was bleached white and knotted into dreadlocks. The bar-back noticed me looking and waved, his dress shirt crisp and bright in the dim lounge.
"Hard to tell about people because clothes can be deceiving," he said.
I scowled at his smugness. "So, what can you tell about me?"
He looked me up and down, those dark eyes roving over my body with the heat of lasers. "You like slumming it almost as much as you like designer dresses. Though, you really can sing. There's no mistaking that. How come Daddy isn't buying you lessons or your very own record label?"
The heat from his eyes turned to cold ashes at the mention of my father. "You don't know anything about me, Penn. You don't even know my name."
I tipped my head back to give him a defiant glare and was surprised by the soft empathy I saw there. Just being near him was tossing my equilibrium. There was a magnetism I had never felt before that pulled me in even as his words and his appearance repelled me.
Penn took my hand and raised it to his lips. "Please, do me the favor of telling me your name."
I yanked my hand back before he could kiss it, sure the sensation would fry what was left of my rational thoughts. "Corsica."
"The island where Napoleon lived in exile?"
"Sure. Why not?" I often chose not to disclose the origin of my name because I had worked very hard to cut all ties with South Dakota.
A waiter appeared with two drinks that Penn took without hesitation. I didn't understand how the man who looked as if he should be changing people's oil was the one being waited on.
"Why are you here if you don't work here?" I asked.
Penn frowned and swirled the olives in his drink. "I've been summoned to San Francisco by the big boss man. I just didn't feel like rushing right over to wait for him, so I came here. I'm glad I did."
I felt steadier. "So, you get special treatment because everyone knows who you work for? Doesn't that bother you?"
"That would bother me, if it were true. I knew these people when I had nothing, and, yes, the drinks arrive a little faster now, but I haven't changed."
"So, you're from San Francisco?"
I could have let the conversation fizzle. I could have thanked Penn for the drink and walked away. I could have returned to the small table where Ginny was reuniting with an old co-worker.
Except, the longer I was near him, the more I felt tying me to him. His presence sent my system into chaos, but I felt a familiarity with his thoughts and an attraction that was nearly impossible to deny.
Ginny smiled and waved from across the lounge, and I knew I would not be able to deny that Penn was the most interesting man I had met in a long time.
"Yes, though I've never been a good city-dweller," Penn said. "How about you?"
"Here and there."
Penn snorted. "Singers always say that, don't they? So, Corsica, what do you plan to sing next?"
I shrugged. "Depends on what inspires me."
"What inspired that last song?"
I didn't want to admit it even to myself, so I took another sip of my drink and continued walking along the bar. Penn followed, and when I reached the corner near the emergency exit, he tugged me into the short, dim hallway. I didn't resist. It was impossible; I wanted to press my body against his and feel just how hot he could make me.
"What is it about you?" Penn asked on a harsh breath. He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. "You're snobby and stuck up and quick to get the wrong opinion about people."
"So what are you doing?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure it's going to be bad for me."
He leaned down, and I was shocked by the soft brush of his beard. The light chafe of it against my cheek had my lips parting in surprised pleasure. Penn's wide lips were still frowning, but he was about to kiss me.
"Sorry to interrupt," Ginny called. "Remember how I posted where we were going because I was sure he never read my stuff, anyway? Well, I was wrong."
I kept one hand on Penn's hard chest as I leaned around and looked where Ginny pointed. My ex-boyfriend, in his perpetual polo shirt and dark, pristine jeans, stood in the doorway of the karaoke lounge. He blinked as his eyes adjusted and then he scanned the crowd, trying to find me.
Penn stepped back. "Your boyfriend."
"Ex," I snapped.
"He's got this sick sense of when you're doing anything fun," Ginny said. "What, is he afraid if you sing a little karaoke, then you'll run off and go wild?"
"I'd like to see that," Penn commented. He eased around me and back out towards the bar.
I crossed my arms and raised my chin. "I'm not going to go wild just to please you or stop singing just to make him feel comfortable."
"So, you're going to go over there and send him away? I bet I could help with that." Penn's dark eyes glowed with mischief, and he puckered up his lips. "How about that kiss, princess?"
I shoved his chest with both hands. "I don't have time for this, I really don't. I shouldn't have come out in the first place."
"Scared you'd meet someone like me?"
Ginny laughed. "She's not so much scared of having fun as she is overburdened with practicality."
I planted my hands on my hips. "Yeah, because it's so fun not finding a job after graduation. It's really fun having student loans hanging over my head. It's fun having everyone tell me I'm making a big mistake when all I want to do is take care of business first."
I stomped past Ginny and Penn and gave Joshua an angry wave. He saw and gestured for me to join him outside. I shook my head and pointed to the bar. My ex-boyfriend tried to argue across the room, but I found a stool and sat down.
Normally, I enjoyed Joshua's appearance. Even though we were broken up, he was still a trusted friend and colleague. We'd gone through the same hospitality program in college, and our career goals were the same: own an exclusive hotel. And, it didn't hurt that Joshua had the clean-cut look that I liked.
Joshua Barton was two years older than me at 24, and much taller at 6'4". His height made him appear thin, but he had the wiry strength of a marathon runner and the broad shoulders of an all-state swimmer. His blond hair was cut perfectly and the part in his hair as straight as a ruler. Light blue eyes expressed every thought.
Though not much emotion, I thought.
Joshua was perfect, polished, and completely without passion. Unless we were talking about hotels.
I turned in my chair as he approached and wondered if my ex-boyfriend was going to surprise me.
"There you are, Corsica. You can’t answer your phone? Didn't you see the email I forwarded you from our department head?"
"Really?" Ginny asked. "We just graduated and you couldn't let her have one night without bringing all of that up?"
Joshua ignored my friend with a polite frown. Then, he gripped my elbow and pulled me off my stool. "Sorry to interrupt, but this is actually important."
"Is he always like that?" Penn growled behind me.
"You mean bent on destroying any thoughts Corsica has of fun or freedom even for a moment?" Ginny asked. "Yeah. He's always like that."
"Who on earth is that?" Joshua asked me.
I glanced back at Penn and had no idea what to say. The differences between the two men were glaring, and I was shaken by how obvious my preference leaned towards Penn. "Never mind. I only came out to find you because it's that important," Joshua said.
I twisted my arm free of his grip. "Fine, just tell me. What's so important that you came out to a club to find me? Aren't you supposed to be having dinner with your parents?"
"Yes, but our department head let me know that there is a position available at the Ritz-Carlton in Half Moon Bay. I recommended you, Corsica. You're going to need to revamp your entire resume and make sure all your references are in order. This isn't something you can wait on. It's the chance of a lifetime!"
I stepped back and leaned against the bar. "The Ritz?"
"Exactly," Joshua said with a smug smile. "Now, come on, I have a car waiting."
I leaned away from his ushering hands. "Whoa, wait. It's important, it's amazing, but it can still wait until morning," I said.
Joshua stood up to his full height and gave me a disapproving frown. "You can't seriously be telling me that you'd rather stay here and listen to people butcher songs on a karaoke machine. We can stop and pick up dim sum. We'll make a night out of it, and you can send your resume first thing in the morning."
"Is that what you think when I sing?" I asked.
My ex froze and measured his next words. "What does your singing have to do with applying for a position at the Ritz-Carlton?"
"I love singing."
Joshua laughed. "And it's the perfect hobby for you, but it's not going to pay the bills or get you the career you've studied so hard for, now is it?"
I turned and looked at the stage. The vintage microphone glinted like a far off star, and I felt the old pain in my chest. It was the familiar pain of saying goodbye, of leaving something I loved for something better.
It was the same feeling that had followed me since I left South Dakota and never looked back.