I snorted. “Okay, I’m not going to ask. But failed indie bands?”
His eyes twinkled. “Call it artistic licence.”
I caught a whiff of whatever fragrance clung to Julian, a warm, spicy scent that seemed to fit him perfectly. “Whereasyousmell amazing.”
Julian chuckled. “I just finished work. Gotta smell good for the day job.” He sauntered toward the nearest chair, peered at it, then flopped into it.
It was only then I realised I had no clue what Julian’s ‘day job’ was.
I don’t need to know. What matters is he’s here.On time.
Unlike everyone else.
Max nudged my elbow. “Will you relax? They’ll be here.”
Yeah, Max knew me, all right.
The others arrived in dribs and drabs over the next fifteen minutes, most of them dressed casually in jeans and tees, and all of them clutching paper cups or a water bottle. The aroma of coffee snuck into the air.
Finnley Pierce wore the same high heel boots he’d worn for the audition, and although he was the youngest of them,damn, he owned the room when he strutted across it. He took one glance at the space and gave me a look that plainly saidWhat the fuck?
Max caught it. “Nothing to do with me. This is all on Theo. So we’d better make fast progress, because that’s the only way we get to move up in the world.”
Liam Brooks looked tired, as though he hadn’t slept a wink.
I recalled our conversation at the audition. “Hey, Liam. Did you manage to transfer to a local hospital? Or are you still looking?”
Liam’s smile was pure fatigue. “I’m now at the trauma unit at St. Mary’s, near Paddington. Just finished the night shift about seven this morning, but I couldn’t sleep. Too excited, I guess.” He raised his chin and looked me in the eye. “But I’m here, and I can sing.” His blue eyes sparkled. “Sleep is for the weak anyway.” He sank onto a chair.
Milo Harrison slipped quietly into the studio, his leather jacket over his arm, his tank revealing his tattooed arms.
He has cheekbones to die for. I had to admit all of the guys were lookers.Wait until they’re all on a stage, under spotlights.Or on the cover of their first album. On a poster for their first gig.
Don’t run before you can walk, Theo.
Then I noticed something was missing.
“No guitar this time, Milo?”
Milo smiled. “Nah.” His gaze swept the room to the piano in the corner. “But that’ll do.”
“You play piano too?”
In response, Milo walked over to the piano bench and sat. He lifted the lid and ran his fingers lightly over the keys. A moment later, a simple, flowing melody filled the air, rising and falling like waves, evoking mystery and melancholy at the same time. The piano didn’t have the best tone, but that didn’t matter.
I recognised the melody instantly, and my breathing caught as I stood, transfixed. No one moved for the three minutes or so until Milo finally stilled his hands.
Zane Gallagher expelled a breath. “That was beautiful. What was it?”
“I heard it once on an episode of Poirot,” Oliver Bennett piped up. He coughed. “Not that I go in for that kinda thing. My parents were watching it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was written for that purpose.” Max rolled his eyes. “It’s by Satie, a French composer in the late eighteen hundreds. That was the first piece in a series called ‘Gnossiennes’.” He gave Milo an approving glance. “And Zane’s right. That was beautiful.”
Milo closed the lid, his face flushed.
“I play that piece sometimes in the cafe where I work,” Elliott Foster said in a low voice. He grinned. “I don’t mean Iplayit—I’d butcher Chopsticks—but I like playing classical shit over the sound system, especially first thing in the morning. Customers like it.” That grin again. “Then I put on some rock ‘n’ roll to wake ’em all up.”
“Do you take requests?” Sebastian Hayes asked with a smile.