Thank you so much for your patience!

Chapter 9: Exit Interview

Christine intuited strongly that Erik would arrive at the café early.

So she got there incredibly early. Obscenely early. They'd scheduled a meeting for noon. Christine had woken at seven and stared at the ceiling for a couple of hours before finally getting out of bed. She left her apartment with a sinking feeling in her stomach and arrived at the cafe at almost eleven.

She was embarrassed. Beyond embarrassed. Mortified. She couldn't believe she'd chosen the middle of a panic attack to call a celebrity who employed her.

Now here she sat, nursing an iced chai latte, at a corner table with a chocolate croissant, her phone, and her letter of resignation atop it. Café Jacques was relatively busy. At a table next to hers, she watched a young mother pull out a tablet and hand it to the little boy across from her, and then she herself began typing on her phone. Wordless to each other, mother and son engrossed in whatever shiny thing had their attention. Christine remembered the way her father had refused to let them be on electronic devices if they were together, unless there was an emergency. When she was in high school, she'd lamented this rule as unfair. Conversations sometimes turned dull, or turned altogether silent, and even then he wouldn't let her leave his company for her cell.

Now, she understood how precious those moments were, and was glad her father had ensured they'd shared that time. However boring they inevitably sometimes were.

Christine put down the chai and picked up the chocolate croissant. She nibbled at it. The boy at the table next to her sighed, apparently having lost whatever game he currently played.

Christine tapped her phone where it lay on the table. No texts from Erik Lenoir, letting her know he'd be late or need to cancel. Which wasn't surprising. He didn't seem like the type to flake out.

Unlike her.

God, this was so, so embarrassing.

The door to the café opened, and a figure in black entered. Her heart leapt to her throat, but it wasn't him. Just a girl in a long black dress that looked insufferably hot in this summer weather. She met with a fiery-red haired boy with a neck tattoo at a table near the door.

Christine thought she might have a headache coming on from the anxiety of this situation. She lowered her head into her hands, rubbing her fingers into her eyes. Hopefully this didn't turn into a full-on migraine.

She was sitting there like that for what seemed like ten minutes when a deep voice cleared its throat somewhere in front of her.

Christine pulled her hands from her eyes, glanced up, and found herself looking into the mismatched eyes of Erik Lenoir.

Her legs moved on their own, spurred on by the wild thump in her chest. She stood, the chair scraping on the ground, nearly toppling over. Erik glanced shortly at that chair before bringing his gaze back to Christine.

She extended her hand. "Oh. Hi. Hello."

Just like last time, Erik did not reciprocate the gesture, though at least this time he acknowledged her greeting by giving a curt nod. "Ms. Daaé."

"How are you?" The words came out too fast, too soft. She lowered her hand slowly.

"I am well. And…yourself?"

The question was loaded. Pointed. Like he was concerned. Or, more likely, annoyed. She would be too.

"I'm fine."

"Good." He turned momentarily toward the coffee bar, then to Christine's horror, he lifted a hand, whistled, and snapped at them. Several customers turned to him, a couple of them frowning with distaste or blinking with surprise at the appearance of a famous person in their midst - or maybe just at the mask - but Erik Lenoir didn't seem to care.

She had the distinct feeling he was used to being looked at. Last time he'd seemed so uncomfortable, but perhaps that had been because of the pictures being taken, not the staring. Or maybe it was both, but he was good at hiding his discomfort when he wanted to.

The barista saw him snapping at her. She nodded, gave a thumbs up, and immediately started on a new drink. Either that barista was also a big fan of his work, or he tipped well enough for her not to look like she wanted to punch his masked face after being addressed like a medieval servant.

"You…come here often, I'm guessing?" Christine ventured.

"Often enough. I don't like actually coming in normally, due how busy it is. Jules picks up my coffee in the morning, but they know who I am."

She nodded. "If you don't mind my asking…you said you don't like how busy it is. Why not meet somewhere more secluded?"

"I like the coffee."

"Right. Yes. Sorry, you said that."

"And I supposed you'd be more comfortable meeting alone if we were in a very public place." Erik suddenly avoided her gaze. "Shall we sit?"

Christine scooted her chair back in as gracefully as she could and sat. She stared at Erik. He'd chosen a place that was uncomfortable for him because it was potentially comfortable for her. That was…thoughtful.

Suddenly she felt not only embarrassed about quitting last night, but guilty.

Which was a problem, because she was here to officially quit. Professionally.

Erik sat too, and looked her in the eyes again. "So."

Christine forced herself to smile. Erik's eyes drifted down to her mouth for a split second, and she was suddenly very self-conscious of whether or not her smile looked forced. "Thank you for meeting with me today."

"Of course. How can I help you?"

She drew in a deep breath, grateful that he was pretending last night didn't happen, just as he said he would, and then she slid the resignation letter toward him. "I…Mr. Lenoir, I deeply appreciate the opportunity to work for you, but unfortunately I cannot accept the position anymore."

He nodded. No reaction, because of course he wasn't surprised. "I see."

Christine nodded too, pursing her lips. She didn't know what else to say.

"Well…thank you for…letting me know."

Her stomach twisted. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Lenoir." She lowered her eyes, sure that she'd be cringing at this memory for a long time. "I just don't think I can handle it."

"I disagree. You seem very capable, based on your resume. I think you'll handle it just fine."

"Mr. Lenoir…respectfully, but you don't know me. I'm not capable of it. I'm sorry."

Christine felt his eyes branding her. "No. I suppose you're technically right. I don't know you."

"Sorry."

"I understand."

She swallowed and nodded. "Thank you." Christine stared hard at the croissant. "And I'm sorry again. This was a really nice opportunity, and you didn't have to hire me but you did. I really appreciate it. I…hope you don't…hate me, or anything."

He was silent for a moment, then: "Four times."

Her eyes finally lifted to his. "What?"

"You said sorry four times."

"Oh…sorry."

His lips quirked. "Five times."

Just then, the barista arrived at their table and placed his cup of coffee in front of him. He nodded.

"Keep your tab open?" the barista asked.

"Yes please, Sarah. Thank you."

The barista bustled back to the line of waiting customers.

Erik Lenoir's attention was back on her. "Ms. Daaé, is there anything I might say that could change your mind?"

Christine considered the question. The reason she was quitting. The things she'd realized last night: The fact that, no matter how much Erik Lenoir might think she can handle it…she couldn't. She'd screw it up. She'd sink below the treacherous waves, just like she did at school, and neglect all of the work he expected her to do. She'd cause problems for him.

It would happen.

"No," she whispered. "I need to resign, Mr. Lenoir. And I respect you and your work, so I'd like to resign on good terms. If…if that's possible, of course."

Erik expelled a sigh, with the same sort of exhaustion he'd expressed last night on the phone when she requested to meet. She felt silly, and ridiculous, and stupid, and immature all at once at the sound of that sigh.

"There would be no reason for your resignation to cause us to be on bad terms, Ms. Daaé, so yes, of course."

"Thank you." Christine wanted to crawl under the table. "Well…I suppose I shouldn't waste anymore of your time. I appreciate you meeting me. Have a good day, Mr. Lenoir."

She rose, leaving everything on the table except her phone, intending to exit post-fucking-haste.

"Ms. Daaé."

She stopped in the middle of pushing her chair out. "Yes?"

"You majored in theatre, yes?"

"Yes."

"Did you specialize in any particular type of theatre?"

"What do you mean?"

"Shakespearean? Film? Musical theatre?"

"Musical theatre was my main focus."

That seemed to spark his interest, by the sudden gleam in his eyes. "So then, you sing?"

"I do." Understanding that the conversation was not officially over, she sat back down. "My dad was into music, and I guess the love of music passed onto me."

He smiled. "What's not to love about music?" He took a sip of his coffee. "Do you continue to practice your voice?"

"No."

The smile turned quickly into a frown. "Why is that?"

"I just…can't."

"You can't?"

"Everytime I try, my…throat closes up." She paused, wondering if this was oversharing. But like last night, the open honesty seemed to pour out of her while talking to him. Like he was a magnet for these words, and like he deserved the truth. "Honestly, it's hard for me to even listen to music at all anymore, much less make it. I was supposed to audition for productions, but the thought of getting up in front of directors, much less an audience, makes me sick."

Erik Lenoir's eyes softened. He gazed at her for several seconds and then said, "Ms. Daaé, may I propose something?"

"Uh…sure?"

"If you will not work for me, then would you perhaps accept lessons from me? Vocal lessons. I understand that you are well-trained at a very good university, but I would like to help you learn to overcome the blockage keeping you from using your voice, and perhaps refine what you've already learned."

Christine must have been staring at him blankly for long enough that Erik Lenoir cocked his head and said, "Ms. Daaé?"

"Oh." She shook her head, thus trying to shake the dizziness that suddenly overtook her. Erik Lenoir, famed composer, was now offering to personally train her vocally. "I…Why?"

"Excuse me?"

"You're…offering to teach me. But…there's no reason for you to…I'm confused. Why do you want to…"

"Teach you?"

"Help me?" Christine clenched her hands in her lap. "You don't know me. I know you liked my father, but…god, there must be a lot of relatives of a lot of musicians you admire that you don't offer jobs to, or offer to tutor. Is it…I mean, is it because he's dead? Do you…do you feel bad for me? Is that why? If so, I appreciate your compassion, but…but it's okay. It's fine. Really."

"It's not because I pity you."

"Then what is it? Because surely it's not the overwhelming potential that's oozing out of me."

Erik seemed to consider her question, tapping a single long finger against his cup of coffee, watching her curiously. "No, Ms. Daaé. It's not that, though I'm sure you have potential, given your last name. Actually…well. I understand what it means to be in a dark place. I've been in that place more than once. That's…" He shifted suddenly, uncomfortably. "That's all I will say on the matter, and I think I've already said too much about it. But your father's music has always managed, more than anything else, to help me out of it. If I can return the favor in any way, if not to him then to his daughter, I'd like to. So, then…" He straightened, all business. "Will you accept my offer?"