A/N: My thank yous to Team Jazzward for your help with this chapter. xx
DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight, but if you're here, you knew that already. ;)
-FONO-
The days leading up to Miss Swan's performance are much the same as any other for me since my exclusion from her rehearsals. But no one is more surprised than I am on Thursday morning when I find she's having breakfast alone in the Lexington Hotel's restaurant.
I'm hesitant to intrude, if she's seeking solitude, but perhaps, she would like to share a meal together before I report for work. We left on a good note earlier this week, but I am wondering if the possibility of sharing her company is pushing for more than I should. With no sign of Felix nearby, I approach her table.
"Good morning, Miss Swan. You look as lovely as ever."
"Good morning, Mr. Masen, and thank you."
"I was wondering if I may join you for breakfast?"
She exudes an unwavering coolness, as she tilts her head in question, no doubt skeptical of my intentions. "I suppose that would be fine. Please, have a seat."
"Have you ordered?"
"Yes."
"Coffee, Mr. Masen?" the waitress asks with a pot in her hand at the ready.
"Yes, please."
She smiles while filling my cup. "What can I get you?"
"I'll have three eggs over easy, with a side of bacon and buttered toast."
"The usual, it is." She winks. "Your meals will be out shortly."
I study Miss Swan's side of the table, noticing a cup of steaming tea and an open journal in front of her, a fountain pen waiting nearby.
"Are you a writer?" I wave toward the pages.
"I suppose. Sometimes I jot down thoughts, but mostly poems or bits that can be used for songs whenever inspiration strikes."
"Any inspiration recently?"
"A little." A hint of a smile threatens to spread across her lips.
"I apologize if I'm being too intrusive, but you have me at a disadvantage, as you seem well versed on my history, but I know almost nothing about you."
She blows softly on her tea, bringing the cup cautiously to her lips before returning it to the saucer, and clears her throat. "Mr. Volturi knows about everyone he does business with, and Felix shared your information when we learned we would stop in Chicago."
At the mention of Felix, my curiosity gets the better of me. "Felix is missing breakfast this morning?"
"He's out on business."
"How long have you known Felix?"
"Six years."
"You seem close."
She shrugs. "He has a job to do."
At her earlier mention of Mr. Volturi, I push for a little more. I have yet to figure out her connection to him. "Have you met Mr. Volturi?"
Her eyes shift, staring at the table as she struggles to carry on an air of indifference at the mention of his name. "Yes."
I'm not sure how much she knows about Mr. Volturi, but in my years of working at The Twilight Club, I have heard all the whispers about him, moving up the ranks from Hatchet Man to Big Shot in record time. I wouldn't be me if I don't try at least to warn her to be careful and not get too close.
I lower my voice. "I understand it isn't my place, but he's not the kind of man you should—"
"I know exactly what kind of man he is, Mr. Masen." Her furious whispers cut off my warning as the smoldering fire I experienced earlier this week dances in her eyes and issues a warning of her own. "And you're right, it isn't your place. Drop it."
The sharpness of her tone has me realizing her involvement with Mr. Volturi may be more than I want to know. I heed her suggestion, moving the conversation in another direction before the silence between us becomes too great.
"Are you enjoying Chicago? I have no idea how it compares with San Francisco, since I have lived in this area all of my life."
She pauses, considering her answer before she speaks. "It's similar in some ways. San Francisco is more wicked in others."
"Are you originally from there?"
"No."
I wait, but Miss Swan doesn't expand her answer, and this time, her eyes never leave mine, challenging me to continue. My gut says this is another conversation, which will only turn out to be a dead end, but I persist.
"Your family—"
"Here we go, sir; breakfast is served."
Miss Swan seems relieved when our food arrives; probably hoping it will distract me from learning about her and put an end to my questions. I'm not easily deterred, and plan to find a way to get her to open up.
"Can I get you anything else?" the waitress asks, topping off my coffee.
I look over at Miss Swan, who shakes her head, and answer for both of us. "I believe we're all set. Thank you."
I focus on cutting up my eggs into pieces while mixing the runny yoke with the whites as she takes a bite of the only item she ordered—two pieces of dry toast.
Setting down my knife, I scoop up a fork full of eggs. "How long have you been singing?"
"Six years."
I don't miss that it is the same length of time she's known Felix, and I'm positive there's a connection.
"Have you always wanted to be a singer?"
"It's something I enjoy, and I've been taking lessons since moving to San Francisco."
"Six years?" I ask, even though I already suspect I have the right answer.
She nods, setting down her toast and sipping her tea. "Dancing and acting lessons too."
"You're destined to be one of these new career women, aren't you?" I tease.
There's a slight smirk tugging at her lips before it fades as she shares her plans. "Mr. Volturi promised he would make me a star—New York first then Hollywood."
"And you're on your way. I apologize that we've detained you momentarily from your dreams. Mike—er . . . Mr. Newton is having trouble figuring out the right way to serve a strong bowl of chicken soup." I wink.
She smiles at my hidden meaning. "I was singing at a club in San Francisco. So, this isn't much different."
A figure moving toward our table gets my attention, and I recognize him instantly.
I stand, reaching out to offer my hand.
"Felix."
He doesn't think twice when he gives it a not-so-gentle squeeze, leaving me flexing my fingers when he lets go.
"Masen."
I return to my seat, as he takes the one between us. He looks as if he's about to deliver some kind of news and is trying to figure out the best way to soften the blow. By the sad look on Miss Swan's face, I suspect she already knows what he's about to say.
"We have a complication, as I thought." Felix holds up his hand, stopping her protest. "There was nothing I could do by the time I got there."
She sags in resignation. "He'll be okay, right?"
"Uh . . . " He glances around the restaurant, never answering her question. "I need to make a call. Will you be fine until I get back?"
"Yes. Of course."
He releases a heavy sigh as his eyes shift from Miss Swan to me and back to her before leaving with a warning meant for my ears. "I won't be gone long."
"Thank you, Felix." She nods, sipping her tea, but sets down her cup, grabbing his arm lightly as he stands to depart. "I'm okay—really I am."
His hand covers hers as this man overflowing with muscles and bravado melts before my eyes. The way he looks at her gives away more than his words ever will, and somehow, I feel as if I'm intruding on a moment between them.
"I know, Isabella. I know." His words are controlled and whispered. "You'll handle it from here?"
For someone on the outside looking in, it isn't difficult to see he's carrying a torch for her, but he keeps it under wraps—yielding to his role of protecting her, which allows him the privilege of her continued presence.
"I will," she promises, as she locks down any of her own emotions threatening to escape.
That's when I realize this relationship is one-sided. If she hasn't returned his affections in six years, then there's little doubt she ever will.
"See you in a bit," he vows, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
At his departure, I return my attention back to my breakfast, finishing what little food I have left. I'm not sure what to say at this point. There's some issue between them that has nothing to do with his feelings for her, and in no way am I about to stick my nose into their business.
The only sounds from our table are the clank of her cup and saucer while my fork scrapes along my plate. I'm surprised when it's Miss Swan who breaks the comfortable silence between us.
"Um . . ." she starts.
I glance at Miss Swan who seems hesitant as she waits until she has my undivided attention.
"There's a job opening that has become available recently."
At her words, everything makes more sense and I realize there's nothing coincidental about this breakfast meeting today. I set down my fork, waiting for her to continue as her eyes lock with mine.
A silent conversation passes between us as a smile threatens to tug at the corner of my mouth when I anticipate her next words. "Would you happen to need a piano player?"
"Yes."
"What happened to the last guy? Because I don't want to make the same mistake."
"Trust me. You don't want to know."
"Didn't show up on time?" I taunt. "I understand firsthand how finicky some people can be about punctuality."
"Mr. Masen," she admonishes, shaking her head. "Let's just say, he won't be playing piano for a long time."
Sounds like someone who couldn't keep his hands to himself.
"So . . . are you interested?"
"Yes," I answer without hesitation.
I'm glad to be back in her good graces, and not ashamed to admit I may have a bit of a crush on this mysterious woman myself.
She reaches down for the bag I hadn't noticed at her feet, removes a familiar leather folder, and pushes it to my side of the table. "Get to memorizing. I'll see you this afternoon for rehearsal. Don't be late."
I look on as she closes her writing journal, sliding it and her pen back into her bag as she prepares to leave.
A slow smile spreads across my face. "Not a chance, Miss Swan. Not a chance."
A/N: He's back in! Lol Edward learned a little about her history this chapter. Some readers wondered how she would know Edward's family history and Mike is the weak link here, sharing everything he knows about Edward with his uncle. That includes but isn't limited to his father's job, the death of his parents, and his inheritance since it was quite substantial. This is the last chapter from my original donation piece with the continuation beginning next chapter. Thank you for reading. xx
