Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 478(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Sig glanced over to double-check that Chloe had put on her seat belt, even though he’d witnessed her engage the buckle, before pulling out onto the road. Traveling in the direction of her apartment.
Finally, he’d composed himself enough to speak. “Back to this mentorship. When did you decide to do it?”
“Well.” She sat up a little taller on the seat. “I’m going to continue at the conservatory, as planned, but my instructors . . . they say there is nothing else they can teach me.”
Pride rocked into his chest. Not only had she left her life of luxury behind and moved to an entirely new city, but she’d adapted quickly to living alone, commuting, making friends, like Tallulah. Proven herself and thrived at Berklee, exactly as he’d known she would. “Damn, Chlo.”
“Yes. But that implies there is something this mentor can teach me. Right?”
“Uh-huh. That tracks.” He glanced over to find her looking deep in thought. “You don’t want to find out if there is something you don’t already know?”
“I guess I do,” she hedged. “But it’s been a long time since anyone pushed me, Sig. I’ve always just naturally been a badass on the harp.”
He chuckled. “The baddest.”
“What if it’s like that movie Whiplash? Where the instructor tortures me psychologically so he can break me down and rebuild me in his image?”
“Easy. I will fucking kill him.”
“Ooh. Promise?”
Heat swamped the back of his neck at the thought of her being bullied. “Yes.”
He sensed, rather than saw, her smirk. “Her name is Grace Shen and by all accounts, she’s a consummate professional. You can stop committing mental murder now.”
At the news that Chloe’s mentor was a woman, his blood ceased to boil, but the possessiveness remained at a simmer. It always did. Ready to rollick at a moment’s notice. For instance, what if Grace had an assistant who didn’t find it unprofessional to ask Chloe on a date? There were too many variables . . . and as long as they were just friends, Sig had a blade hanging above his neck at all times.
“Are you really going to shave for me?” Chloe asked, distracting him.
Speaking of blades near his neck. “Have I ever said no to anything you wanted?”
“No,” she said, not hesitating.
“You said if I shaved for you, you would let me help you decide what to wear to your first mentorship meeting.”
“I did say that.” He was certain that he caught her shivering in his peripheral vision, her voice significantly softer when she added, “I could do a quick fashion show for you when we get home . . .”
Sig couldn’t respond. He was too busy trying to keep his dick locked in neutral. As always. It was a losing battle and he knew, as always, he’d be leaving her apartment hard as nails tonight, just like he did every other time. But there was a pretense to uphold. They were best friends who would eventually be related, but weren’t quite related yet, having an innocent fashion show at eleven o’clock at night in her bedroom.
Totally normal.
Nothing to see here.
Chapter Eight
Whenever Sig graced her apartment with his presence, Chloe had to refrain from doing an embarrassing little dance. Sometimes she gave into the urge and let her excitement at being around him show. Oher times, like tonight, when they’d already pushed their limits a little too far, she held back out of necessity.
Still . . . having Sig over was the best. THE BEST.
He sauntered around like a cranky tiger, straightening picture frames and folding up throw blankets. Frowning at all the crumpled-up Sephora bags in the trash can. Grumbling. Checking her cabinets to make sure she had enough food.
Chloe really did her best not to stare as he completed these rituals, but not staring at Sig Gauthier was like going to the beach and ignoring a brilliant pink-and-orange sunset.
In his sweatpants, Bearcats hoodie, and wet, freshly showered hair, he was the sun itself, as far as Chloe was concerned. The meaning of the name Sig meant “a victory that brings peace and protection” and that definition couldn’t be more accurate. He was thoughtful and encouraging and, oh yeah, superprotective. Most important, however, Sig believed in her. In a way she’d never experienced from someone she loved.
Sure, she knew her mother believed in her musical abilities, but Sofia never took an active interest beyond bragging about them or scheduling her an audience where Sofia could bask in the accolades afterward. Similar to Chloe’s estranged father, Sofia used these performances as a social tool. A magic trick to pull out of the bag at parties or a way to meet interesting people abroad. Since coming to Boston Chloe had started to ponder the possibility that her mother had never pushed her to take bigger chances with her music because she wanted to keep Chloe at home, under her thumb. Meanwhile, Sig asked Chloe what she wanted. She never had to worry about an ulterior motive with him. With Sig, there was nothing but safety.