Playing the Maestro Read Online Free PDF Page B

forgotten.”
    Melody stared in utter disbelief. Completely forgotten? So why had he given her the cold shoulder all this time?
    “Things happen,” he continued. “You did a superb job sight-reading that night.”
    Melody settled back into her chair as warmth from his compliment bloomed in her chest. Finally, some approval. “Thank you.”
    “You are a fine player, Miss Mires.” He stared at his drink as he said it, as though he couldn’t come to terms with her being so good.
    The waitress butted in, positioning her body between them. She set the platter on the bar and winked at Wolf. “Enjoy.”
    He nodded and gave her a pleasant smile. “Thank you.”
    Melody drummed her fingertips on the table. If Blake influenced Wolf at all, there was nothing she could say or do that would convince him to keep her. She’d have to bite the bullet and find a new place to play. Besides, she didn’t want to be a part of an organization that fired its loyal employees.
    She needed to find out more about Wolf’s intentions.
    “Are you going to try it, or are you going to make me eat the whole thing?” He smiled, waving his hand over the food.
    Melody calmed herself. The alcohol was getting the better of her, and she had to keep it cool. She didn’t want to talk to him at all, really, considering how he’d treated her in front of the orchestra, but she needed answers before she jumped to any conclusions. She picked up a fry, dipped the end in ketchup, and took a bite. “So what’s your plan for this orchestra?”
    Wolf leaned in, his face inches from hers. “We’ve got a lot of things in the works.” He popped a nacho in his mouth.
    “Such as?”
    …
    Wolf sighed, regretting his choice of neighborhood bars. When he’d first seen Melody sitting next to the only empty seat, he thought maybe he could smooth things over a little and prove he wasn’t the snob she thought he was. But now, his gesture had bitten him in the butt. Now Melody wanted answers he couldn’t give.
    She tapped her fingers impatiently, crooking her pretty, arched eyebrow.
    Wolf popped another fry to buy time. “I approached a few high-profit donors last week with an offer to sponsor a chair in the orchestra. One of them even chose the flute.”
    Melody nodded, her eyes sharp and penetrating. “And the audience attendance?”
    Wolf drank his beer and pondered just how much to tell her. “I have a few ideas to boost enthusiasm for classical music, starting with the area’s youth.”
    Melody took the last swig of her Heineken, impressing him. She’d drained the whole glass. “And the current personnel?”
    Wolf rubbed his temples. Damn, she’s bold. “What about them?”
    Melody’s face drooped as if she’d swallowed a French fry the wrong way. “Some of those older musicians have played with the orchestra since they were kids. Like Bertha Payne, for instance. I remember going to this orchestra’s concerts as a kid, and there she was, sitting in the back row. Her husband passed away five years ago, and this orchestra is everything she has. The music keeps her going. I don’t know what she’d do if someone told her not to come anymore.”
    Wolf was well aware of Bertha Payne. He’d read about her husband’s contribution to the orchestra in old program notes. Bertha reminded him of his late grandmother—she was the last person he wanted to fire.
    A current of guilt spread through him. Why not tell Melody everything? How he’d escaped from a bad relationship in Germany to this new opportunity. How he’d longed to make his family of lawyers and businessmen proud of his musical career.
    Wolf wished he could give Melody more to go on, but with Blake breathing down his neck, he’d rather play it safe. Besides, he’d been burned once before. “Due to contractual obligations, I’m not at liberty to say. Although the last row of violins is the least of my worries.”
    Melody blinked in surprise. Her fingers fumbled and she tipped over her empty