Free Lost Melody by Roz Lee Page B

once, guaranteed something, or everything, would be
burned.
    “When I’m home. It’s a drive into
town, and I’m sure you’ve noticed Willowbrook is a little short on
eating establishments. I cook enough to get by. Breakfast is my
specialty.”
    He’d already set the table with
plates, napkins, utensils, and glasses of orange juice. She sat at
one place setting, quietly moving the adjacent setting to the other
side of the table.
    “I also grill a pretty good steak, and
I can stir up a killer pot of chili,” he said.
    “Good to know, if I ever need to kill
anyone with chili.”
    He laughed. “I’m glad to see you
brought your sense of humor today.”
    He set a platter loaded with pancakes,
scrambled eggs, and bacon on the table and sat in the new location
without comment. “Dig in.”
    “I thought I could show you how I work
today.”
    She added pancakes and bacon to her
plate, absolutely certain the last thing she wanted to do today was
watch him work. But if she went through with his interview plan,
she would have to get over her prejudices and fears, sooner rather
than later.
    Memories floated to the surface. One
in particular stood out. She’d been around eight years old. It had
been a magical time, spent with her father on one of her summer
visits to his estate in England. She could still see her father
playing her song on the grand piano in the music room of the
ancient manor house. He usually sang her song a cappella, and she
loved the times when he would play the accompaniment
too.
    Another memory slammed into her—one
much more recent. “I have to ask you something,” she said, cutting
into the stack of pancakes she no longer thought she could eat—not
with the way her stomach was churning. “The other day when I met
you at your dad’s house, you were listening to something on your
MP3 player. What was it?”
    “I don’t remember. I have about two
thousand songs, and they play in random order. Why?”
    “No reason. I was just
curious.” She forced herself to chew and swallow the pancakes. Did
he really not remember, or was he lying because he’d been listening
to her father’s song— her song?
     
    * * *
     
    “Let’s go,” he said after the kitchen
was once again spotless. “I’ll walk you through my day. It’s pretty
mundane actually, so try not to go to sleep on me.”
    “I think I can handle it,” she
said.
    He produced a stack of mail from a
drawer and paid his household bills. If she wanted to see what his
life was really like, well, it didn’t get more real than sorting
mail and paying bills. She’d soon realize his life was mostly
boredom, punctuated by brief periods of creativity.
    “Don’t you have an
accountant?”
    “No. I have one for everything related
to my business, but I like to take care of my personal expenses. It
makes me feel normal. How about you?”
    “Same,” she answered. “I pay my own
personal bills. I don’t like the idea of an office full of
strangers knowing which stores I shop in, or criticizing how much I
spend.”
    “You can tell me where you buy your
panties. I won’t tell anyone.”
    Her cheeks flamed instantly, and she
turned her back to him as if studying the awards lining the wall.
He returned to his bills, satisfied with the reaction he’d received
from the off color remark. He laughed to himself. It was easy to
throw her off kilter, and he enjoyed watching her get all hot and
bothered.
    As fun as it was to tease her, he
admired her. It must have been difficult growing up, hiding her
identity from her friends. He could understand why her mother made
the choice to live quietly, away from public life, but it must have
taken a toll on her and her daughter. Coming into his celebrity
status as an adult, he’d had more choices in the way he handled
it.
    He’d almost forgotten their last
exchange when she spoke, “I shop at Victoria’s Secret. How about
you?”
    She spoke so softly, still facing the
wall, that he wasn’t sure he’d