3.

“Who the fuck calls you in on a Saturday?” Jules had slurred from her bedroom as I steamed in to take back my black skinny jeans and turtleneck jumper from her wardrobe. Dressed in only a black vest and thong, it’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.

“Professor Brindle. Email, text and voicemail,” struggling to get my leg into the tight material. “Who the fuck steals a turtleneck? What’s wrong with my nice dresses?”

“I was cosplaying as a nerd, pretending to be a real journalist,” Jules mocks, groaning as a cushion lands on her face. 

I flop onto her bed, laughing at her hungover misery, whilst tugging the tight material up my calves. My encounter with Mr Russia saw me tucked up in bed for midnight. Reduced to a shit Cinderella. Not that I’m chasing some Prince Charming moment. It was just…different.

So there were no stolen kisses or electric dances. Last night ended the right way, rereading Columbia’s offer email and thanking every star in the sky. Wondering when I should ring Granny and tell her.

Plus, trying to kid myself the tingly feeling in my stomach was entirely down to the piano playing, and not the way his body felt like solid steel when he grabbed me from that jerk, dangerous driver.

My lovely, giddy bestie rolled in around four, clutching the sunglasses from the guy who ordered us cocktails in Gilded. I’ll have to ask her about that later.

“Brindle. Is he the creepy one? Blotchy perv?”  

“Yep. Which is why I’m going in covered head to toe,” gesturing at my all black, already-itchy look. With my bright red hair straightened and tied back smartly, I applied some winged eyeliner. Let’s do this. 

“Record him. Seriously. Don’t go into that meeting room without your phone set to record everything.”

“Jules…”

“I’m serious! Trust me, your future viral gossip queen.”

Passing her blonde ass some aspirin and a bottle of water I headed to the austere, column fronted buildings of the Dutton Music Department. This must be a good meeting. Maybe some promo work about the Columbia internship. Record a thank you, maybe give the College some quotes to use on their prospectuses?

Do I have a good photo smile? My brain is running away with me.

Climbing the stairs I remember Jules’s slurry words. Professor Brindle called me alluring and tried to lean over me while I was playing. He called it tuition, I called it trying to sneak a look down my top. 

Sighing I take out my cell and knock on the door at the same time as I hit record. What the hell, maybe there will be something funny to share with her later. “Miss Nighting, please enter,” sounds out his familiar voice from behind the wooden door.

The vibe is off the instant I walk in. The office is too warm, the turtleneck jumper already a huge regret. His beige, sad little space is too small, crammed with sheet music and books. Mr Brindle, his sweaty, pudgy face unusually stern. 

“I’ll keep this brief, Miss Nighting. I understand you had an offer from Columbia, for their orchestral place?”

“Yes, I’ve emailed to accept already, I want to thank you for-” but my words melt when he holds his hands up.

“There’s been a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“The place is no longer yours.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The place has been offered to Lily Kostina.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” My voice shoots up to the rafters. Lily? Forever scowling at me with her watery blue eyes, never getting to know one another throughout this course and now she’s rocking up to steal my dreams? No chance.

“There is no need for language Miss Nighting,” scowling at me like a devious little owl. 

I completely disagree. There is no way this is happening. LA? My dream, my chance to play on film scores?

“Why? What’s the reason.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss such a thing.”

“Bullshit. No. I auditioned, repeatedly. Lily didn’t even get past the second round I heard!”

“It’s not my call,” Professor Brindle exclaims, raising his hands. “I’m not on the committee, I’m only delivering this news on behalf of the family.”

My brain halts for just a beat.

“The family? Not Columbia? What has her family got to do with it?”

“You don’t want to cause a fuss about this Mina. You are a talented pianist, there is no doubt you will find another outlet for your music. Maybe the competition circuit? Apply to teach?”

“NO! I want to know how this happened!”

“Trust me you don’t.”

“Lily Kostina, what, like her family have bribed her a place like some gangster criminals?” rolling my eyes and folding my arms. Only Professor Brindle clears his throat and looks like he’s about to have a heart attack.

“Do not say such things!” he hisses!”

“I won’t leave until I know why I lost everything!”

He steps closer, close enough to make me uncomfortable and very aware he had eggs for breakfast. “Her family is powerful. Very wealthy. They obviously said the right things to Columbia. If you make a scene about this, you could be blacklisted from other opportunities.”

I want to be sick. “I won’t be quiet. This is wrong.”

“Mina your scholarship comes with obligations, one of those is to accept that you cannot have everything. Life isn’t fair, people with money will sometimes steal the very food from your table. If you blow this up you’ll lose more than one job placement. I understand they intend to agree to some compensation for you, that’s still being organized.”

I’ve heard enough. I take a step back and yank the door open. “I’ve got nothing to lose, they’ve picked the wrong girl to fuck with. You should know that. This is beyond wrong. There’s nothing they can do to me that my useless, shitty parents didn’t do already. Bring it. And shame on you for agreeing to be part of it.”

“Now Mina you need to listen!” he snaps, slapping his hand on the table. 

“No you do! Right now people just think of you as the College pervert, with your fucking creepy stares and comments. Now you’re a fucking sellout, cheating, dream-crushing creepy fuckbag!”

With that I flew out, slamming the door and hurtling down the corridor. My vision blurred, tears stinging. “Fuck!” reaching into my pocket, still recording five minutes in. Stopping the recording I immediately send it to Jules with a voice note.

“Girl, you need to listen to this. I’ve lost my place! I lost Columbia…” my voice breaking up. I dive into the ladies room grateful it’s empty. “Jules, Jules it’s gone to Lily Kostina, her corrupt rich-ass family bought her my place! I want to just…I wanna cause hell! They can’t do this to me!”

I watched as the recordings made their way over. Leaning against the sink I can’t slow my heart down. I’m too hot. Fuck it, I wrench the vile black turtleneck from my head and throw that shit in the trash. I roughly run my fingers through my red locks, abandoning the ponytail. I’ve got a black vest top underneath. My bra is gold, the bright straps glinting under the cheap bathroom lights.

The half-finished nightingale tattoo down my right shoulder mocks me. I wanted it to reflect the brightest moments of my life. Columbia was going to see the final couple of feathers filled in sunset yellow and sea blue.

I run my hands through my hair and try to think of a plan. What do I do now? All the other high quality placements have been filled. There are middle of the road orchestras, there are supporting tours. It’s not…it. It’s not the reason I’ve sat at the stool and devoted myself to music for thousands of hours of my life.

Breathing a few more times I think of Lily. Fuck her. Stealing my chance. I stare into the mirror and try to breathe. Grabbing my phone I searched for her on social media. Her pouting, self-assured face pops up immediately. The same deadpan stare she has given every time our paths crossed for the past few years.

It’s her birthday today.

Of course it fucking is.

I lick my lips. God I want to fight. I want to scream how she’s a thief. Jules knows everyone, I need to wake my hungover bitch up and get her to find me the details. 

I’m going to whatever birthday event she is having. I’m going to ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing. How she can sleep at night knowing she never beat me, only stole from me.

Without a second thought I charge out of the restrooms, head down, looking at my cell. Only to fly straight into a suited body. A strong, masculine, strangely familiar body who grips me tightly, keeping me upright. 

Just as he did last night.

Something fizzes between us, the quiet air immediately filled with a hundred different questions. “Good?” he checks that Russian drawl that sounds so effortlessly rugged. Mr Russia, suited, devilish and still talking in that low, panty-melting voice of his. A sexy guardian angel maybe? Lord knows I could use one right now.

“Good, sorry about that.”

“You are here to practice?” looking around the empty corridor. We’re completely alone, no classes in session on a weekend.

“No, no I’m just leaving actually,” shoving my phone into my pocket.

“If you hold on a moment-” quickly checking his watch, the cut of his suit unmoved my quick barrel-roll into his chest. 

“You said that last night.”

“And you left,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow. His eyes blaze with the same steel resolve that cursed my most recent performances. “Why?”

“Strange men and all those warnings a girl hears,” I smile back. Can he hear my heart, can he tell my blood is tingling right now? 

His stormy eyes narrow. “Hmm. So I’m strange?”

“You’re a stranger,” I correct, wondering how this dance of ours might end. He takes a step forward, narrowing the gap, his hand still resting on my hip where he first helped me upright. “I was disappointed you left.”

“You were? What were you planning?” fighting against a full smile just breaking out at the way his stern features are amused by my questions.

“Wait for me this time and I will tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because…I am not in the habit of talking to strange women.” His wide hand squeezes into my waist just a touch, just to make me realize we are still in close contact with each other. That there is a world outside my crushing disappointment.

“Don’t you mean strangers?” I check but he shakes his head, dropping it to whisper in my ear. “Not at all.”

“Your compliments are awful.” It’s an excuse to gently slap his chest, but leaving my hand on that huge plane of muscle seems devastatingly natural and easy.

“I rarely give them.”

“Then you shouldn’t be talking to women,” I smile, allowing my head to tilt against his, just grazing his dark hair with the side of my forehead. 

“Hmm, you truly are a curious little lastachka,” he murmurs. Together our heads move closer. I want his kiss, his closeness. To drown in something new and electric instead of the previous ten minutes.

Suddenly both our phones begin to vibrate. He checks his watch again. “One minute? Some quick signing of paperwork?”

“One last chance,” I smile, aware of my cell still vibrating. It’s got to be Jules.

“Thank you,” he whispers. Then before I fully grasp what he’s doing he pulls my waist towards him. Reeling me in like a rodeo both hands land on his chest, his lips find mine and I’m claimed. 

Toby kissed me once, after a night out. That’s when the comparisons to a puppy began, all licking and enthusiastic slobbery. This was anything but. His lips met mine, his warm hand palming my cheek, guiding me, slowly binding me to him with his deliberate, searching lips. Heat, power, desire and complete confidence in himself. I gripped the lapels of his fine charcoal suit and kept him just as close.

“Just in case you vanish again little lastachka,” he smirks after finally pulling away, his Russian accent making him sound villainous and hot as hell at the same time. Those gray eyes of his are coolly glowing and for once I’m lost for words. 

He rounds the corner whilst I dive into my back pocket and answer my cell. “Jules, did you get my-”

“DID I GET IT! What the fuck, girl there is no way Lily is stealing that place. Let me help you. I know what to do. This is what the internet is made for!”

“I don’t know…you want to make a big public shitshow?”

“Of course! They can’t do this to you girl. It’s not right.”

“I want to see Lily first, see why she did it. So hold off for now, okay?”

“Sure, sure. How are you?”

I leant against the wall and started to go through how much of a prick Mr Brindle had been, the clicking of Jules’s laptop in the background. 

“Mina…oh hell no.”

“What?”

“Lily Kostina, her family is big. Like secret billionaire fleeing Russia big. Kostina is a shareholder in like a hundred different areas, all making millions every day. She’s actually called Liliana.”

“So? That just makes them bigger shits surely, buying her a place at Columbia!”

“I’m looking at a family picture…Mina…”

“What?”

“Mr Russia.”

“What about him?”

“He’s her big brother. He’s called Sacha Kostina.”