I laugh. “Maybe another time.”
“That’s too bad,” he says. “How about Friday night? I could take you out for a drink, maybe dinner, and see where the night goes?”
I might have misread the intention of our meeting last week—I’m still not sure about that—but it’s pretty clear what he means by seeing where the night goes.
The idea of going out with a wealthy, handsome man who devotes his life to charity work is pretty appealing. That is, normally it would be. I don’t know if it’s the way his employees seem a little bit afraid of him, or maybe it’s knowing that this isn’t his real nose, or the fact that he didn’t get me strawberry crepes. It’s not like any of these things are dealbreakers on the surface. Still, I rack my brain, trying to think of a reason to say yes, or even to say no. I find that I simply don’t want to. Even more, after getting to know him a little better, I find that I don’t want to sign an exclusive contract with his company, either.
I’m too afraid to cut ties and burn bridges that I might regret later, so I decide to only handle one thing at a time. I’m already fake-dating Oliver, so I use him as an excuse.
“Sorry,” I hear myself say. “I have a boyfriend.”
He frowns. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just meant it as a business meeting. You know, like last week.”
“Oh. Right.” I don’t believe him, but I’m too uncomfortable to say that. “Maybe we should keep our business meetings during work hours. Like today.”
He nods. “Fair enough.” He reaches his hand out to shake mine. I can’t help but notice that the awkward hugs seem to be off the table now that I’ve rejected him. I’m not disappointed.
“I’ll have my people write up a contract for you to look over,” he says. “I think you’re going to like what I have to offer.”
“Great.” I force a smile. “Looking forward to it.”
Once I’m alone in my car, I open the box of crepes and snap a picture with my phone. I send it to Oliver. Without any other context than that, he writes back.
Oliver
What a jerk.
* * *
I thought the turnout for the second practice might be a little smaller as people decide that this isn’t for them. Instead, the crowd is even bigger. Some of Oliver’s students’ parents have decided to join in the fun. Friends of the band members and improv groups have also joined in, and so have a few of Tina’s friends who have been sworn to secrecy. Lana looks stressed as her studio becomes crowded. There’s almost no room to move.
She looks at me, her eyes wide and brow furrowed. “I’ve never had a class this big. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll find a bigger spot we can rent out for next time. Maybe a ballroom at a hotel or something.”
She nods, biting her lip, then looks back at the packed room ahead of us. “I guess we’ll just have to work with what we have for now.”
I take a seat in the back of the room. This time, Oliver stays at the front of the room with Lana, talking to her and his students about how the marching band will play into the dance routine. I watch him from afar, only able to see him for seconds at a time as the people crowding the room between us move, allowing glimpses here and there.
The room is filled with all sorts of different sounds. There’s Lana’s stereo playing Sara Bareilles’s song, there’s the shuffling of feet as everyone moves as one to the beat, and louder than everything else is the sound of clarinets and flutes and trumpets and saxophones playing along perfectly to the tune. I smile. I can just picture all of this happening outside at the fair with everything else that Oliver and I have planned. It’s going to be amazing.
Oliver’s eyes lock with mine across the room. I look away, embarrassed to be caught staring. When I look back, he’s still watching me. He’s not smiling or frowning, just staring with a neutral expression. I reach up and tuck my hair behind my ear, then lean back in my seat and cross my arms. I look away from him again, only to be drawn back in a second later. This time, the corner of his mouth curves up ever so slightly before he returns his attention to his students.
When practice is over, most of the dancers begin to funnel through the door and out to the parking lot. I stay at the back of the room, waiting for the crowd to die down before I attempt to follow them outside.
“Excuse me. Are you Priscilla Cain?”
I turn to look at a woman approaching me with one arm wrapped around her teen daughter’s shoulders. I recognize the girl as one of the kids who approached me and Oliver during the first practice a couple days ago. Kayla, I think. My first thought is that Kayla’s mom is mad at me. I don’t know why she would be. Maybe Kayla told her that everyone saw me fall to the floor with her band teacher the other night. The thought turns my face red.
I stand up. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m Marie,” she says. “Kayla told me that you’re the event planner who’s organizing this whole thing. I just think that what you’re doing is so sweet and romantic.”
“Thank you,” I say, beaming.
“I wanted to ask if you have any room in your calendar to plan a wedding in six months? I just got engaged last week and I don’t even know where to start with all the planning.”
I think about the contract that Malcolm gave me, intending for me to be exclusive with him. I don’t have to think too hard to decide that I would rather help plan this woman’s wedding.
