Page 29 of Bribed by the Billionaire Bad Boy

“Well.” I smile at the closing. “I’m honored.”

Spinning around on the bench to face me again, she takes a little seated bow, pushing her glasses up when she rises. “Your turn.”

I clasp my hands together in my lap. “Should I use the piano, too? Or would that be a cop-out now?”

“You’re stalling like we won’t see each other again in class. Even if I have to go to Statistics before you answer, I won’t let you get away with this.”

It’s simple enough to uncover the mystery. “A sugar glider is the exotic animal I decided you remind me of.”

She stares.

I clear my throat. “Because you mentioned—”

“I remember what I said.” Calypso’s lips twist into adecidedly humorless expression. “You really went and decided that I was some little rare animal for you to play with?”

There’s no reason to hide the truth. Or maybe there is. But I don’t. “I did.”

“Hm,” she hums, all amusement leeched from her tone as she returns to the piano. “I respect your honesty. I don’t appreciate you making fun of me with your friends.” Tired scales repeatedly leave her fingers, unlike her.

“I wasn’t making fun of you, if that means anything.” Putting on proper airs, I state, “I’m contractually bound not to.”

The softest laugh puffs out of her. “That is true.” Character slips into the scales, and they begin to flow once more. “Tell me exactly how you think comparing me to an exotic creature and referring to me in that manner with your friends isn’t making fun of me.”

Leaning back, I prop my hands behind me. “Simple. Sugar gliders are cute.”

“Tiny flying rats.”

“Closer to possum, actually.”

“That is not better!” Laughter fills her voice, and she throws me a look. “What the heck. Possums eat fleas and ticks andcarcasses.”

“A valiant protector against Lyme disease, possums.Butsugar gliders aren’t exactly like their more grotesque cousins; they eat sap and ice cream.”

“Ice cream, huh?”

“I’ve also, through my observations, learned that they play the piano.”

She doesn’t laugh. Calypso offers a brief glance over her shoulder, then sighs. “I could have sworn I’d asked you not to come again.”

“If you tell me to leave now, I will.” Even as the words exit my mouth, I hope she lets me stay. In this room, with her seatedthere, everything else in the world is distant, a problem for later. The complete silence of a life devoid of anything to hold onto, anyone to listen and understand, doesn’t exist. We are different colors in the same ray of light.

Together, we are that much closer to creating a rainbow.

She doesn’t tell me to leave. “You said ‘noted’ like you understood you weren’t supposed to come again.”

“I took note. I never said I’d adhere.”

Her slow tune finds its way to the wistful melody ofoursong, then before it has a chance to breathe, the door swings open, and it slams off.

Mr. D’plume steps into his room, two cups of coffee filling his hands, and looks between us. Kicking the door shut with abangthat interrupts every soft notion Calypso and I built into the space, he relinquishes an interested sound.

Calypso releases a breath. “Mr. D’plume.”

“Calypso,” he greets, setting one of the coffees on the piano in front of her before looking at me. “Mr. Hawthorn.” His gaze shifts from my face to my seat. “You’re on my desk.”

“Excellent observation skills,” I say, but I get off, moving to the spot on the bench beside Calypso. Our gazes lock for a second, even though we sit facing opposite ways, and she scoots to provide me room.

“This is unexpected,” murmurs Mr. D’plume as he leans against the spot I just abdicated. “I wasn’t aware when I’d opened my room up to another person.”