Page 36 of Steal My Heart

Remi

I don’t tell Angelo the part where I was dumb enough to get involved with a mark, because I find myself on the brink of history repeating itself. “My ex was a trumpet player in the house band at Hotel D’Amico’s lounge,” I tell him instead. “I’d hang around listening to him play, and that’s how I crossed paths with Sienna.”

“When was this?”

“A few months ago,” I answer. “Sienna’s husband gifted her a Savannah, and the womanhatedthe cat. Somehow, I got roped into being the pet sitter. My keyboard was gone, and I needed the cash, so I jumped at the opportunity.”

“What happened to your keyboard?” Angelo raises an eyebrow.

“My dad found it under my bed and pawned it the same day I brought it home.” I blink rapidly, fighting back the tears. “Earlier that year, he’d already pawned MawMaw’s piano that I lovedplaying, but him doing the same thing to my keyboard? That was it for me; I cut ties with him and moved in with my boyfriend.”

“And Nola?” he prompts.

“I never had a cat before, but Nola and I clicked. She wasn’t bad, she just needed love and attention, neither of which she was getting from Sienna.”

Remi

A few months ago…

“This fucking cat has pissed on my custom chaise lounge from Milan!” Sienna shouts by way of greeting. “I’m going to kill her and mount her head over my desk!”

Nola, the queen that she is, watches Sienna’s tantrum with bored indifference from her perch on top of the non-soiled couch.

“Come on, Nola. Let’s practice pottying outside with your harness and leash.” I grab the treat bag from my pocket, and the cat bounds over. I squat down and get her situated, rewarding her cooperation with a little pellet. “Good girl.”

Standing, I clear my throat and address Sienna. “I was wondering if you had a chance to talk to your husband?—”

“If there’s a chance not to talk to that man, I take it,” she says with a dramatic sigh.

“I meant, about me auditioning?—”

“Remi, I’m sure you’re a good cornet player?—”

“Piano. I play the piano,” I remind her.

“Piano.” Sienna waves her manicured hand. “My point is, this stage is the hottest in town. Every musician wants to play here, and you have to be the best of the best to make the cut.”

“But if I could only audition?—”

“Real talk here, Remi. You’re too sweet for this cutthroat world. You’ll get chewed up and spit out.”

I go to argue, but she sticks her head out the door. “I need a piece of furniture moved to the curb yesterday! And someone call the cleaners to deep clean my office!”

“Come on, Nola,” I tell the cat, who’s bored with us and has decided now is the perfect opportunity for a grooming session.

Another treat gets her attention, and I lead her out and through the service entrance.

“Listen, I don’t blame you for peeing on Sienna’s furniture, but you’ve got to behave, okay? I’m afraid she’s going to put you down, for real.”

Nola meows.

“I’m going to hold you to that,” I tell her.

We begin our stroll, with the cat having quickly learned from our previous leash training sessions. “What a smart girl you are,” I praise. The cat is smart as a whip; that’s not the problem. The problem is her human.

I worry my bottom lip with my teeth, going over what I should’ve said to Sienna to land an audition. Cutthroat world? Lady, I was trained to be a pickpocket at age eight. I think I know a thing or two about cutthroat worlds. But to tell her about my past would be to shoot myself in the foot. Who trusts a thief?

No one, that’s who.