Page 20 of The Temptation (Executive Suite Secrets #4)

PIERCE SUTTON

As I escorted my parents to our seats in Music Hall, I found that the butterflies in my stomach had doubled in both number and size.

My palms grew sweaty as I clutched the slender program in my fist. It wasn’t so much that I worried about the quality of Simon’s performance.

He was going to be perfect. Simon was always perfect when he played.

I was more worried about the pressure he might put on himself.

This wasn’t one of his competitions where he was being graded and critiqued.

My parents enjoyed the symphony, but they wouldn’t dare style themselves as experts in classical music.

As soon as we found our seats, I glanced at the program to see what was being played. A frown tugged at the corners of my mouth, and a new anxiety twisted in my stomach.

“What’s wrong?” my mother inquired in a whisper.

My head jerked up and discovered that she was watching me from my right.

“Oh. Nothing. Everything is fine.”

“ Pfft . I saw that look. What’s wrong?” she pressed.

“Well, I was thinking Simon must not have had much say in what’s being performed this evening. Mozart is one of the selections.”

“He doesn’t like Mozart?”

My frown gave way to a half smile, and my thumb brushed across his name as tonight’s soloist and artist-in-residence.

“No, he’s not a fan. He thinks Mozart is pompous and pretentious.

His popularity is overblown because of his age.

He’s a bigger fan of Tchaikovsky and Mendelssohn.

” They were also on the program for the evening.

Mother and Father chatted about this and that for a few minutes while I lost myself in the same excited anticipation I felt every time I saw Simon perform.

After all these years, it had yet to become a mundane event for me.

But then, I didn’t think it ever would. Watching someone of Simon’s caliber and natural talent was a gift.

Each time I saw him, part of me wondered if it would be my last. It was only a matter of time before he fluttered off to play sold-out concerts around the globe.

He belonged to the musical world, not just one person.

As the house lights dimmed, my heart leaped into my throat. The musicians filed out, and I searched for Simon’s familiar, handsome face, even though I knew he would be the last to step onto the stage.

As he appeared, the twisting tension in my chest eased, and I could draw in a deep breath. He looked so different onstage. His messy blond hair was slicked back and stiffly styled, as if every bit of wildness in him was reined in, creating a single outlet for his boundless energy—the music.

And when he started playing, all thoughts of whether he liked the piece were forgotten. No one could ever tell his preferences. Everything he played was done with such precision and eloquence. A wave of emotions and beauty transported the listener, carrying them away from the world.

But I’d watched Simon play more than anyone else.

I knew his quirks by now. I could see the furrow in his brow as someone dared to step on his note a half beat too soon.

It happened twice, and I was sure he was barely holding in the urge to beat them with his bow.

The problem for Simon was that he demanded absolute perfection from himself.

Anything less was a disgrace and an insult to the intentions of the composer.

By the same token, if he deigned to play with a full orchestra, he demanded the same level of perfection.

That was not something easily achieved with ninety other people.

It was why he preferred playing in competitions or as a soloist with an accompanying piano, or even in a cavalcade of artists who each played solos.

In short, Simon didn’t play well with others, though he tried hard to.

My mom’s hand landed on my arm when Simon was halfway through Violin Concerto in E Minor by Mendelssohn. She squeezed, and I looked over at her to see her smiling so broadly. Her eyes were closed, and her right hand rested on her heart.

“Amazing, isn’t he?” I whispered in her ear.

“Sublime.” She opened her eyes and gazed at Simon. “But so alone.”

I opened my mouth to state that he was supposed to stand apart from the rest of the orchestra because he was their special guest and soloist, but the words stopped in my throat.

That wasn’t what she meant. Staring at him, I could see what she meant.

It was a thought that had crossed my mind more than once as I watched Simon play. He was so alone, so isolated.

Too often it was believed someone like Simon needed to be apart from the crowd. His talent made him too special, too precious to be with the rest of the rabble. But it also meant that he was alone , his existence emptier and colder than the rest of ours.

It wasn’t something I’d experienced myself. I’d grown up with a younger brother I was close to. Not to mention, more friends that I knew what to do with. It was rare for me to ever feel alone, and even less likely for me to feel lonely.

But Simon…

He’d still been young when he lost Sawyer, and even then, while Sawyer might have doted on his brother, there had been an inevitable distance between them.

Simon and Sawyer had been nothing alike.

They hadn’t enjoyed the same hobbies or interests.

I also couldn’t remember Simon ever talking about the friends he’d had as a kid.

And yet, if he was lonely and in pain, no one could see it. He presented an untouchable, unapproachable facade to the world. Nothing bothered him. Everything was beneath him. Even my endless rejections. Supposedly.

My mom squeezed my arm again. “You need to make sure that you take good care of him.”

Yes, someone needed to take very good care of him.

The evening’s performance of the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra seemed to be finished in a flash.

All too soon we were waiting for a page to fetch us and lead us to the stage where Simon was waiting with the conductor.

The other performers had already filed out and were likely halfway to their cars, ready to be home and relaxing in comfortable clothes.

My heart clenched to see the clear exhaustion and pain digging lines in Simon’s face in an unguarded moment as he spoke with the conductor. However, the second he saw us coming down the aisle, it all disappeared. He hurried to assist my mother up the wide wooden stairs leading to the stage.

“Oh, how amazing! And those lights! So bright! I can’t imagine how you do this all the time,” she exclaimed as she walked across the stage with him.

“Funnily enough, it is something you grow accustomed to.” Simon flashed her a broad grin. “Did you enjoy the performance?”

“Loved it. Simply loved it. Your playing stole my heart away.”

“Wonderful job, Simon,” my father praised.

Some lingering lines of tension disappeared from the corners of Simon’s eyes as if he relaxed that last bit.

“Allow me to introduce you to the orchestra’s conductor, Maestro John Padgett. He is the one who pulled together tonight’s excellent selection of music. He did cave to my pleading, though, and included the short Tchaikovsky piece.”

That did not surprise me in the least.

Pleasantries were exchanged, compliments given, and hands shaken.

I tried to pay attention to the conductor as he was talking, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Simon.

He appeared off. Twitchy. Anxious. His eyes were too bright and his smile too wide and stiff.

Nervous energy poured off him in angry waves.

I lasted only a couple of minutes before I couldn’t take another second of it. Stepping closer to Simon, I wrapped an arm around his slender shoulders and pulled him against my taller frame. His entire body was as rigid and stiff as a steel rod.

“Shall we pop out for drinks? Or maybe a late dinner?” Simon asked as the maestro excused himself. “I know a cute restaurant that has excellent tapas if you would like something lighter.”

I tightened my hold on Simon, squeezing him into me.

“Mother and Father are tired. They need to return to the hotel.” Reaching down with my free hand, I captured his left hand.

I pressed a light kiss to the fingertips that had been compressing the violin strings into the board.

“You’re also exhausted. Let me take you home. ”

“But—” Simon’s argument cut off as I kissed his fingers again. The tension in his frame seemed to ooze away, and he leaned into me.

“Yes, dear,” my mother agreed. “Oliver and I aren’t as young as we used to be. I’m ready for my evening tea and sleep.” She leaned in close and brushed a kiss to his cheek. “You need to rest as well. I know you’re still young, but if you push yourself too hard, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

When my mother stepped away, my father stepped up and patted Simon lightly on the arm. “You were magnificent tonight. Now it’s time to rest.” My father used his tone that left no room for argument.

“Yes, sir,” Simon murmured.

“Good man. Let Pierce take care of you. We look forward to seeing you at the office party next week.”

Simon remained silent until my parents had left the stage and were walking back up the aisle.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get any of the other members to stay and meet your parents.

Tonight’s program was rather long and complicated.

It was also the second night. Everyone was exhausted.

I’m sure they were afraid of creating a poor impression.

Plus, I’m not close to anyone. It’s kind of hard to ask for favors without it feeling like I’m throwing my weight around. I-I-I just?—”

“Simon,” I interrupted. “It was fine. My parents didn’t mind in the least. It was more than enough of a treat for them to meet the conductor. Plus, the important thing was them getting to see you play tonight. You were amazing, and I wanted them to witness your brilliance in person.”

Simon huffed, making some disgruntled, disbelieving noises. I gave him a little shake.

“You’re amazing, and you know it.”

“Yeah, but he made me play Mozart. You know I fucking hate Mozart. He’s so…so…”

“Pretentious?”

“Yes! I had to threaten the maestro with my bow to get him to add the Tchaikovsky.”

“Simon,” I growled in warning, but it was all for show. I felt better seeing that some of his usual spark had returned. He still looked utterly drained to me.

“What? It’s an excellent piece, and it’s short. I’m the one who has to do all the troublesome parts. The rest of them simply have to keep up with me.”

And there was the arrogance that ruffled feathers.

“Did you drive?”

Simon leaned his head on my chest and slowly shook it. “No. I always hire a car to take me to and from Music Hall on performance nights. I’m too tired to drive.”

“Okay. Can you get your coat and violin? I’ll meet you out front. I’ll drive you home.”

Simon nodded and released me. He shuffled across the stage, disappearing into the wings.

I remained where I was, biting my tongue to hold in words of frustration and anger.

Simon had met and joined the orchestra during the summer.

He’d known these people for months, and he’d yet to make any friends among them.

Asking a couple of them to stay behind for five minutes to meet his boyfriend’s parents should have been such a small thing, and he either didn’t feel comfortable asking or they hadn’t made him feel welcome enough that he could ask.

Sure, he could be brazen and sassy. Definitely arrogant.

But Simon was never mean. He never said a cruel word about someone’s playing unless he was provoked.

And God knew he could more than back up all his bragging.

I’d only ever seen him as friendly and kind around people, even when he didn’t know I was watching.

I hated the idea of him feeling alone while doing the thing he loved most in the world.

Yet, what was I supposed to do about it?

Tonight, the best I could do was try to take care of him.