“The bulge?”
“For underwear models.” As soon as the words slip out of my mouth, I want to smack myself. I didn’
t mean to say it, but maybe subconsciously it’s been on my mind because of the billboard outside Eugene’s office. Might as well go shameless—it’s too late for modesty now.
He scoffs. “Nobody adds twenty pounds.”
“I’ve seen some ridiculous shots.” Wonder if Declan’s underwear shots were Photoshopped. Since I have no decency to cling to at the moment, I kind of want to check, but decide that’d be too blatant. I make a mental note to size him up later, so to speak, when he’s distracted.
“I’ve never had to have anything Photoshopped.”
Wow. It’s like he read my mind. Except would any man really admit to adding twenty pounds to his crotch? I think not.
And since I don’t want to spend time contemplating how large he is, I ask, “Do you play?”
“I did, a little, when I was a kid. I wanted to play the Schubert Impromptu.”
“The one I played at the airport?”
“Yeah. But it was going to take too long to master. And I didn’t have the time to spend to be able to play just one piece. Or the patience to practice all the drills for the different techniques.”
“Most people don’t, but if you master all the techniques, you can learn any piece in hours. I mean, except for a concerto because it’s so long.”
He looks at me skeptically. “Anything? Even Chopin or Liszt?”
“I learned Liszt’s Consolation Number Three in an hour. So yeah.” I run my hands along the cool, smooth keys. Calm and peace settle over me.
“Play something for me,” he says.
“Don’t you have to work?” I ask. I don’t know what working entails for a model/actor, but it seems like he must have some schedule.
“I have an hour before my first appointment. Besides, your job is to do whatever I ask you to.”
Within reason. “Well, if you want to pay me to play for you, I won’t complain.” And it’s going to be a super-easy and fun job, too, if he wants me to play the piano for an hour like this every day.
I sit down and play a couple of rapid scales to warm up my fingers. The Steinway responds beautifully, the notes clear and vibrant.
My fingers move across the keys, then I launch into some Chopin. The cheery melody fills the Malibu mansion.
“What’s that called?” he asks.
“The ‘Minute Waltz,’ supposedly because you’re supposed to play it in a minute, although most play it under two.”
“Oh, a waltz?” He seems pleased for a moment, but then frowns. “You can’t really dance to that, can you? It’s awfully fast.”
“Chopin’s waltzes aren’t for dancing. But this one is.”
I play my own arrangement of Shostakovich’s waltz. The composition is very famous, and everyone’s heard of it even if they don’t know the composer or where it came from.
“Hey, I know that one,” Declan says when I’m finished. He comes over and puts a hand on the piano. “It’s from Jazz Suite.”
He’s close enough that I can smell his soap. And that special man scent—full of testosterone and sexy as hell. He seems to have a very potent version, because it’s making me want to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and inhale until I burst.
Then I remember what he just said. “Actually, it’s from Suite for Variety Orchestra. The work was initially lost and attributed improperly a few times.”
“But you can perform it on the piano, even though it’s for an orchestra?”
“If you can find the arrangement or do the work of arrangement yourself, sure. Lots of pieces are arranged for solo piano. Like ‘Ellens Gesang III,’ which was Schubert’s but arranged for solo piano by Liszt.” I play the popular main melody so he can hear it.