Impossible Duet Read online

  Impossible

  Duet

  A super steamy, opposites attract novella

  Barbra Campbell

  Copyright © 2020 Barbra Campbell

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction.

  Cover design by Hans Campbell

  If you’d like to stay up to date on my stories, subscribe to my newsletter:

  https://BarbraCampbell.com

  Dedicated to everyone who’s ever taken a leap of faith.

  And to my fellow Magic 8-Ball addicts!

  Here’s to happy endings!

  Chapter 1

  Fiona

  “Hey Fiona, you free Saturday?” Suzie asked, in an unexpected phone call.

  We’d been roommates at Eastman School of Music, but had only stayed in touch loosely since going our separate ways.

  “Yeah, I’m free, but I’m calling your bluff on trying to make this sound casual. Please tell me Thunder from Down Under’s coming to town.”

  “Even better.” Suzie paused dramatically and I took the bait.

  “Let’s see, the asshole you broke up with choked on his own dick?”

  “Okay, the point was supposed to be for me to torture you, but thanks for the visual. Actually, we need a cellist for the Impossible Duet.”

  “Oh.” Her comment slowly sank through my body, flowing through my fingers as I instinctively tapped out my favorite passage before a dark mental fog obscured my ability to even feign excitement.

  “It was your go-to piece, I bet you still keep it perfected.”

  “Something like that, but it’s Thursday.”

  “I didn’t tell you the best part yet.” She tried to pump up the offer, but the initial request sat like a lead weight in my belly.

  I ignored her comment. “You want me to play in a concert in two days?”

  “Okay, I was going to be gentle, but yes, two days. I need an answer right now. I’m only asking because you can handle it.”

  “Of all the pieces…”

  “Yeah, you biffed it during a performance, you got crappy reviews, but they didn’t tell the real story and I’m asking… no, I’m begging you to get back on that horse.”

  “I’d rather play gigs where people don’t fret over a single mistake, even if that mistake did involve me vomiting onstage. No need to subject myself to the ridiculous scrutiny of music snobs.”

  “Please, we’re desperate. Our cellist broke his arm.”

  I sighed. “I’m not going to say I’m keeping tabs, but don’t you owe me a favor? Wasn’t I the one who skipped an audition because you wanted the position more than me?”

  “This is my repayment. A few years in the making, but you’re going to die.” Her smugness humored me.

  “Me helping you is repayment?”

  “I can’t believe you haven’t figured it out yet.”

  “Figured what out?”

  “Who the violinist will be?”

  “I presume Stuart Lamott, or is he not the principal violinist of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra anymore.”

  Giggles indicated I’d missed something. Suzie continued her taunt. “Oh my gosh, I guess we haven’t talked since I moved?”

  “You moved?”

  “I’m not in Dallas anymore.” Another one of Suzie’s dramatic pauses. “I’m in Houston.”

  My breaths slowed. I didn’t want to be presumptuous but she couldn’t possibly be asking what I thought she was.

  “Fiona? I didn’t mean you’d actually die.”

  “I’m here,” I said softly.

  Her voice held confusion. “I expected you to be happier. Oliver Cranston. Rugged features, devilish eyes, and one of the few violinists who hits the gym as often as he practices. The sexiest violinist ever. The guy you drooled over since before you got boobs. He’s the violinist you’ll perform with.”

  My skin tingled as I visualized him, then my stomach fluttered. I wasn’t sure if it fluttered because Oliver Cranston was mentioned, or that Suzie was asking me to perform with him, or that the last time I’d performed the piece I’d thrown up in the middle of it. “Suzie, this is the most twisted dream come true.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t care how big of a favor I owed you, if I played cello, you wouldn’t be getting this phone call right now.”

  “Ha! You only loved him for his music ability. His beefy build and broodiness would be wasted on you. How’d you convince him to let me cover the part?”

  Long pause.

  I cut to the chase so she wouldn’t have to. “That far down the list? I can’t believe he didn’t just cancel.”

  “He’s vying for the concertmaster position with the New York Philharmonic but he’s worried about the asshole-ish reputation he’s picked up over the last few years.”

  “I still can’t believe he’d agree to perform with me.” Euphoria sang in my core, slowly increasing in volume while I considered putting myself back out there for a chance to live a dream.

  “Well, I didn’t quite tell him who I was contacting, but just that he could trust me.”

  The song of happiness faded to silence. If Ollie googled me, he’d see the terrible reviews, and then nothing else, because no one wanted to hire me after my dismal debut performance. My master plan had been run through the shredder as the reviews flooded the entertainment world the next morning. It might have been explainable except they were accompanied by pictures of me drinking the night before, as if my hangover had lasted twenty-four hours, but accuracy was spared.

  Despite being game for almost anything, I wasn’t ready to humiliate myself face to face with Ollie. I covered for myself, “I almost forgot, I’m playing cello at the library’s story hour Saturday morning, and I usually perform at the outdoor mall in the afternoons, and—”

  “Fiona, call the library, tell them an emergency came up, get in your car, and get your ass over here. If I don’t have a replacement by tomorrow morning, Oliver’s going to do a solo piece instead.”

  “Sounds like he has a back-up plan. Besides, I’m not really doing the symphony thing anymore.”

  “I thought the biggest mistake of your life was when you chickened out after your debut, vomit and all.”

  “Reviews stick with you these days, no more scouring newspaper clippings. Everyone can see every review whenever they want.”

  “But you were brilliant… until you blew chunks. Granted it was traumatic for all of us…” She paused to laugh. “… like everything else, you used it as an excuse to quit.”

  My chest tightened. She was pulling out all the stops. “I still play.”

  “Not to your full potential.”

  “But I’m happy.”

  “No, you’re complacent.”

  Anger welled inside of me. Why did everyone get judged by the same standard? The disaster had shown me I didn’t want the rigid, rehearsed stage and tour routine. I loved free-lancing. It fit my free-spirit better.

  Suzie wasn’t done. “You quit boyfriends, music school, your career… for crying out loud, you didn’t even finish painting the cute little chipmunk at the pottery place. It’s probably sitting on the shelf wondering when it’s owner will come back and finish it?”

  “That was three years ago. I seriously doubt they still have it.” The single piece of defiance I could offer.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid. The bad reviews were an eye-opener. I don’t want that kind of stress in my life.”

  “And I suppose that’s how you justify skipping the audition back in college? I mean, you would have totally gotten the position if you’d auditioned so I’m glad you didn’t, but you have to get over whatever’s holding you back.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with living day to day.�
�

  “There’s also nothing wrong with living your dream. Tell me how many dates you’ve gone on in the last year.”

  “My dating record has nothing to do with anything.”

  “You used to drool over guys, but never made it past one date. Any improvement?”

  “I’ve dated,” I stated defensively, although not actually answering her question.

  “That’s a no. What gives?” Suzie couldn’t understand why I didn’t connect with the guys I dated.

  I couldn’t either, but something was always missing.

  Apparently, she didn’t need me to say anything. “Remember our vow to take the world by storm?”

  “Not all storms are hurricanes, Suz.” I was happy, lived for the moment, but the only whirlwind I’d created has been the rush of my duet partner trying to get away from me spewing in the middle of our performance.

  “Ugh Fiona, you have to do this. I’m going to live vicariously through you.” She’d been a professional musician but practicing more than three hours a day was too hard on her body and she’d had to give it up for lesser groups.

  “That’s not nice. Why is everyone convinced you have to perform music written by dead guys on big stages to be successful anyway?”

  “Take the world by storm with Oliver, and I’ll know I played my part even though I wasn’t on stage with you. Did I mention the high dollar cologne he wears that practically melts my panties?”

  “You’re not playing fair.” My hormones swirled to life at the thought of doing more than playing a duet with Ollie.

  “Imagine how close you’d get to sit to him, being cooped up in his office or a practice room, tight quarters, emotions might escalate, and he’s single.”

  “So now you’re selling this on sex rather than a musical opportunity?”

  “What do you have to lose?”

  “My dignity. Again.”

  “Why are you letting life pass you by? Here’s your chance, and you’re literally his last option. Show up and he’ll play with you.”

  “Setting the bar as low as possible?”

  “What happened the fiery spirit who once said she’d challenge herself to something crazy every Leap Year?”

  “I forgot all about that.”

  “What is it with you and commitment? Please, pretty please. The concert’s Saturday, February twenty-ninth, Leap Year Day, or whatever you call it. This has to be a sign.”

  What bothered me most about everything Suzie said was that she was right. We might have barely stayed in touch over the last few years, but she had a firm grasp on my past. I hadn’t moved. I hadn’t done anything exciting. I hadn’t dated. Despite living on whims, I wasn’t grasping all of the opportunities I wanted.

  The drawback to being a childhood prodigy was my parents expected me to be a machine, everyone did. Then there were all the people who assumed prodigy meant perfect… in all areas of life. The pressure was too much most of the time, and unbearable the rest.

  The tiniest flaw and I was demoted to talented. The distinction shouldn’t have been tragic, but the scorn from my parents outweighed reality.

  Quitting Eastman School of Music was the first conscious decision I made in structuring my own life. The pompous guys I failed to go on second dates with were lesser triumphs. But while I was staging personal victories, all anyone else saw was me quitting. It became easier to aim low than try something and be called a quitter. I would never let stress and expectations overtake my life again.

  But performing with a master of the violin was an opportunity few people were handed. And I was definitely lying to myself when I tried to downplay my attraction to him as a reason to go for it.

  My core was already aching with jealousy that Suzie knew what his cologne smelled like and I didn’t.

  The fire of my college days reignited but without the demands of parents or professors. I was doing this because I wanted to.

  “Okay Suz, I’m in.”

  Chapter 2

  Oliver

  Suzie had begged me to give a fairly unknown cellist a try, and assured me that my reputation as a controlling jerk could be remedied by the unexpected choice. I didn’t mind surprising the audience, if indeed the newbie was capable, but her secrecy had me on edge. Of course—because I liked to control everything.

  It had been a huge concession on my part to relent, but the anomaly of the concert being on Leap Day gave me the courage to see who Suzie came up with.

  I waited in the green room on the promise I would audition whoever she’d lined up, and if they didn’t meet my approval, I could send them packing.

  The whole mysterious scenario would have been a deal breaker if not for my reputation issue and only a month left to prove I could be a team player.

  I opened the Magic 8-Ball app on my phone. “Am I a fool for trusting Suzie?”

  Tapping the image of the ball, the answer floated to the top: BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW.

  Damnit. The non-committal answers drove me crazy.

  I reset the ball and tapped the screen again. Same answer. Unbelievable.

  The back door to the theater slammed and I turned to see an eccentrically gorgeous woman round the corner into the green room. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders as she pulled a pencil out of her bun, a bright pink stripe down one side, vibrant green eyes, and a broad smile. Backpack straps aided her tight, white tank top in accenting the plentiful curves of her breasts. Her thin top did little to hide the fact that her bra matched the stripe in her hair which also matched her cello case. So much pink.

  Leggings that hugged every other curve didn’t offer a safe alternative for my gaze. My pulse raced, half from worry, half from a wild attraction.

  The slap of her flip-flops shattered my fantasy. Some people had shoe fetishes, but I had the opposite when it came to flip-flops. They were the scourge of foot coverings, except in this case since they allowed me to see her perfectly manicured toenails. The desire to give her a foot massage was breaking my sanity.

  She approached in slow-motion as my senses went into overdrive. Each step seemed to take an eternity. The light breeze from the air conditioner prickled every square inch of my skin. Even the skin that wasn’t exposed. What was happening? Was my reaction to something other than the air? Was my reaction to her?

  The draw she had on me was silenced by the pop of bubble gum. My second least favorite thing next to ill-fitting footwear.

  Was this the cellist Suzie called? I thought she understood I expected a professional.

  My gaze slowly travelled upward. No wonder Suzie had kept her a secret, I would have given a resounding, ‘Hell, no’, but I couldn’t say it to this woman’s face, her sweet smile, or her sparkling eyes.

  Other than her obvious beauty, she had some kind of irrational pull on me, like I was supposed to be with her. I warned myself not to get too lost in a fantasy. There probably wasn’t a man who’d been in her presence who didn’t feel the same. And while she set off every sexual alarm in my body, she was far from my ideal woman: mature, elegant, and not so pink. And definitely not the kind of musician I could perform with.

  It was Friday, the concert was Saturday. There was no time to teach this amateur everything she would need to know in twenty-four hours. Without even checking my app, I could be certain the answer would be OUTLOOK NOT SO GOOD.

  “Excuse me.” I bolted to the stage where Suzie was doing something to the curtain.

  Her back was to me and she startled at my harsh but whispered words.

  “Who the hell is that out there?”

  Suzie winced and her jaw clenched. “Is Fiona here?”

  “Is Fiona a pink-striped, cello playing, skin showing…” I clenched my fists while stopping myself from saying anything else. Fiona oozed sex appeal and I came dangerously close to mentioning it, which would have been far from appropriate and in violation of our newly revised Musician’s Handbook.

  Tucking her head slightly and squinting at my hysteria, she said, “Sound
s about right. You promised to give her a chance.”

  “No, I promised to give a professional cellist a chance.”

  “She’ll break your reputation of being controlling and difficult to work with.”

  Not what I was worried about breaking. I wanted to fuck her, and couldn’t shake the errant thought from my brain. Jesus, I could switch from one bad reputation to another. “This is a mistake.”

  “You afraid she’ll outplay you?”

  “No. I’m worried she’s more versed in nail painting parties and beaches. How old is she anyway?”

  “She’s older than she looks. Please don’t be a dick.”

  I stared at Suzie. She’d only been Personnel Manager for the symphony for a year and her tactics weren’t always by the book, but she was the best manager we’d ever had. I’d never considered what she thought about my attitude. “Do you think I deserve my reputation?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Yeah. I mean, you’re a nice guy personally, but…”

  I waved her off. “You don’t have to say it. I’ve had to fight for everything. One obstacle after another.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Right now, with the New York Phil on the line, I can’t have some wannabe fucking up my chances.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked her to come if I had any doubt she would make you shine. Show her where to set up. I’ll be there in a second.” Suzie resumed stitching the curtain.

  My brain scrambled for an excuse. Anything to prevent me from walking back to her and risking doing something I would regret. She was the exact opposite of my ideal duet partner, and I gave myself a mental shake when my dick twitched at the memory of her pink bra showing through her tank top, and the way she tossed her hair when she pulled the pencil out. What would I do when she spread her legs to hold her cello? Was I discounting her for sex appeal? No. She looked young, impulsive, and not like any top level classically trained musician I’d ever worked with.

  “Go on, she doesn’t bite.” Suzie said without even a glance my direction.

  When I rounded the corner to the green room Fiona was bent over, arms around her legs. I assured myself she was stretching. Why else would someone have their head against their knees? Regardless, my fingers itched to grab her hips. I would have thought she’d slipped me a love potion, lust potion, something that made me insanely crazy for her.