“Cole,” I began and then I heard something that brought the reality of who he was and who we were to each other crashing into my chest.

“Hurry up, Cole! I need to go to the bathroom!” a female voice whined in the background.

“You ass**le,” I couldn’t stop myself from saying.

“What?” he asked, sounding bewildered.

“It sounds like you need to go and I have to get to work.” I tried to control my temper. I needed to. I was tired of giving him the reaction he was looking for.

“It’s not what you think, Viv. Don’t start being a bitch before you know what’s going on,” he snarled.

He did not just call me a bitch!

“Look, some of us have commitments to keep. Not that you’d know anything about that!” I spat out.

“Is that what all of this has been about? Commitment? Because we’ve talked about this, Vivian, you know how I feel about you. About us. But maybe we need to talk about it again. Because I don’t like feeling like I’m f**king up all the time,” he retorted angrily.

I didn’t have time to get into this with him. And I didn’t want to. My head couldn’t be wrapped up in him when I had to get to work.

“I’ve got to go,” I stated.

“Fine, if that’s what you’ve got to do,” Cole shot back.

My mood had done a one-eighty. Cole could make me giddy like a schoolgirl one minute and so unbelievably angry the next. Why did I subject myself to this over and over again?

“Can I call you later?” he asked gruffly.

“Why?” I demanded, slamming my brush down. I didn’t have time to do my hair now. Cole was going to make me late on my first day. He had an uncanny ability in screwing everything up royally.

“Because, I don’t know, I just want to talk to you. We’ve got a conference call with the label later. They’ve been talking about some new opportunities for the band. I’d like to tell you about them, I guess. But if you’re too busy being pissed at me, maybe not.” No apology for talking to me with another girl in his room. No contrition for playing the slut once again. Just blanket acceptance of what he was and what we were to each other.

“I don’t know,” was all I could say.

“Well, I hope you answer when I call,” Cole said before I could hang up. I didn’t say anything, the silence stretching between us.

“I’ll let you go then. Good luck today. Not that you’ll need it. You’ll be amazing,” he said softly.

“Thanks. Bye, Cole,” I said before I could succumb to his charm.

“Bye, Viv,” he said, my name a whisper in my ear.

I quickly disconnected the call.

I gripped my phone in my hand and stared hard at my reflection in the mirror. Why was I so weak? Why had I settled for this, whatever it was?

I stared hard into the eyes of the tired girl looking back at me and knew one thing for sure.

I was stuck.

And I was ready to make a jail break.

The Claremont Center sat on the edge of town on six acres that spread along the river. At one time it had been a working plantation. The three-hundred acre estate had been broken up and sold off over the years and in 1986, Gregory Claremont, a local textile tycoon and his wife Jillian had bought the decaying manor house and surrounding property and pumped millions into fixing it up.

Jillian had been some sort of Broadway star in the 1970s and a well-known champion of the performing arts. At that time the closest playhouse was an hour and a half away. So with their considerable fortune they had turned the stately home into one of the most illustrious performance halls on the east coast.

I parked my car and started walking toward the front of the building. The lawn was impeccably manicured and the large windows twinkled in the early morning sun. The frost still clung to the grass, making it crunch beneath my feet.

I had tried to shake my early morning conversation with Cole on the drive over. Sitting in traffic listening to angry chick music had gone a long way in soothing my jangled emotions.

I refused to fixate on the thousand meanings to our phone call. I couldn’t let myself dissect and tear apart everything he had said to me.

And I sure as hell wouldn’t think too long about the girl’s voice I had heard in the background. Because if I did, my professional first impression would go right out the window.

I was proud of myself when I was able to simmer down and change the radio station to something more upbeat. By the time I pulled into the parking lot out front of my new place of employment, I was feeling much better.

And now my emotions took a nosedive again. Anger being replaced by plain ole nerves.

I was still in a bit of shock that I had gotten the job. I was totally underqualified but obviously I had made someone think I was competent. I really wish I knew how I had achieved that particular feat. I just hoped this job lasted longer than the others.

I desperately needed to get my act together. I couldn’t expect my parents to give me money for the rest of my life. Even if mooching came naturally, I’d still like to have something to show for the four years I spent at college. Believe it or not, I did have some pride.

I walked through the large, oak doors and stood in the middle of the grand foyer, trying to figure out where I was supposed to go. One entire wall was made of glass and overlooked the river. A baby grand piano stood off in the corner. A wide staircase led to the second floor balcony.

A door opened and shut and I turned to see a petite woman with beautifully coiffed grey hair walking toward me. I recognized her from my second interview as Marion Vandy, the Director of Events and Programs for The Claremont Center.