Girl on a Diamond Pedestal

He could see the struggle in her, the emotions that made her body tremble even as she kept her face set into a firm, determined expression. She wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined she might be. Pampered, yes. Clear prima donna tendencies, yes. But she was strong too. He was certain that beneath that brittle, fragile exterior was a backbone of steel. That only made her more interesting.

“Why is the house so important?” He was hoping it was important. Everything depended on it.

Because it all depended on her. On getting her to agree to his proposition. Revenge was sweet, but she would give it the bitter edge that he craved. That he needed in order to have satisfaction.

“Why? Why do you think?” she asked, her voice breaking again. “It’s the only home I have. When the bank takes it, I won’t get any money from the sale. I’ll have nothing. Less than nothing. I have nowhere to go.”

“Most single women don’t live by themselves in a mansion that could easily house ten other families,” he said.

Noelle fought to keep her cool, to keep from breaking down. From showing any weakness. She had been trained to look calm on the surface no matter what. If her mother tore into her before a show, telling her she wasn’t beautiful anymore, that it was her fault ticket sales were down, she still had to go on stage. And she would keep every emotion locked in her, letting it escape through her fingertips. In the sound of the piano.

Her emotion didn’t seem able to escape that way anymore. Now when she played it was dry, stilted. There was nothing behind it. Nothing but empty, technical skill.

She took a breath. “It’s not a matter of downsizing, although that would have helped the electric bill.” A bill she had done her very best to scale back. No lights during the day, no heat, the only source of warmth the fireplace in her bedroom so she didn’t freeze at night. “I don’t have anything,” she said, shame creeping over her.

He arched one dark eyebrow, his expression cool, blank of any sort of caring or true interest. “How is that possible?”

The last thing she wanted to do was give him her big bad sob story. She’d found a lot of strength over the past year. Just getting up had been a struggle some days, but she’d done it. And she’d done it with no support. Asking for help now violated that sense of independence and pride. But she was staring homelessness in the face and she wasn’t certain her pride came into it anymore.

“Everything’s gone. Don’t you know what happens to child stars when their parents manage everything? It’s a story that gets repeated on entertainment news channels quite frequently.”

She wasn’t a child now, which was why she’d become so uninteresting to the public. Concert halls were half-empty when before she’d filled them. A nine-year-old girl playing original compositions on a massive grand piano was a spectacle. It was amazing. A woman doing the same thing lacked the wow factor.

Empty halls meant more pressure. More drills. More practice. Something was wrong and it was her fault. And then it had all stopped. The music quit playing in her head. She looked at a beautiful landscape, at people on the sidewalk, and she heard nothing. Once, it had all been enhanced by the soundtrack in her mind. Melodies that came about constantly, endlessly.

It was quiet now. Dead.

“They took everything,” he said.

“My mother did.” The betrayal was still like an open wound inside her, something she couldn’t seem to reconcile or heal.

That got a slight reaction from him, a bit of real shock in his dark eyes. “And she’s gotten away with it?”

“It’s all in her name,” she said. “Most of my money was earned before I turned eighteen and even after that I never bothered to change anything. I mean, why would I? She had always managed my finances and I trusted her. I have no contract saying any of it should have been mine, or that I earned it. So that’s how I ended up with nothing.” She paused for a moment and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, this house is in my name, so yay me.”

The only person who knew about her mother was the lawyer she’d spoken to. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of telling anyone else. The fact that her own mother would do that to her. Her piano teacher had quit. Friends, people she’d toured with sometimes, were still busy making music. And she was alone.

In an old empty house with bills that she could never hope to pay. She’d been treading water until recently, working on a plan, some sort of solution … but now she was going under. And she knew she would drown before any sort of help came along.

Ethan knew he shouldn’t really be shocked that Noelle’s mother had betrayed her like that. A bitch like her didn’t care who she hurt. She certainly hadn’t cared about the pain she’d caused his mother. Not in the least.

But as much as he hated Noelle’s mother for her part, it was his father Damien who had to pay for the sins of the past. And Noelle was in the perfect position to make that a reality.

He ignored the slight twinge of conscience he began to feel in his chest, spreading to his arms, making his fingertips feel numb. He didn’t have time for a conscience. Noelle would get what she needed, and he would get exactly what he wanted.

Everyone would win.

Except for his father.

“Will you be touring again soon?” he asked.

Noelle had been touring since she was a child. He’d never been to see her, but he’d seen her name in the news frequently. She’d played at Carnegie Hall, she’d played for the Queen of England. She was a household name and had been for at least eleven years. And apparently, all of that touring had left her with nothing.

“I’m not touring anymore,” she said tightly. “My label dropped me because I couldn’t book venues. My publicist dropped me. My agent.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue. “So, yeah, I’m pretty much done with music.”

She looked down, lashes fanning over high cheekbones that seemed a bit more pronounced than they should be. She had that cabbage-soup-diet look about her, like she wasn’t getting quite enough to eat. He couldn’t imagine her turning down his proposition, not when he knew she needed it so badly.

And he was tempted, tempted to come out with it now.

But it was too soon.

He was a master of the business deal, and tomorrow, he would set in motion the most important deal of his life. He wouldn’t allow impatience to ruin that.

“Come to my office tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll send a car for you around noon.”

“Why? So we can discuss where in my hundred-year-old rose garden you’re going to dig your inground pool?”

“Not exactly.”

He had no intention of turning her home into a hotel. He had no intention of purchasing it at all. Sure, a hotel here would bring in money, but that money would be nothing compared to the satisfaction he would gain by executing vengeance against his father.

Noelle, and her home, were the key to that revenge.

CHAPTER TWO

ETHAN’S office building was warm. Noelle let it wash over her as she walked into the open, stately marble foyer and crossed to an elevator that took her to the top floor.

Even the elevator spoke of luxury. She ached for it. For gorgeous hotels with amazing views and thousand-thread-count sheets. For heat, and for lunch that consisted of more than instant noodles with little freeze-dried chunks of vegetables.

For a crowded auditorium and applause meant just for her.

“You really are pathetic,” she said to the empty lift.

Yes, she really was. But knowing that didn’t make the longing go away. Her life had never been easy, she knew that. Sometimes she’d wished for all of the fame, the practice, the shrill voice of her mother and the stern voice of her instructor to go away.

But now that they had, she was faced with some harsh realities she’d never dealt with before.

She sucked in a sharp breath as the elevator stopped. Her stomach turned over, her hands shook as if she was about to go out on stage. The kick of adrenaline was addictive. It was one of the many things she missed about her former life as a concert pianist.

This was different though. The familiar spike of adrenaline was infused with a warm, honeyed sensation that pooled in her stomach and made her body ache in places she’d never given a thought to.

She clenched her teeth and took a breath. Focus.

She walked from the lift to a reception area and gave her name to the man sitting behind the desk. While he searched for it in the computer, she picked one of her favorite pieces—not one of her own, but one of Mozart’s—and began to run through the notes.

Pictured her fingers flying over the keys. Effortlessly, joyfully.

It was something she always did before a performance, to remind her of how prepared she was. That she was ready. That she wouldn’t make a mistake.