Bombshell by Catherine Coulter
Sheâ€™d drunk way too much. She was an idiot. Why had she, Delsey Freestone, a reasonably intelligent twenty-five-year-old supposed adult, swan-dived into those last two margaritas? Because the big cheese director of Stanislaus was treating you like his favorite student, making you his special margarita recipe, thatâ€™s why, and you were afraid to turn him down. To be honest, you were flattered, too. And what was in those margaritas that tasted so good?
She was very sure at that moment she didnâ€™t want to know.
She didnâ€™t understand why Dr. Elliot Hayman, the new director of the Stanislaus School of Musicâ€”Call me Elliot, my dearâ€”had appeared to want to cut her out of the graduate student female herd at the party and bestow his margaritas and attention on her. Not only was Dr. Hayman in charge of the prestigious music school, he was also an internationally celebrated concert pianist, with a libido, sheâ€™d read in a criticâ€™s review, to rival his glissandos. When it came to renown, he was in a different universe than hers. She and Anna Castle, a violinist from Louisiana and her best friend in Maestro, had decided Dr. Hayman enjoyed the role of director because it appealed to his vanity, but they also both acknowledged it was only the older graduate students, like herself, who believed that he was, at the core, faintly contemptuous of the students. On the other hand, he was a sharp dresser, dropping in conversations that he shopped twice a year in Milan for his suits, always fashioned for him by Bruno Giraldi himself. Whoever Bruno was, Anna observed, Dr. Hayman certainly dressed to impress.
|May 30, 2020
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