LEO'S POV
I stepped out of the hotel bathroom, running a towel through my damp hair. The hot shower had helped ease some of the tension in my shoulders, but it hadn't done anything for the knot in my stomach about sleeping in the same room as Zoe.
"Zoe?" I called out, looking around the room.
No answer.
The bed was still perfectly made, her suitcase was still by the window, but she was nowhere to be seen. I checked the small sitting area by the window, then the closet. Nothing.
"Zoe?" I called again, louder this time.
Still nothing.
A spike of anxiety shot through me. Where could she have gone? She didn't know Los Angeles, didn't know the area around the hotel. What if something had happened to her?
I grabbed my room key and stepped out into the hallway, looking both ways. The hotel was quiet except for the distant hum of the elevator and muffled conversation from behind other doors.
I was about to head toward the elevators when I heard it. Piano music, floating up from somewhere below.
I followed the sound down the hallway and around the corner to the main staircase. The music was getting louder, more distinct. It was jazz, but with classical undertones. Zoe's style.
When I reached the main floor, I could see a crowd gathered around the lobby's grand piano. People were standing in a loose circle, some holding drinks from the hotel bar, all of them focused on whoever was playing.
I pushed through the small crowd until I could see the piano bench.
There she was. Zoe, still wearing the simple blue dress she'd traveled in, her fingers dancing across the keys like she'd been born to play this exact instrument in this exact moment. Her eyes were closed, her whole body swaying with the music, completely lost in the performance.
I folded my arms and leaned against a pillar, trying to look casual while my heart hammered against my ribs. She was incredible. The way she moved, the way the music seemed to flow through her instead of from her—it was mesmerizing.
The piece built to a complex climax, her hands flying over the keys in passages that would challenge most professional musicians. Then it settled into a soft, contemplative ending that left the lobby in perfect silence for a moment.
The applause erupted immediately. People were clapping, whistling, some even shouting "Bravo!" A few people stood up from the nearby seating area, giving her a full standing ovation.
Zoe opened her eyes and smiled, looking genuinely surprised by the response. She stood up from the piano bench and gave a little bow, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
That's when I saw him.
A man in his thirties, well-dressed, good-looking in that California way. He was standing right beside the piano, and as soon as Zoe stood up, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug.
"That was absolutely incredible," I heard him say, his voice carrying across the lobby. "You're phenomenally talented."
Zoe hugged him back, laughing at something he whispered in her ear.
I scoffed and looked away, trying to ignore the wave of jealousy that crashed over me. It was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Zoe could hug whoever she wanted. She could talk to whoever she wanted. She was a beautiful, talented woman, and of course men were going to notice her.
It didn't matter that seeing another man's arms around her made me want to punch something.
I was about to turn around and head back to the room when Zoe looked up and saw me. Her expression immediately changed from happy to something that looked almost guilty.
She quickly stepped away from the man and said something I couldn't hear. He looked disappointed but nodded and walked away, glancing back at her a few times.
Zoe hurried over to me, pushing through the dispersing crowd.
"Mr. Mercer!" she said, slightly out of breath. "I'm sorry. I saw the piano when we walked through earlier, and it was just... calling to me."
She laughed softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I couldn't resist."
I didn't say anything. I just started walking toward the elevators, and she fell into step beside me.
"You were amazing out there," I said finally, because it was true and because the silence was getting uncomfortable.
"Thank you. It felt good to play something different. Hotel pianos always have such interesting acoustics."
We got into the elevator, and she pressed the button for our floor. The doors closed, and we rode up in silence.
"Are you okay?" she asked as we walked down the hallway to our room.
I nodded. "Fine."
"You seem tense. Is it your hand? Is it bothering you?"
Before I could answer, she reached out and grabbed my right hand, turning it over to examine my wrist. Her touch was gentle, careful, and I could feel the warmth of her fingers against my skin.
For a moment, I almost forgot why I was annoyed. Almost forgot everything except the way her thumb was tracing over the scar tissue near my wrist.
Then I remembered the man downstairs. The hug. The way she'd laughed at whatever he'd said.
I yanked my hand away. "It's fine."
She looked hurt by the abrupt movement. "Leo, what's wrong?"
"Who was that man?" I asked, unlocking our hotel room door.
"What man?"
"The one who hugged you. Downstairs."
"Oh." She followed me into the room. "I don't know. He just came up to me after I finished playing. Said he was a music producer or something."
"A music producer."
"Yeah. He gave me his card." She dug in her purse and pulled out a business card. "See? He said if I was ever interested in recording some jazz albums, I should call him."
I looked at the card. It looked legitimate enough, but that didn't mean anything.
"Zoe, you need to be careful," I said, tossing the card onto the dresser. "You can't just trust every stranger who approaches you with promises about your career."
"He seemed nice."
"They always seem nice. That's how they get you to trust them."
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, studying my face. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"You're a stranger too. Should I not trust you?"
"I'm your teacher."
"You're still a stranger, though. I didn't know you months ago."
I could hear the teasing tone in her voice, and it made my jaw clench.
"That's different."
"Is it? Or are you just jealous?"
"I'm not jealous."
"You seem jealous. You went all silent and brooding when you saw me talking to that guy."
"I did not go brooding."
"You did. You got that look on your face. That angry, possessive look."
"Zoe, stop."
"You don't want me to talk to other men, do you? You don't want me to—"
"I said stop!" I snapped, my voice louder than I'd intended.
She went quiet, her eyes wide with surprise. We stared at each other across the hotel room, the tension crackling between us like electricity.