We shake hands. “You’re Dean Melnard?”
“That’s right.” He flashes his pearly white teeth. “Let’s say that’s an alias. Please have a seat, Ms. Scott.” He sits on the chair opposite me.
A waiter then approaches us, assists me in settling in, and hands us a menu. “Thank you,” I murmur.
“Just order what you want, Ms. Scott. It’s on me,” Mr. Melnard says—I mean, Mr. Bryant.
I hide my face on the menu, pretending to choose while I’m actually trying to process the unexpected revelation.
I’ve been emailing this man for over two years. He has been extremely helpful to me. He’s always polite, so I’m never intimidated by him. However, if I recall everything I’ve said to him, I’ve almost told him half of my life, so he knows a little about me while I know very little about him. There’s one thing I’m certain of now.
He works at Sebastian Entertainment Group. I’m not sure what he does there, but this only means John Pitch could also be there—possibly as a boss. He can’t just be any employee because he’s so wealthy. I can’t help but wonder if the company also handles my scholarship. Julian would have mentioned it earlier, but I doubt it. I couldn’t even question him about it. It takes me back to the part where he probably knows my benefactor but refuses to reveal it because John Pitch is supposed to be anonymous. Is it his father or one of his brothers? They were SEG’s bosses.
“Ms. Scott? Have you decided?” Mr. Bryant jolts me out of my reverie.
“I can’t decide,” I admit as I place the menu on the table.
“I’ll order for you. Is that okay?”
I nod.
He raises his eyes to the waiter. “Please serve the lady a filet mignon and a glass of your Bollinger red wine.”
The waiter inquires if there is anything else. Mr. Bryant requests dessert as well, and the waiter leaves.
“So…” Mr. Bryant clasps his hands on the table. “I’m sure you’re shocked.”
“I’m shocked. Yes.” But that’s nothing new for Mr. Pitch.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person. You’re always cheerful in your emails. I think you’re very bright and seeing you perform confirmed my first impression. Your performance today was outstanding.”
I know it’s a compliment, but not winning the grand prize means I let my benefactor down. I doubt he’ll want to see me anymore. He did send his right-hand man, but that was probably it. It’s enough for me to learn who Mr. Melnard is. Kristoff would be ecstatic if he discovered he was correct, but I won’t tell him this. Not yet, at least. I made a promise.
“But not the best,” I admit openly. “I’m not going to stand on the stage where Mr. Pitch expects me to.” Ben deserves it more.
“Are you concerned that Mr. Pitch will not see you because you didn’t win?” His question is a little amusing. His mouth curls up on one side.
“I’ve already accepted that he won’t.” However, a small part of me remains hopeful.
Mr. Bryant is about to speak when the waiter arrives with a bottle of Bollinger. He quickly and expertly pours each glass, then departs.
Mr. Bryant takes a sip of his wine, and I’m sure he enjoys the flavor when he swallows that small gulp slowly. “He’ll see you, Ms. Scott. I arranged for us to meet so I could tell you that.”
“Please call me Anya. But have you ever met the others?”
“Normally, I don’t.” He sets down his glass. “My boss likes you, Anya. A lot.”
Why can’t I feel it, then? Why did he have to be so mysterious and anonymous? Why did he send Mr. Bryant rather than just coming to see me?
“Mr. Pitch has been supporting college students for seven years, but he’s never responded to or wanted to meet with any of them,” Mr. Bryant adds, as if he can read my mind.
Well, that’s true. He only emailed me once. “How can he possibly like me? I’m just an ordinary college student who can’t even win a competition.”
“But you were recognized. That still counts, Anya.”
I pause for a moment to consider what he said. If everything he said is true, I can only assume that Mr. Pitch really cares about me. But why? Why me?
“When will he see me?” I ask directly.
“Are you ready to see him?”
“It’s everything I’ve ever looked forward to. I’d like to meet the person who has been there for me throughout this ordeal. Badly. I’m so grateful to him that I’m embarrassed I can’t even return his expectation.”
Our food has arrived. The waiter placed a plate of succulent-looking steak garnished with petioles in front of me and Mr. Bryant’s dinner.
“I’ll tell him that, Anya,” Mr. Bryant says as the waiter turns away. He picks up his knife and fork. “He’s looking forward to seeing you as soon as possible. I’ll let you know when.”
But how soon is soon? “What is he like? I mean, what can I expect? How old is he? Is he serious? Strict? Or does he have a humorous side? Friendly?” But I doubt I could ever be friendly in his presence.
Formal. That must be one of his characteristics.
“How about telling me your expectations?” he asks, smiling as he eats the steak.
“I’d like to think he’s very proper.”
“He’s... proper, that’s a given.” He laughs, and the humor reaches his eyes. “He isn’t old. He can be friendly, but he can also be strict, so it’s reasonable to expect both. But don’t be concerned. You can be yourself around him if you relax. Trust me.”
I return the smile, starting to taste my food. I pierce a piece and nibble on it. The texture, juiciness, and flavor of the steak are like fireworks in my mouth. This brings back memories of my first dinner with Julian.
“I’m still nervous,” I admit. I should probably get something ready to give him. I’m not sure what, because he probably has everything, but this brief description will suffice. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course, Ms. Scott.”
“Do you work for SEG?”
“I do. I’m the executive producer in charge of Sebastian Pictures. I also work for Adam Sebastian.”
So he’s like Peter Greenwood. According to what I’ve read, Sebastian Pictures is a film production company that is a subsidiary of Sebastian Entertainment Group.
Wait. What if John Pitch is Adam? No, no. That can’t be right. I’ve only met him once, so he’s unlikely to be my benefactor based on his personality.
“You must be wondering if Adam is Mr. Pitch,” Mr. Bryant asserts. He totally caught me off guard. Is this man a medium? He can read people’s minds.
“Is he?”
“He isn’t. But like I said, you’re smart.”
I blink. What does he mean? I got it wrong, didn’t I?
“Please don’t think too hard about it. You’ll find out soon,” he promises. “Why don’t we just discuss your apartment?”
“Yes, please.” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “If this isn’t too much, Mr. Bryant.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s also my job. I found three good apartments near your school Mr. Pitch recommended. He’ll take care of the rent, so you don’t have to worry. I’ll warn you ahead of time that he’s very meticulous, so please don’t be surprised when I show you our choices.”
Why should I be surprised? It’s just an apartment. “First, I still think this is too much, but I feel he’ll refuse to accept the money he has already given me.” I considered repaying him, but that would be impolite. “If he insists, Mr. Melnard... I mean, Bryant.”
“It’s fine if you call me Dean.” He smiles a little.
“Thank you. That’s how I’ve always known you.”
“Very well.” He wipes his mouth with a table napkin and picks up his briefcase. He pulls out a folder and hands it to me. “That is a list of the apartments, along with their amenities. You can take your time making your decision, Anya. I’ve already spoken with the property owners.”
I nod, then open the first page to see pictures and information about the apartment. The first is more akin to an executive suite than a college student residence. It’s at Lex’s Emerald. I looked up the prices of each room in these establishments on the internet, and the cheapest room is $8000 per month. Why would John Pitch spend so much money on something like that? I’m not sure if I want to look at the other options.
“Are you sure these are correct?” I ask.
“Yes, and please take it. Mr. Pitch will insist.”
“So I’m guessing you’ll lose your job if I decline?”
He laughs. “You know him well.”
“So you work for Adam Sebastian and John Pitch?”
“Clearly, Ms. Scott.”
I take a deep breath. “But this is unbelievable.”
Should I wait until I see him in person to talk to him about this? I understand he is wealthy, but this is impractical. He can even donate the money he will spend on this to another scholarship student.
“You can take your time and choose whatever suits your needs. I’ll leave you that folder and let you know what you decide,” Dean says.
I shut the folder. “I appreciate it.” I don’t want to torture him any longer. I’m sure he’s busy, but he came here anyway.
Geez! This man is a film producer, and we’re having dinner and talking casually. How are these things happening to me?