"Do you trust me, Julian?"
His brows knitted together. "Of course I do."
I smiled, 'cause that shit warmed my heart. "Okay. If I said you had a talent I wanted to employ, would you believe me?"
"My coffee's not that awesome."
I threw the last of my bread at him. "Smart-mouthed little prick."
He laughed, dodging it.
"I'm serious," I told him. And I might as well come clean about the score for the film. "Fuck running errands and making coffee. You have a song I want."
That shut him up. He looked surprised, not to mention confused.
I went on to describe my vision for the song, how I wanted it for a scene—coincidentally, the one we were shooting tomorrow—and then how I wanted the piano woven into the main score.
It got me going, and before I knew it, I was pacing in the kitchen, gesturing like a fucking idiot as if I could paint him the entire scene. This was the sorta shit that had bored Emma half to death, so I wasn't counting on Julian to stick around for long.
"And there's this part where Sophie—April," I corrected, "kinda bends at the waist a bit, fists her hair, and screams at the top of her lungs—"
"I read the script, you know." Julian smirked at me.
Oh. I didn't know that. "Okay, so you know." That felt extremely good, for some reason. "Well, that’s the spot. And in your song, there's this crescendo or whatever, and I want it right fucking there. I can't get that outta my head. It's a set piece, one I want everyone to remember."
Julian nodded and hopped down from the counter, and then he walked over to the piano. "I think I know which one you're talking about."
As he eased into the song, I followed him over and stood next to the bench. He played flawlessly, the soft notes teasing my ears and slowly building up. I pinched my bottom lip, seeing the scene in front of me, and I nodded to myself, 'cause this was fucking it.
When Julian finished, he sat back and fidgeted with his fingers. Then he glanced up and pushed some hair away from his eyes. "Tennyson called that scene your baby."
I grinned faintly. "Sounds about right." Wanting to seal this deal, I sat down next to him and bumped my shoulder to his. "I want you to be part of this project when we reach post-production, Julian. And trust me when I say it's your talent, not who you are."
Fuck me if he didn't blush. It was sweet as hell.
"That’s overwhelming," he admitted.
"It kinda started at the memorial service," I murmured. "I don't think anyone remembers the speeches, but your playing is unforgettable."
His smile was half proud, half shy. Perfectly him. He knew he was good.
"I thought connections and money came before talent." He bumped my shoulder this time, and I laughed quietly. "I don't know, Noah. I mean…I'd be a damn fool turning this down, so I won't." Sweet mother of relief. "But I don't feel like I'm done with the menial work, if that makes sense. I want to work hard for any success I may or may not get."
"I can make you work," I chuckled. "Trust, kid. I can make you suffer, even."
He looked dubious. "What do you mean?"
I might be pushing it, but fuck it. I had to try. "I need a new PA for Paris."
That earned me a look. "Are we really going to have that conversation again?"
"No, 'cause you seem to be under the impression that I'm doing you a favor," I retorted. "You'll regret it. But, hey, if you don't have what it takes, no sweat."
He narrowed his eyes. "That doesn't work on me."
"Are you sure?"
"Well, how hard can it be?" He huffed. "Being a Hollywood director's PA in Paris doesn't exactly scream of menial work and suffering."
He really had no clue. There was no happy medium for a PA in the industry. When they were out of work, they were frantically looking for their next way in. When they did have work, they were either bored out of their minds or so stressed out they wanted to kill themselves.
"Only one way to find out." I gave his leg a squeeze, which I shouldn’t have done. I always wanted more than one touch, and since I, for some reason, had no interest in touching others anymore, I was shit out of luck. "But so you know, it wouldn’t be a favor to you." I withdrew my hand and stood up. "I want you to come with me, but you're not the type of guy to accept a ticket and take the time off."
Julian was mulling things over, eyes down, and I needed to go to bed. I had to be on set in five hours.
"Talk shit over with your man," I suggested. "And come to the set tomorrow. It's gonna be a closed one, but I want your music brain there. Maybe you'll be inspired to write more for the film."