An involuntary smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. "Does she play the violin too, like me?"

"No one plays the violin like you, Isla." She rubs her hand across my forehead sweeping my hair to the side. "If you audition for that opening with the String Orchestra, you'll get that spot. Hell, if you tell them who you are, they'll give you the spot without you having to play a note."

I swallow hard. I know that she's trying to help but she's not. It's in Switzerland. That's an entire world away from my life here. "I'm not ready for that yet. I need more time."

The sigh that escapes her is noticeable in the stillness of the room. "I know. I just don't want you to waste your talent. It's a gift, Isla. I know you can't see it but it's true."

I do see it. That's because I spent the first thirteen years of my life being paraded around the globe like a show pony with a violin in hand. I was my mother's meal ticket and she made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that my talent was what was keeping our household afloat.

She resented the fact that when she was a child my grandmother, Ella Amherst, was focused on her career as the principal violinist with the London Philharmonic. My mother took it upon herself to rebel in every way possible, including getting pregnant with me, when she was still a teenager.

When the two of them finally settled in Chicago shortly after I was born, my grandmother took on a position with the Orchestra there. My mother took up with one man, and then another, and eventually I ended up with two younger half-sisters, and a handful of stepfathers.

My only solace through all the upheaval was the violin my grandmother had given me. She taught me how to play and with each invitation I received to appear on local television programs or radio stations, my mother's greed grew. Eventually, she was booking me to play at weddings, birthdays and even funerals.

I was the adorable blond haired girl with the big blue eyes and the talent of her grandmother. Nothing more than a novelty, drawing the attention of celebrities and royalty who thought it cute to throw the spotlight on a small child who could play classical music alongside many of the best musicians in the world.

As my bank account ballooned, my school work suffered and when I had to repeat seventh grade because the tutor my mother hired only existed on paper as a tax write-off, my grandmother stepped in.

She retired early, hired attorneys and accountants and when the dust settled and my trust accounts were searched, it was obvious to everyone that my mother's large house and her expensive car weren't paid for from her manager's salary. She'd stolen from me; money, time, my childhood.

I moved in with my grandmother then and after school each day, she'd insist I'd finish my homework first and then we'd play our violins, side-by-side, her helping me perfect my techniques. Those are the moments I'll treasure forever.

"You'll think about auditioning, Isla. Promise me you will." Cassia's hands rest on my shoulders.

"I'll think about it. I promise."

CHAPTER TEN

Gabriel

"If I need to get my attorney involved in this, I will."

It's meant to sound as threatening as it does. It's also proven to be an effective way to deal with the hordes of individuals who believe they can produce imitation, substandard products, and sell them with fake Arilia or Berdine labels attached to them.

"No, please, no sir." The small, seemingly meek looking, man stares up at me. "I didn't know. I'll give them all to you. You can take them now."

That would solve all of his problems. Unfortunately, it would only prolong the inevitable. If I gather up the dozens of men's dress shirts and the handful of women's blouses he has on display, it will only put a dent in his business for at most a day, or two.

These portable carts, hawking imitation merchandise, are as much a part of the landscape of the streets of Manhattan as those selling hotdogs and pretzels. The only difference is that the food vendors are earning an honest living.

He can play coy all he wants but I've seen this happen time and time again.

"I'll send someone down to deal with this within the hour." I turn on my heel ignoring his pleading offerings to keep the police out of it.

I will.

All I need is the threat of a lawsuit delivered in the form of one of the company's staff of attorneys to ensure that nothing bearing any of the Foster fashion brands lands on this cart again.

I make a quick call to the head of the legal department of Foster Enterprises, apprising her of the situation, including the location of the cart which ironically is set up less than a block from my office.

As I end the call, I hear the unmistakable chime of a bell signaling a new test message.

I look down at the screen of my phone, read the message and curse under my breath.

What the fuck is this?

I walked to a local bodega to get a cup of coffee to clear my head. I needed fresh air and a break from a day that has been filled with nothing but mundane problems that feel like a waste of my time.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Fosters of New York Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net