Weddings: the Brides: The Shy Bride / Bride in a Gilded Cage / The Bride's Awakening

“Do you think Bob leaked word of your lessons to the media?” Although she couldn’t imagine the furor of this morning caused by piano lessons.

Neo grabbed a tabloid from the counter behind him and placed it in front of her on the table. It had a picture taken through a telephoto lens of Neo entering her house. “They think you’re something far more interesting than my piano teacher. They believe you are my latest lover.”

She shuddered, not at the thought of being his lover, but at the prospect of being hounded by the media because of the mistaken impression.

“The fact that I kept our relationship secret has given rise to wild speculation and the discovery of your identity only intensified interest.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you cancelled your lesson for today, or you might have walked right into it all.”

He shook his head. “I apologize for what happened. My press manager has released details of the lessons, but I’m afraid at this point there has already been so much conjecture, interest may take some time to wane.”

“It’s all right. I overreacted.”

“Most people would be overwhelmed by a pack of paparazzi on their front step.”

“And my back deck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone climbed the deck and tried to get me to open the French doors to my bedroom.”

Fury suffused Neo’s features. “That is unacceptable.”

“I agree. It was really frightening.” But the worst part was that she no longer knew what was normal fear, and what was the result of her abnormal phobia of crowds and public performance.

“That is understandable.”

“I don’t suppose you want a lesson as long as you are here.”

He smiled. “Perhaps, after you have eaten.”

Her stomach growled, right then, reminding her that she had not put anything in it since last night. “I’ll just have some toast.”

But that was unacceptable. He insisted on having one of his bodyguards deliver take-out. When the meal arrived, she surprised herself by being able to eat.

“Your manager wanted to stay and talk to you, but I insisted he leave,” Neo said as they were finishing up.

“Thank you. He probably wanted me to do an interview.”

“I got that impression.” And Neo did not appear impressed by it.

“He told me the publicity would help CD sales.”

“When?”

“I called him, before calling your office.” She took a sip of the wine that had arrived with the meal. “I’m not sure why I called your office, now that I think about it. I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally.”

“I am glad you did. Clearly I am the reason for the problem. I should effect the solution.”

“I think, Neo Stamos, that you are a good man.”

He looked absolutely stunned by her words, but quickly masked his shock. “I take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

They didn’t end up having a lesson that evening, but Neo stayed until nine, when the wine and the release of adrenaline caught up with Cass and she began yawning every other minute.

“You need your rest.”

“I do.” She laughed softly. “I’m exhausted, though I shouldn’t be.”

“Of course you should. Sleep.”

“I will.”

She thought he was going to kiss her when she let him out the front door, but he only squeezed her shoulder and told her again to get some rest.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. Why would a man like Neo Stamos want to kiss her? Cass wasn’t in his league in any shape or form. And then there were her “issues.”

She wasn’t housebound. She could buy food on her own without getting overly stressed as long as she went to the local grocer she’d been going to since she was a child. Although she did most of her other shopping online, she could go to familiar department stores, if she really needed to. She had overcome most of her anxiety related to recording at the studio, so long as the technicians and music producer did not change. And her manager didn’t bring anyone in to watch her record.

Bob had stopped doing that after the last time she’d simply refused to play and gone home.

But today proved that she wasn’t approaching normal, either. Her agoraphobia was mostly limited to performing, but the prospect of having strangers in her home, her sanctuary, always engendered deep anxiety in her. The barrage of media outside her home had brought back debilitating memories.

She had no idea how long she would have remained in her en suite bathroom if Neo had not shown up. Certainly, knowing Bob was there earlier had only increased her stress levels, knowing as she did how he would want to capitalize on the situation.

She really didn’t understand why Neo’s presence had made such a difference, but she was unutterably grateful it had.

CHAPTER THREE

THE following morning, Cass was working on a piece she planned to cut onto her next CD when the doorbell rang. She ignored it. There had been no media vans outside her home this morning and Neo had released a statement that should set most wagging tongues at rest. But that didn’t mean an enterprising reporter would not come back looking for a quote from “the recluse pianist.”

Even after learning the truth, there would be some who insisted on believing the billionaire and Cass had some sort of relationship. After all, that made better news copy than the fact he was taking piano lessons.

Besides, it wasn’t completely out of the norm for her to get the occasional door-to-door salesman, despite her No Solicitors sign right above the doorbell.

She felt no compunction about ignoring visitors who paid no attention to her clearly stated wishes. And she definitely did not want to talk to a reporter, no matter how much her manager Bob, might wish otherwise. She was feeling a lot calmer today than she might have expected, but Neo’s company the night before had helped settle her in a way even her father had been unable to do after a performance.

She’d felt safe when he was there and had trusted him to do his best to right the media mess.

The doorbell rang again, but her friends and business acquaintances knew to call first, so she continued to pay it no heed.

Then the phone rang.

She sighed with frustration, but got up. This piece was never going to gel with this kind of interruption. She grabbed the phone and answered it. “Hello?”

“Miss Baker?”

“Yes.” What was Neo’s PA doing calling her? Oh, right. “You’re calling for the piano recommendation.”

“Actually, no.”

“No?” Disappointment filled her. “Does Mr. Stamos need to cancel his lesson for next week as well?” she asked.

Had he decided to stop them all together? She wouldn’t blame him after yesterday.

“No.”

“Oh.” Maybe she should just wait until the other woman came to the point. Guessing games got annoying when they didn’t bear immediate fruit. And she didn’t like the answers her own brain was supplying so far.

So, Cass waited in silence for the PA to do just that.

The other woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Stamos asked me to schedule a locksmith to come out and fix the handle on your front door and add an additional lock to a set of French doors on your upper floor. The locksmith is there, but apparently your doorbell is not working properly.”

“It’s working just fine.”

“The locksmith rang it. Twice.”

“I do not answer my door when I am not expecting company.” Cass did not make any further explanation. She’d learned a long time ago that trying to explain her idiosyncrasies only made matters worse.

Particularly with people like the cold-fish personal assistant employed by Neo Stamos.

“If you do not answer your door, the locksmith cannot fix the door handle problem.”

“What problem is that exactly?” She hadn’t noticed any trouble with her door handle sticking, though she was willing to entertain the possibility Neo had spotted something she missed when he had been there.

“Mr. Stamos left instructions for it to be replaced by a self-locking model.”

“Mr. Stamos left instructions with you about my door?” she asked, stunned. “Without informing me?”

She knew he didn’t like her practice of leaving the door on the latch when she was expecting company. It was part of her mental preparation for visitors—reminding herself she needed to be open to other people, at least in some limited capacity.

He complained about it every week, but did he really expect her to replace the handle because of it? Surely he realized she wasn’t going to leave the door unlocked right now. Not with the paparazzi entirely too interested in her and Neo’s association.

“I really can’t speak to whether or not he informed you. I only know my instructions.”

“You expect me to allow a perfect stranger into my home to replace my door handle, on your boss’s say-so. When I did not request, much less authorize this upgrade?” She used the word for lack of something better, though Cass wasn’t convinced it was any such thing.

The personal assistant’s silence said that was exactly what she expected.

She’d thought Neo understood. At least a little. Apparently she’d been wrong. “No.”

“No? But Mr. Stamos—”

Cass felt no compunction in interrupting the officious woman. “Please call your locksmith and cancel the order. Right now.”

“I can’t possibly. Mr. Stamos—”

“Does not own this property. And, I, the owner,” she added, her anxiety creeping through, “have no intention of replacing my perfectly functioning door handle.”

“Mr. Stamos will not be happy about this,” the PA warned ominously.

“I’m sure Mr. Stamos has many other things of much more importance for him to concern himself with.”

“No doubt, but he left instructions.”

One thing that could be said for Neo, he engendered loyalty and commitment to follow through from his employees.

“He should have run those instructions by me,” Cass said with little sympathy. She wasn’t one of Neo’s employees. And if he had done so, she could have assured him she wouldn’t be leaving the door unlocked for the foreseeable future.

“Mr. Stamos is not in the habit of asking the opinions of others.”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” Cass replied just a tad sarcastically. Then she winced at her own behavior. She knew Neo was just trying to make things better. He’d simply gone about it the wrong way. Because no matter how she might wish otherwise, he did not understand. “Cancel the locksmith.”

An unmistakable huff of annoyance sounded over the line. “I will inform the locksmith his services are not required at present. Mr. Stamos will be made aware the delay is at your demand.” The frigid tones of the personal assistant should have frozen the phone lines.

“You do that. You can further inform your boss that if my practice session is interrupted by the locksmith, or any of his other employees, he will spend his next lesson listening to me prepare my own music rather than teaching him his.”

The silence that met her words actually brought half a smile to Cass’s face. It was an empty threat, but it had felt good saying it. Would Neo see the humor in it, or would he lack understanding of that, too?

“I shall pass on your message verbatim,” the other woman finally said.

“Thank you.”

Neo was furious with himself. He should have called Cassandra and warned her about the locksmith, even gotten that annoying manager of hers to be there to supervise the changing of the locks. Instead, he’d left instructions with his PA as he always did and this was the result.

He had to smile at Cassandra’s threat however. Getting a private concert from the superbly talented pianist would hardly be a hardship. Regardless, he felt badly. Which was a completely uncommon reaction for him. So was the acknowledgement that he had messed up. Both of which were the reasons he was calling Cassandra on his personal cell phone, in the middle of a corporate conference call with the project team in Hong Kong.

He muted his headset and listened with one ear while dialing Cassandra’s number and then listening to the line ring.

“Hello?” she answered on the third ring, sounding downright cranky.

And why he should find that charming rather than annoying he could not have said.

“You sent my locksmith away.”

“Actually, your personal assistant sent him away. I did not answer the door.”

“Why?”

“I thought he was another reporter.”

Neo had to stifle a groan at his own idiocy. He should have expected that. “I meant why did you send him away?”

“Why didn’t you ask me if I wanted my door lock changed?”

“It needs to be done. You can’t remember to keep your door locked.”

“I don’t forget; I just choose to leave it unlocked when I know someone is coming.”

“That’s not much of an improvement.”

“I don’t plan on leaving it unlocked anytime soon, if that makes you feel any better. I don’t want reporters walking in on me unannounced.”

“Some would, regardless of trespassing laws.”

“Yes, the person who climbed onto my deck certainly wasn’t worried about trespassing.”

“For all your unwillingness to entertain strangers, you are much too lax when it comes to your personal safety. The locksmith was only a stopgap measure anyway. You need a full spectrum security consult.”

“Not going to happen.” There was not the slightest uncertainty in her voice.

Neo had gone against tougher negotiators than the renowned pianist. “Consider it a gift for opening your home to me.”

“Are you saying this is for your safety?”

“Would it help you accept it if I did?”

“For an honest man, you’re awfully adept at manipulation.”

“Thank you.”

“I am not letting a stranger into my home.”

“I was a stranger when you allowed me inside for my lesson.” But he could see now that he’d made a grave miscalculation in sending over an unknown locksmith.

Zee warned Neo that his impatience could cause problems and this wasn’t the first time his friend had been right.

“Not entirely. One, I had prepared myself for taking on a new student. Two, I did my research, learning all I could about you before you came. And three, my manager told me if I didn’t do the lessons he would quit.”

“You got past being overwhelmed by me—you can deal with the security consultant.”

“No.”

“Cassandra, you are not being reasonable.”

She laughed, the sound both exasperated and amused. “I am unreasonable?”

“Yes. It will only take thirty minutes, an hour at the most.”

“It’s not just about the time, but that is a consideration.”

“The security expert can work around your schedule.”

“I don’t want to meet him.” She sounded very definite.

“Cassandra, be sensible.”

The quality of the silence at the other end of the line bothered him. “If you are that concerned,” she finally said, “we could probably arrange to have your lessons at my recording studio.” She was silent again, this time clearly considering her own proposal. “Yes, that would work.”

“I do not want my lessons at the studio.”

“I do not want to entertain a stranger in my home.” The growing agitation in her voice bothered him.

He did not like to think of his shy teaching aficionado getting upset.

“If I were there for the security consult, would you be all right then?” Neo absolutely stunned himself by asking.

From the expression on his PA’s face she was similarly flummoxed.

But Cassandra had come out of her self-imposed prison of the bathroom yesterday for him when she had refused for her manager. Neo was used to being relied on by his employees and associates. It shouldn’t make him feel special that Cassandra naturally did as others before her, but somehow it did.

“What? You be here? No. You’re too busy. That’s not necessary.” Cassandra took an audible breath. “Look, I’ll … I’ll ask my manager. He’ll come meet with the security consultant. He thinks these lessons are good for my career, though I really didn’t understand why until the whole media fiasco yesterday. Bob will do it.”

Unfamiliar amusement welled up, along with a highly out-of-character tolerance. He’d broken her brain. He must have broken his own as well because he didn’t want Bob to be the one helping her deal with this, even though that had been his own idea not fifteen minutes ago.

“You don’t want to be there for the consult at all? As you reminded my personal assistant, it is your home.”

“Yes, well … Are you sure you don’t want to meet in the studio?” she asked, sounding entirely too hopeful for a woman who spent so much of her time in her home.

Ignoring the repeated offer, he brought his schedule up on his phone. He marked two items for his PA to move and said, “I’ll be there with the consultant tomorrow morning at ten.”

“You don’t have to. I said—”

“If your manager was capable of convincing you to implement better security, he already would have done so.”

“I didn’t have a billionaire student before.”

“Nevertheless, the man is clearly incompetent when it comes to assuring your ongoing personal safety.”

“I’m sure that you have a big need for personal security, but I’m a moderately successful musician. I don’t even tour.”

“You are a brilliant musician with a large fan base, despite your unwillingness to do live performances. You should have implemented additional home security long ago.”

“I can see your point of view, but it’s skewed by your lifestyle.” She sounded just a tad desperate, though he couldn’t begin to understand why. “You’ve got to be able to see that.”

“I prefer not to waste time in useless argument.”

“Good.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

She was still spluttering when he disconnected the line.

Cass glared at the phone, and then picked it up and dialed the number that showed up on her caller ID.

He picked up on the first ring. “Further argument will only serve to annoy me.”

“How interesting.” Neo really must get an unhealthy dose of arrogance with his morning coffee. “It is customary to say goodbye when hanging up. Please remember that in future.”

“Duly noted. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

She distinctly heard a chuckle as he once again ended the call.

Smiling for no reason she could fathom, especially considering what she had just agreed to, Cass went back to practicing her piece. When a certain set of green eyes kept interrupting her flow of thoughts and she found her fingers moving in a Vivaldi concerto segment she found particularly passionate, Cass knew she was in trouble.

True to his word, Neo arrived at exactly 10:00 a.m. the following morning. Her hair in a smooth French twist and wearing a bright pink Jackie-O style dress with matching jacket for courage, Cass was waiting for him in the music room, but she heard the low purr of his Mercedes as he pulled into her driveway.

She couldn’t even pretend to play to settle her nerves. Neo was bringing a stranger who was going to make changes to her home. Changes that she would still be getting used to when his year’s worth of lessons were over.

He rang the bell, but tried the handle as she had suspected he would. She heard the latch give and then footsteps. The door shut. More footsteps, Neo’s distinctive purposeful tread and a quieter walk, though no less confident.

A few seconds later, Neo led a shorter, blond-haired man into her music room.

“Cassandra.” The tycoon gave her a chiding look. “You left the door unlocked. You said you wouldn’t.”

“I only unlocked it a few minutes ago. I knew you would be on time.”

Frowning, he shook his head. “What if traffic had prevented our timely arrival?”

“It wouldn’t dare.”

He didn’t ask why she hadn’t simply waited to let them in when they arrived and she was grateful. She had needed this one small coping mechanism this morning.

Having the security consultant over was such a simple thing, one that would not bother normal people, but Cass wasn’t normal. She’d figured that out long before she understood what her idiosyncrasies would mean in her life.

Taking a firm grip on her irrational sense of dread, she turned to face the blond man. “I’m Cassandra Baker. Welcome to my home.”

The security consultant put his hand out, “Cole Geary. It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Baker. I’m a huge fan. I’ve got all your CDs.”

She shook the man’s hand and gave him her smile for public consumption. “Mr. Geary, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m glad you like my music. It’s the joy of my life.”

“You can tell, the way you play, I mean.”

Neo cleared his throat, giving them both his look that was probably supposed to mean, “Wasting time here, people.”

Cole’s expression went from open admiration to professional in a single blink. “Mr. Stamos has expressed some concern over your security here. Would it be all right if we took a look at the premises before I make any preliminary suggestions?”

The proper response would have been, “Of course not.” Only she didn’t want Cole Geary in her home. No matter how big a fan, or how nice he seemed.

“I don’t want bars on my windows,” she blurted out rather than answer his request. She lived with enough limitations caused by her own nearly debilitating shyness.

“As I said—”

“It will be all right,” Neo said, interrupting his consultant. He laid his hand against the small of Cass’s back. “Let’s show Cole the rest of the house.”

She looked up at him, begging him to understand the emotions roiling inside her, feelings that had both plagued and shamed her since childhood. The one and only therapist she had seen at her father’s insistence had done little to help Cass overcome her anxiety. Though the man had helped her learn some necessary coping mechanisms.

He had once explained that her experiences growing up in the house of an invalid, combined with the pressure to perform at a young age, had severely exacerbated what had probably been a simple case of being a more timid personality type. That was his theory anyway.

All she knew was that she currently suffered a mild form of agoraphobia fed by sociophobia, though how mild she often wondered. Especially when she felt so completely out of her depth doing something as simple as meeting a security consultant and showing him her home.

“I should have had Bob meet you,” she said so quietly she wasn’t sure he would hear her.

“Trust me, Cassandra.” Neo focused one-hundred percent of his attention on her, totally ignoring the other man for the moment. “You and I will do this together.”

“I’m being ridiculous.” She hated putting herself down like that, no matter how true she knew the words to be.

She just got tired of admitting such unpalatable truths about her reactions, particularly when she felt powerless to change them. It was one of the reasons she hesitated making friends. New relationships required fresh acknowledgement of the limitations she and the people in her life had learned to live with.

Neo shook his head decisively. “It is the world you live in. If you will but trust me, you will see there is nothing to worry you.”

“My father used to say the same thing.” Right before forcing her onto a stage where she had to lose herself in the music or lose her sanity, or so it felt to her.

She could remember the sea of faces that would confront her at each sold-out concert for the child prodigy pianist. And that memory still had the power to send a cold sweat down her spine. For as far back as she could remember, her music had always been a deeply personal thing for Cass. She used it to hide from the reality of her mother’s illness and her father’s often angry helplessness in the face of it.

How Cass had hated sharing her music with crowds of strangers, too many of whom wanted to meet the young pianist, after what had always been for her a soul-exhausting concert.