Chapter 2: New Talent

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The song at the top here is what Milo hears Emery play ❤

Milo's POV:

"Can you explain how this happened?" I snapped, my fists resting on the desk as I glowered at the idiot in front of me.

"Sir, It just wa— "

"God help you if you are about to tell me this was a mistake," I hissed.

"Milo, for God's sake. Get out of here, Keith," Owen, my COO, ordered the idiot out.

Keith. I would need to remember that when I fired the dumb ass.

"Milo," Owen started, reaching his hands out in surrender. "This is fine, we can figure something else out."

"Owen. Go fire your assistant before I do. I won't be as nice as you," I said falling back on my chair and pressing my fingers to my temples.

"Milo," Owen pleaded.

"I'm not kidding," I snapped.

"Milo, come on," Owen tried again, standing on the other side of my desk. "It was an accident, they happen. He's a good kid, we'll fix this," he reasoned.

"That's right. You and I will fix this, he is out of here," I said, pointing to the door. "This wasn't some small mistake. When I made this gala happen I promised a world famous classical musician. That musician was Estele Maribela. He asked her for the wrong fucking day and that prick," I stood up and slammed my hands on the table again, "snatched her up for the right day, knowing it would fuck us up."

"Milo, there are other great classical musicians out there, and I'll keep trying with Estele. Even if we don't get her, you never said what famous classical musician would be there," Owen tried, plopping in the chair across from my desk.

"You really think you can get her now that Mason has his hooks in her? What with her stupid agent in the way, it will never happen. And don't be an imbecile, everyone knew who I referred to when we started this whole thing," I grumbled, walking over to my bar cart.

I poured some whiskey into a glass and downed it before pouring another.

"All right, slow down for a minute. You haven't eaten all day, you dumb ass," he walked over and put the lid on the whiskey.

I glared at him as I downed the second glass. He was much too comfortable with me.

"You can't just call the owner of this company a--"

"Dumb ass? I can if he's being one," he said simply. "Come on, let's get some food so that's at least one less factor in your brewing rage," he said, walking towards the door of my office.

He locked the door of my office and we made our way to the elevator. The doors dinged and we stepped in. Owen leaned against the elevator and stuffed his hands in his pockets. I stood straight in front of the door watching the numbers descend with my arms crossed as the elevator lowered.

"What is your obsession with having Estele be the one that's there? I know she's great, but there are other great musicians. Do you have a thing for her?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

I cast a sideways glance then rolled me eyes. "Of course not. She just has the gift," I said, refocusing my eyes on the descending numbers.

"Lots of people have the gift, pick someone else," Owen said with a shrug.

"No, it's not the same," I sighed. "I don't mean the gift as in she's good at playing. Plenty of people are good at playing. It's something else," I explained.

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