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speaking of?”
    “Everything we’d talked about in our initial discussion, of course. I presented them your philanthropic ideals of keeping the current personnel, and they agreed although kindhearted, that is not a business decision the orchestra can adhere to and stay afloat. Of course, we are too far into rehearsals to change anything now, but if the tickets don’t sell out for the next concert,” he said, his voice turning tight, like someone trying to smile while angry, “steps will have to be taken.”
    The mission of the board was to preserve the organization, and Blake must be whispering in all their ears. Wolf wouldn’t be surprised if he put down his violin the next rehearsal and stole the baton. “I’ve already told you, if the tickets don’t sell, you can fire me yourself.”
    Blake’s tone grew agitated, as if he wasn’t totally in control. “It’s not as simple as I had first thought. It’s not you they are worried about. They like you as a conductor, and they want to keep you at the helm. It’s some of the other musicians who aren’t performing up to par.”
    This was it. Either play his political game or take a stand. If he fired people like Bertha, he’d be no better than Blake, and the orchestra would lose its soul. “I won’t stand in front of an orchestra I’ve torn apart, destroying the original mission statement. If you want to make me the villain, I’ll head back to Germany.”
    “Very well. Be advised, we’ll hold reauditions all the same, with or without you.”
    The orange juice he’d drunk for breakfast turned to acid in his stomach. He couldn’t leave now. If he did, he suspected Blake would get rid of Melody. He’d seen the bad blood between them.
    Wolf had to stay and fight. Not only was he fighting for his own job, but for Melody’s, Bertha Payne’s, and all those elderly ladies in the back of the violins. This was a war against elitism, the very thing that was keeping people away from classical music in the first place.
    He took a deep breath to settle the anger sizzling inside him. “This whole conversation is a moot point. I’ve already collected several more donors, and I plan to sell out this next concert. This orchestra will succeed with what it’s got.”
    “We’ll see. The next board meeting is scheduled directly after the July Fourth concert. For this one, your attendance will be mandatory.”
    “I’ll be there, all right.” Wolf tightened his grip on his cell. “To accept their gratitude for this orchestra’s success.”
    He pressed the button to end the call and slid into the driver’s seat. He had a research date to look forward to, and he couldn’t dwell on nearly impossible odds.

Chapter Eight
    Sequins
    Melody stood on the street corner, hiking up a rather low-cut crimson halter top with sequined roses cascading down the side. It was, by far, the most alluring top she’d worn in a long time, and a little too flashy for her taste. But after getting over the initial shock of her dating yet another musician, Laini had insisted.
    Sequins? No scientist I’ve even seen did her research in sequins.
    What was she researching, really? To be truthful, she was researching what kind of man Wolf was, and for that, she had to take Laini’s word for it. Maybe she did need sequins.
    Besides, her sister had insisted, claiming the red contrasted nicely with her raven hair, bringing out the natural flush in her cheeks. Even though Melody had paired it with plain black skinny jeans, she felt like a movie star.
    What kind of movie she was in, she had no idea.
    Drama would be bad. Horror would be worse. A romantic comedy with a happy ending would be perfect.
    A black Ford Mustang pulled up and the tinted window rolled down. Wolf leaned over from the driver’s seat, took one look at Melody’s tank top–jean ensemble, and smiled luxuriously. “Hey, how’s it going?”
    Melody felt tingly all over. “A little boring standing here by myself.”
    The door