Page 160 of Perfect Pitch

Beckett:

If you’d added ‘little’ and ‘all right’ I’d have accused you of copying Marley.

Austyn:

Miss you, Dad.

Beckett:

Miss you, too, kid. How are you doing?

Austyn:

Not that great.

Beckett:

Join the club.

I send him a string of laughing emojis.

Austyn:

We should get together and talk.

I don’t let his lack of response stop me. Instead, I decide to take a quick shower to wash away the oily, nauseous feeling. I quickly clean up and then throw on a pair of leggings and an oversized T-shirt.

Jumping into the elevator, I use my dongle to access the top floor. I’m delighted to find Mitch and Kane at the entranceway when I step off. I flick a hand toward the keypad and say, “I was just talking to my father. Could you open that for me?”

Kane’s head jerks negatively. “No.”

I fall back a step. “Excuse me?”

Mitch comes toward me. “Sorry, Austyn, but he said no visitors.”

I stare at him as if his brain was run over by a New York City cab. “Are you insane?” I wave my phone in his direction. “We were just talking.”

“Let me see that.” He holds out his hand and I slap the device into it. He flips through the end of our conversation before his eyes meet Kane’s. Expecting him to order the other man to let me in, I’m shocked and embarrassed when he denies me. “Sorry, Austyn. He didn’t say explicitly to come up.”

My stomach tumbles over and over. Right now I’m glad I puked what was left of this morning’s meal because otherwise it would have landed all over Mitch’s shiny shoes. “Who the hell do you think you are to keep me from—‍”

“I’m his guard. We both are,” Mitch cuts me off.

“And we’re under explicit direction,” Kane concludes.

It’s as if the other man isn’t there for all the attention Mitch and I are paying him. My chest heaves up and down before I spit out, “Fine, but it will be your head when he hears what I have to share.”

“Tell me.”

I smile sweetly and point out. “I’m his daughter. This is for family.” Delivering that line with perfect timing, I spin to make my way back to the elevator doors. My fury subsides. Wooziness replaces it just as I enter the small box. Before Mitch can worm his way in, I’ve pressed the button for my floor.

By the time I head down ten floors, my phone has pinged repeatedly. Hoping against hope it’s my father, I’m disappointed to find out it’s not. Instead, it’s my boyfriend.

Mitch:

Why didn’t you tell me something is wrong? I caught you stumble.

Mitch:

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