Page 37 of Perfect Pitch

Trevor bumps my shoulder. “I can see this one day. You’re going to be some mega famous star. We’ll be out at a James Beard award-winning restaurant, and you’re going to stare the chef down your perfect nose...” he trails off. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

I lean over and press my lips against his cheek. “No, you just reminded me of something.”

“What’s that?”

“Why I came to New York. It sure wasn’t to drown my sorrows in chocolate—which, for the record gives me heartburn something fierce. It was to kick ass.”

Trevor beams at me and pulls a notepad onto his lap. “Then let’s get to work.”

* * *

“With your connections to Amaryllis Events, I don’t know why you’re not using that to promote yourself,” Trevor complains.

I rip the pen from his hand and write across the top of the page in all caps N-D-A so he gets the point. “Read one of Alison Freeman’s contracts and then tell me if you’d ever cross it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Let me read it.”

“There’s nothing in there saying I can’t show it to you. Hold on. Let me grab it.”

I hurry down to my room and unearth my suitcase, where I store all my most important papers. Pulling out the folder I tagged with a simple “AE.”

At that moment, there’s a knock at the door. I freeze in panic and shout, “I’m not here.”

There’s a long pause before I hear, “Yeah. I’ll get it.”

A murmured exchange occurs before, a shout of, “The coast is clear.”

I race back to the living room and leap over the back of the sofa. “Here it is.”

Trevor had been texting while I was in the other room. Casually, I ask, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just... I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You’re certain there’s nothing you want to share about your date with Mitch.”

Guiltily, I sigh. “I walked away from him. Left him standing in Bryant Park.”

Trevor gulps down gales out laughter. “You did what?”

“He accused me of going out with him because of getting near some dude he’s guarding. I mean, how ridiculous is that?” I snap.

“Uhm, Austyn? Not that I want to ruin your anger, but I should tell you—‍”

I wave my hand. “No. I don’t want to know. If his precious secret is all so important, then let him keep it.”

“You’re certain about that?”

“Very,” I snap.

“So, you won’t care if he apologizes?”

I lean over and snag my phone, wondering if it buzzed while I was in the other room. Nothing there. “He hasn’t reached out.”

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