Page 52 of Perfect Pitch

I finally grab it from where it landed beneath the sink and immediately flop on my rear to start reading.

From: Houde, Marco

To: Kensington

CC: Scott, Louis

Re: Opportunity—Redemption

Kensington,

I received your inquiry letter and I applaud you for your determination. Your talents have been validated through our third-party mutual acquaintances, the Freemans of Amaryllis Events.

It turns out I do have a need for a DJ on rather short notice. If this is something you are interested in, please contact the number below at your earliest convenience and make arrangements to come to Redemption to meet with myself and my head of security, Louis Scott.

Regards,

Marco Houde

Before I can even recover, a text pops up from Alison Freeman.

Alison:

That was one of the most well-deserved recommendations I’ve ever written. Go get ’em, Austyn.

That’s when I let out a multi-pitch scream. “Oh. My. God!”

Without warning, the bathroom door flies open. Trevor gasps, “You’re crying. What is it?”

“I am?” I’m so happy I didn’t realize the heat sliding down my face wasn’t sweat from the steam of the bath but was, in fact, tears of joy.

Trevor kneels before me. “You are. Talk to me. What happened?”

I unlock my phone and hand it to him. He reads Alison’s text and then shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t get it.”

I snatch my phone back and pull up the email. Shoving the phone back in his hands, I wrap my arms around my legs and curl into a fetal position. Rocking back and forth, I listen to Trevor’s voice read each and every word aloud. His voice breaks when he confesses, “All I said in the letter was you had a mutual acquaintance, Amaryllis Events.”

“How did you know that Marco Houde knows them?” I wonder.

He shakes his head. “I can’t share that. I just... do.” The same look appears on his face that he got when he talked about Mitch, so I don’t push.

“Okay. Alison wasn’t pissed. Did that just happen?” I ask, still sailing on the river of denial.

“Marco Houde wants to meet with you.”

“I’m not hallucinating. That’s good,” I feebly joke.

“Austyn,” he reprimands.

“Trev! This is Marco Houde!”

“And you’re Austyn Kensington.”

I open my mouth to disagree when I realize something. Before Mitch, I would never have doubted myself. “You’re right.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are right. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.” I scurry to my knees and face my closest friend in New York. “My mother let me study music—all kinds of music. She let me cash in my college fund to do this.”

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