Annual Income...
I flip the page with her personal stats and my eyes bug out. “How the fuck much does she make?”
“Does who make?” Beckett strolls in—likely to harass Kane—as I’m reading the report on Austyn.
“A soon-to-be twenty-year-old DJ.”
Beckett leans against the jamb, interested. “Any good?”
“I’d say she’s good.” I give him a quick summary of the fees Austyn’s earned year to date.
He lets out a low whistle. “Not bad at all.”
I persist. “That means she’s good?”
“If she’s playing someone else’s music and earning that, she’s damn good. My take?”
“Yeah.”
“If they’re commanding that kind of salary for DJ’ing retirement parties, weddings, and the like, whoever they are is going to hit the scene fast. Well, look at this?”
“What?”
“Your friend has a booking soon at Redemption.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
Beckett raises a brow, one of the few places not tattooed on his body. “You seem surprised.”
I reiterate what I read in the report. “Not quite twenty, Beckett.”
His shoulders rise and fall. “Talent is talent. Age doesn’t make a difference. Why?”
Uncomfortably, I twitch in my seat. “I kind of accused her—”
“Ah, it’s a her.”
Ignoring his satisfied smirk before continuing, “At first of getting close to me because of you.”
“Not everyone wants to get at me, Mitch.”
I shoot him a withering look. “If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have a job.”
Beckett nods solemnly. “Because you’ve worked for Hudson for so long.”
Beckett’s taunt makes me wince. I clutch the back of my neck. “I was a douche about it.”
“Were you?” he murmurs, interested. Way too interested.
Quickly, I shut the conversation down by redirecting him toward his original target. “Kane’s in the back.”
Beckett smirks even as he makes his way in the direction of the gym. “Don’t go anywhere, Mitch. This was just starting to get interesting.”
Clutching Austyn’s file, I have one play. It’s blatantly obvious.
I need to abandon ship as fast as I can. I won’t survive if Beckett comes back to grill me.
Besides, I really want to see Austyn.