Page 73 of Perfect Pitch

He nods even as Mitch’s eyes darken. Then without another word to either man, I drag my bag behind me and out of the condo.

* * *

“Are you ready to be redeemed?” I call out into the mic.

The roaring of the crowd is my answer.

I’m in the booth, surrounded by a dizzying array of equipment. Elevated and protected with one-way glass, I can see the impact my music is having on the crowd from second to second. Despite the dim lighting, I’m bathed in the glow the screens and lights emanate from the equipment.

As I drop the next track, the crowd erupts in cheers, and the dance floor becomes a sea of bodies except for the small space for the incredibly delicious owner—Marco Houde. I grin as I spot him on the dance floor, twirling some lucky woman around in circles.

My smile fades. Mitch’s forgetfulness reverberates over and over in my mind. I can’t let go of the fact he didn’t remember this is what I’ve been fighting for. Still, even as a part of me is wounded, I know this where I was born to be—feeling the rush of the crowd’s energy, mixing and blend tracks, keeping the party going.

All that matters is the music is loud, the bass vibrates through the floor, and the crowd is moving to the beat. Not that my heart is devastated because of a single man. As I cue up the next track, I mutter, “I’d give my last breath for him, but right now, screw him.”

I’m so involved in the task at hand, ensuring the perfect throbbing bass pulsates through by adjusting knobs and sliders on the mixer, that I don’t realize I cued up the first song I ever sang in French on the club’s laptop until the infamous drumbeat pounds through my headset, letting me know I have about thirty seconds before it blasts through the club.

Should I? Would I be shooting myself in the foot if I do it?

Almost on autopilot, I hit record just a second before the throbbing sound hits the club.

Even as I feel sick, I know I’m going to do it. After all, what’s the worst that can happen? Marco Houde throws me out the next two nights? I lose the biggest gig I’ve had to date?

I prove Mitch right?

Determined, I wait for the refrain before I open the mic and sing over Toto’s infamous lyrics, “Pour m’éloigner de toi il en faudrait beaucoup.” Oh, it would take a lot to drag me away from the right man, that’s for certain. For a moment, Mitch’s face pops into my mind. His bright green eyes flashing with desire, the way his chiseled jaw tightens when he releases his pleasure into his own hand as he rasps out my name.

My skin tingles at the memory.

I finish out the refrain and close the mic as the crowd goes insane below me. Ending the recording, I flip the track to “Unstoppable.” The next thing I know, the door behind me swings inward. Marco Houde flies into the booth. Closing the door, I admire the look of him in his three thousand dollar suit up close versus where he was dancing way down below on the dance floor. There’s a faint scent of sweat over his cologne, proving the way he moves isn’t just sexy, it’s a lot of work.

But more than his looks, I’m assaulted by the absolute shock he’s projecting. He stares at me a few moments before saying, “You speak—sing—French flawlessly, Austyn.”

“Thank you. It’s kind of my thing.”

“Your thing?” he repeats.

I shrug. “I like to harmonize in French. It adds something to the song.”

“It certainly does that,” he murmurs. While I’m pulling in some Passenger to weave in to mix, he slides his hand into his pocket. Lifting it, he reads the screen and a slow smile breaks out across his face. Once done, he extends his phone to me. “I think your ‘thing’ just became everyone’s ‘thing.’”

I glance at the screen and am floored to see:

If you’re not at Redemption seeing #Kensington for the first time, you’re nowhere.—Viego Martinez

Big doings are happening at Redemption tonight. If you’re not already inside, well, too late. This might be the best music played since I last heard Beckett Miller play live!—Moore You Want

#Kensington may be the best secret in #Redemption history. And Marco Houde has managed quite a few.—Jacques Yves, Celebrity Blogger

“They’re saying that about me?” My voice is shaky, even as I hand Marco his phone back.

It buzzes in his hand again. He glances down and smirks. “Keep it up, and this will only be the beginning. Just wait until dawn.” With that, he backs out of the booth leaving me stunned and ecstatic.

Suddenly, I’m not a creature of the night. I can’t wait for the sun to come up and experience what the new day brings.

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

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