Page 83 of Perfect Pitch

Seconds after he sends back a time and a place, I begin counting down the minutes until I can see him again.

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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Did Beckett Miller sleep in his clothes, or were they strewn about someone else’s floor? He was without his usual flair this morning outside Rockefeller Center.

—Moore You Want

It’s been some of the longest hours I’ve experienced since I started working for Beckett. Thank god I was able to see Austyn two nights ago. Over dinner, she talked about her mother’s visit making me regret I didn’t have the opportunity to meet the illustrious doctor while she was in town because I suspect today will be no better.

Happily Austyn shared, “She’ll be back for the holidays.”

“You don’t have to go home? Don’t want to?” I questioned just before shoving a slice of pizza in between my lips.

“No. Mama wants to be with me, and I want to experience the holiday here.” A brief flash of sadness crossed her face.

Dropping my slice, I wiped my hand before reaching for hers. “What is it?”

“Maybe there’s one thing I’ll miss.”

“Tell me,” I urged.

“Mama won’t fly up until Christmas Day because every year she throws an enormous holiday party. She invites all our family and framily.”

I laughed. “Framily?”

Austyn began ticking off names: her grandfather, Tyson, her uncles, Jesse and Ethan, and legions of names I’d never be able to keep straight.

“It sounds riotous.” And a security nightmare, I think to myself.

“Absolutely. It’s wonderful.”

“Is there no way for you to go home?” Austyn’s long admitted her family is well-to-do. Plus, I know she earns more than a healthy salary.

“For one night?” She shrugged before casting her eyes down at her half-eaten slice. “Maybe. I could always fly back up with Mama the next day.”

She shifted the topic and we discussed what Trevor and I would be doing for the holidays. “What we always do.”

“What’s that?” she asked curiously.

“Charlie’s.”

“Because I imagine that being a sedate affair.” Her urchin’s grin was incredibly appealing.

Straight-faced, I informed her, “We play canasta.”

Austyn laughed so hard she almost missed the beginning of a ’90s boy band song.

Almost.

Kane’s voice pulls me back to the present. And judging by the expression on his face when he informs me, “Beckett wants to be ready to head to Rockefeller Center in under an hour,” I’m spot on.

I push off the counter and pour the dredges of my coffee in the sink. “Any particular reason?”

“Says he needs to speak with Carys.” He glances down at his watch. “I’m going to need you to stay there. I have a meeting at Hudson I can’t miss.”

I snicker. “Is this the one for additional security tech that’s been rescheduled, what? Five times?”

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