Page 32 of Perfect Composition
I cut in. “I get the idea. You’re cold and you’re busy.” Then an idea hits me. “Do you want Gramps to check out this attorney?”
“Hell no. He’d have them investigated and up on a rack before I could make a decision about them. I’ll look into them when I have the time.”
I reach for my iPad. “Hold on a moment, baby. Satisfy your mother’s curiosity. What’s the name of the attorney?”
“Mom,” Austyn groans.
“Austyn, if you’re turning into a big name, let’s weed out the ambulance chasers, shall we? I’m just doing a web search.”
“Oh. Okay. Let me get the letter. Close your eyes.”
“Why?” I say in exasperation.
“Because it’s in my room. And, um…” Austyn flushes to the roots of her hair.
And my baby isn’t alone. “Austyn, the smart thing would be to put the tablet down and then to go get the letter,” I manage to grit out.
“Right. This is why you’re the mom.” She drops her iPad next to the champagne bottle with the two glasses.
“I’m also the mom who got knocked up at seventeen, so I hope like hell you listened to all my lectures about protection,” I mutter.
Soon she’s back and scooping up her device. “Here it is. I’m so glad Travis had our mail forwarded.”
I clear my throat delicately. “Is Travis…”
Austyn averts her eyes. “No.”
“Is that a bad thing?” I wonder aloud.
“No. It’s just…no.” Her voice is firm.
“For a later time, perhaps?” I suggest.
“Christmas,” she agrees. “Oh, the name of the law firm is LLF, LLC.”
I type it into my tablet and get a very slick website. I quickly scan it and read the partner profile. My eyes shoot to my hairline when I read the profile of the senior partner, Carys Burke. “It says here the senior partner used to work as the chief counsel of Wildcard Records…”
“I’m going to faint, Mama. Wildcard? Are you kidding me?”
“What does the letter say, Austyn?”
“Hold on. I’ll scan it and send it to you.”
“You still have to teach me that,” I mutter.
“At…”
“Christmas. I know.” I wait while my daughter scans the letter and sends it to me in a text. “I’m putting you on hold, honey. I want to read this.”
“Okay.”
I click on the message and start reading.
Request for Confidentiality
Re: DJ - Kensington
Dear Ms. Kensington,
