Page 43 of Perfect Composition
I’m about to defend myself, but the door opens. Angie comes back in carrying a carafe of coffee, cups, and accoutrements. I jump out of my seat. “Let me help you with that.”
“Oh, there’s no need. I’m used to hauling around boxes of files. Especially because that one”—she nods at Ward—“finally sent his files to off-site storage.”
Ward’s comment of “Slave driver” is murmured with such adoration, any lingering qualms I had about him fade away. It helps he stands and lifts the tray out of her arms before asking, “How much longer is Carrie going to be?”
“She was just…” Then the door opens again. And a woman whose tiny stature might be described as almost fairylike strides through the door. The room goes static by her presence. I realize why when she reaches the head of the table and sets her portfolio down. “Thank you, Angie,” her husky voice rasps. Aqua-colored eyes peruse Austyn first, lingering on her eyes and lips. Then they flicker over to me. “Kensington, Dr. Kensington. I’m Carys Burke.”
David interjects before I can reply. “We’ve dispensed with formalities, Carrie.”
She nods but doesn’t retract her words, her eyes remaining locked on mine—making the choice mine. “As David said, we’ve dispensed with formalities. It’s Paige and—darling?” I face my daughter.
“Austyn. That’s my given name. There’s a story behind it.”
A smile breaks across Carys’s face. She reaches for a file from the stack next to her and flips it open. “I hope I’ll get to hear you tell the tale before we’re done with what we have to cover today.”
She glances downward for a moment before she asks, “So, should we talk Austyn’s legal representation?”
Austyn’s head whips toward me, lips rolling inward. I drawl, “Let’s just cut to the chase, why don’t we? We all know we’re here to discuss her father.”
“So, you’re prepared to discuss Beckett Miller?”
I simply lift my own briefcase on the table and unlatch the locks. “I believe I said I was prepared to discuss her father.” I leave my words ambiguous.
Carys’s smile turns ferocious. “Excellent.” Her head turns toward her assistant. “Angie, perhaps now would be a good time to pour for everyone while Dr. Kensington prepares what she brought with her.”
My head tips in acknowledgment toward the woman at the far end of the table. I begin to pull out my own set of files. But I still take time to say, “Thank you,” to Angie when she places the fine china cup of coffee in front of me.
After all, there’s no need to be rude when you plan on decomposing the people who support your greatest enemy—the man you’ve loved your entire life.
PAIGE
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Erzulie broke down on stage last night during her show when she was singing a rendition of Stevie Nicks’ “Landslide.” According to a member of her crew who gave a quote, it was “uncomfortable. She’s been getting progressively worse.” Apparently, the indie goddess is beating back some serious demons.
— StellaNova
“Before we get this discussion underway, I have something to say,” Austyn declares.
Everyone’s attention turns toward her, especially mine. “What is it, baby?” I ask.
“I’ve dreamed of being a professional musician my entire life. My mother has supported that dream, even letting me cash out my college fund to try to make it a reality. She’s encouraged me, feeding my soul. Knowing what I only recently found out myself, it would have been easier if she made very different decisions from the moment she found out she was pregnant with me. The moment someone begins talking to her with anything less than respect, this conversation is over in any capacity—personal or professional. Am I understood?” She directs her last comment to Carys.
“Perfectly. You’re awfully brave, Austyn,” Carys remarks.
“No, my mother was. She was seventeen and pregnant. And she didn’t have to make the decision to have me,” my daughter shoots back.
My fingers knot together. “That wasn’t an option. At least not to me.”
I feel Austyn’s hand cover mine. My eyes fly to hers.
Carys clears her throat. “Can I ask some…delicate…questions?”
I nod, unable to look away. “There’s nothing I’ve kept from my daughter, Carys.”
“Beckett Miller is her father,” she states.
“That wasn’t a question, Counselor,” I shoot back just to be contrary.
