Page 89 of Perfect Order

“I don’t.” I’m about to shout something snarky when she grits out, “But a member of my team wrote this for me.”

“What kind of bonus did you have to give them to do it?” I snark.

“A Porsche. Fucking customized. So, yeah, that’s how I know the damn picture isn’t retrievable. It’s that damn good.”

“Christ.” I scrub my hands over my face. “Why not give him some Bitcoin?”

“Because he wanted the new car. He had enough of the other.”

“Of course. So, what the hell am I supposed to do to help fix this?”

Leanne stares at me openmouthed before stomping off, muttering under her breath. “Let yourself out when you leave,” she calls over her shoulder as she slams the door to her bedroom.

That was three days ago, and I still haven’t heard a peep out of her. I know I owe her a huge apology. None of this is a part of our relationship, but I owe Beckett so much. After Gene, working for him gave me a sense of purpose. Then, somewhere along the way, concluding with our conversation in LA, our relationship has shifted. He’s still the person I’m responsible for protecting, but he’s edged his way into a place I thought I sealed off when Gene died.

Beckett Miller’s somehow become a friend.

I test the thought out as I slow down before I can’t walk tomorrow. “I suppose it was inevitable.”

“What? That Carys would yank my head out of my ass? Ward would work a miracle? I’d hope so considering what I pay them.” The man in question leans against the doorjamb.

I stop the treadmill and lean against the top as he approaches. “Did they? Does this mean there’s not going to be any more ’80s ballads being played at all hours?”

He sniffs. “That wasn’t because I was devastated.”

“Then what on earth would make a man as talented as you listen to that?”

“Inspiration. You should try it. It might help you get back into Lee’s good graces.”

I open my mouth and shut it before offering, “For a man who’s up shit’s creek with his own relationship, how about keeping out of mine?”

He slaps me across the shoulder. “No can do, Kane. Because I suspect you did the same thing I did back when it first happened—chewed her ass out over that photo. Only this wasn’t her fault.”

I chew on my lip before asking, “Ward found it? How?”

“He found the picture on a deleted page on the blogger’s website. And here’s the best part.” He tips his chin. “Notice anything different?”

My eyes zero in on the new ink I drove him to get while we were in LA. “That won’t be on the picture unless someone got a load of it in LA.”

“Exactly. It’s not there. So, I’m planning on ambushing Paige to get her to listen.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” I towel off my face.

A flash of uncertainty crosses his normally overconfident face. “It’s the best one I’ve got. What are you going with? How are you going to get Kylie to forgive you?”

My lips open to automatically correct him, to call her Leanne, when I freeze. Leanne. She did this. She fixed this because she knew it was important to me. “God damnit,” I swear.

Beckett’s lips curve. “You’re off for the next few days. Go make things right.” He turns and makes his way out of the gym.

“Who’s covering your ass?” I shout.

“If I’m very, very lucky, the woman I owe a few dozen apologies to,” Beckett says seriously. Before I retort that isn’t what I mean, he disappears, leaving me to yank out my phone and coordinate his coverage with Mitch before I figure out how to deal with my own screwup.

I knock on her door about three hours later. I have a bag in my hand that contains what my mother assures me will make the perfect apology dinner.

“Homemade lasagne shows you care, Kane. It takes time and effort to make.”

“I get that, Ma. I got to go if I’m going to swing this by dinnertime,” I tell her for the millionth time.