11. Chapter Eleven

Miles had done a lot of work for me. My stomach churned looking at his beautiful logo ideas and well thought out spreadsheets. They were beautiful and meticulous, but deep down, I knew this was all for naught.

I shouldn't have let myself be optimistic. For a moment, I forgot who I was, but this town was always here to remind me.

Miles stopped in the middle of a sentence, cocking his head left then right.

"You're not in," he surmised.

I sighed. "I'm sorry. I should have texted you to let you know this wasn't going to happen. You did all this, and it was for nothing."

He drummed his fingers on the round wooden table we were sitting at again, his jaw rippling.

"What changed? The last time I saw you, you were in."

I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms around my middle. "I had some time to think about it and realized what I'd already known all along: this isn't going to work. Not in this town, not for me."

"What do you mean? Why not here? Why not you?"

"You won't let me get away with saying ‘no thank you,' will you?"

His brow dropped. "Not a chance. Get with the talking, Daisy-daze. My patience is finite. I'm almost to the stage where I flip you over, hang you by your ankle, and shake it out of you."

My upper lip curled. "I'll cut you."

He rocked back in his chair, laughing. "Don't be cute. It's not going to work to distract me. Talk."

Cute? I'd meant it. It was annoying how nonthreatening I looked. If only I could broadcast how dark my mind could be. There were chainsaws and…cupcakes. Dammit, even my mind wasn't intimidating.

"There was always a reason I dragged my feet to start this." I chuffed, blowing my bangs up in frustration. "My mom, Reed, and I went to brunch yesterday. Reed was in a good mood for once, we had bacon and pancakes, all was well. Then a group of expensively dressed ladies were seated at the table beside ours. One of them recognized my mom, or maybe me, and she yelped. It was like there was a spring in her chair, she was out of it so fast."

"She…yelped?"

"Like a kicked puppy."

"Why?"

He would never get this. Then again, he knew what it was like to have a name people recognized…

"When people hear your last name is Aldrich, they react, right?"

He rubbed his bottom lip and nodded once. "They often do, yes."

"Does it open doors to places? Lend you respect you haven't earned?"

"Put hearts in women's eyes who wouldn't have given me a second look without it—make it so I can never be sure if someone wants to know me for me or what I can do for them? Sure. All those things."

"Poor little rich boy," I deadpanned.

He dropped his hand to the table, flipping it over. "You asked. Don't be pissy it's not all sunshine and roses being an Aldrich. Now, tell me what this line of questioning has to do with the lady who yelped."

"I'm not pissy."

He didn't bother to hold back his laugh at my expense. "Okay, Cupcake. You're a ray of sunshine, if that's what it takes to get you talking."

"Fine. The yelping lady asked to be seated elsewhere because she didn't want to sit beside our family. I know this because she wasn't quiet when she made the request."

"What? Why would she do that?"

"People do not like to be reminded of death. They don't want to have brunch next to the family who took care of them during the worst times of their lives. Then they would have to think about the fact that one day they'll be in the ground. It's worse with the wealthy—who happen to be the majority of our clientele. Their money insulates them from the painful and mundane, but not death. They look at us, hear the Dunham name, and remember they're just human—mortal like everyone else. It makes them uncomfortable."

"I don't buy that. It doesn't bother me."

I shot him a dubious look. "Really? There was nothing about being at my house and meeting my family that gave you pause? Tell the truth."

His fingers curled into his palm. "For a fraction of a second, sure. A few thoughts ran through my mind, but I got over it without yelping."

"But you paused. Just like you might before hiring a Dunham to create a grazing table at your event."

"That's what you think will happen? That's why you don't want to go forward with this?"

"I know it'll happen. As much as I hate it, people with expendable income would be my main target audience, and they won't want to have anything to do with me."

He opened his mouth, and I held up my hand before he could deny it.

"Look, I've lived with this legacy my whole life. I was called Dead Girl through school. In elementary school, kids said I had the death touch and ran away from me. Not everyone thinks that way, but enough people do to make a difference. It means I won't get hired, and in the off-chance I do, they won't pass my name along to their friends for fear they'll be judged. Let's just cut our losses now. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner and wasted your time—"

"Stop, Daisy." He pressed the air with both hands. "I refuse to believe there isn't a solution. It's my job to figure out things like this. Let me think."

He got up and roamed his office, pausing at the windows for a solid minute or two. I sat there, patiently waiting. It was the least I could do after all he'd tried to do for me.

After several minutes, Miles turned toward me. "My initial plan was to bring you with me to several functions I've been invited to attend this spring and summer to introduce you to potential clients."

My stomach plummeted with regret. That was a really good idea. If I were anyone else, it would have been the perfect opportunity to network.

Miles strode back to the table and sat across from me. "We'll still do that, but I'll give you my name, which, like you said, lends me respect I haven't earned."

"What do you mean? How can you give me your name?"

"Not literally, but if I tell everyone you're mine, you'll go from Daisy Dunham to Daisy, Miles Aldrich's girlfriend."

I burst out laughing. He'd almost had me. I was so eager for there to be a solution, I'd been on the edge of my seat, and here he was jerking my chain.

"Okay, sure. I'll just be your fake girlfriend, and everyone will like me."

He peered at me through narrowed eyes. "I sense sarcasm, but I don't know why. You might not see it, but I'm well known for my charm. Those circles you want to break into? They love me. It's why my parents send me to all the functions for the charities they support."

My eyes darted back and forth between his, searching for the punchline to this insane idea. Miles wasn't laughing. In fact, his sincerity was pinned to his sleeve. He really meant this.

"Why not introduce me as your friend?"

"I thought of that. It's what I had intended to do before the story you just told me. But I don't think being friends will be quite enough. Saying you're my girlfriend implies a deeper commitment. Having you with me at these events will show I'm willingly connecting my name to yours."

I didn't know what to say. This was ridiculous, and it infuriated me that he might actually be right—that posing as his girlfriend could truly convince his crowd I was worthy of their business and a modicum of respect.

"I don't know, Miles. This seems so far-fetched. Why would you even want to do this?"

He slowly exhaled. "Before you got here, I was looking at my calendar and saw an event I'm obligated to go to coming up. Do you know what I felt? Dread. Most of the conversations I hold are drier than toast. They're boring, fake, tedious, but how can I say no when it's for charity? So, I go every year and hate every moment. But if you come with me…I think we could have fun pulling one over on everyone. Besides, there's nothing that gets me off more than seeing one of my clients succeed."

I sniffed. "You probably shouldn't talk to your clients about what gets you off."

He shot me a crooked grin. "Yeah, but we're friends too."

"Are we?"

"We are."

"I don't think we're friends who talk about getting off."

His grin expanded. "We should be. Social norms are boring, Daisy-daze." He smacked a hand on the tabletop. "Now, are you in or are you in? Don't let all the work I did for you be in vain."

I shook my head. "No one would ever believe you and I are a couple."

"Why not?"

"Because we're not…you are…we're just different."

"Yeah?" He folded his arms over his chest. "What'd your ex look like?"

"That doesn't matter, and it's not all about looks."

His brow crinkled. "That ugly, huh? Don't worry, Cupcake, you're good looking enough to date me. Objectively, I'd say we're on the same level of attractiveness."

"What? No, I wasn't saying that," I sputtered. "Andy isn't ugly, and I definitely wasn't saying I'm not attractive enough for you. You have an astounding ego. Wow."

He shrugged. "It's not like I did anything to earn this face. It's not an accomplishment. My ego isn't attached to my outsides. If you said I was ugly, I'd say you must have unconventional tastes or you're a liar, but I wouldn't cry in my pillow. But that's not the point. I want to know why you don't think we would make a convincing couple."

This man might as well have been holding me upside down and giving me a shake with how rattled I was. I'd walked in today prepared to turn him down, and now I was trying to explain how we didn't suit each other. How had we even gotten here?

Miles.

It was all Miles Aldrich and his mind that moved a mile a minute. He'd bounced from failure to a path to success without taking a breath, leaving me to catch up, and I hadn't quite gotten there yet.

"Our aesthetics are opposite. We're nothing alike. You're you, and I'm…me."

"You know," he leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the table, "I'm disappointed in how shortsighted you are. Just because you have a little emo heart and a penchant for all black doesn't mean we have nothing in common. As for our aesthetic, that's easily addressed with a shopping trip. I'll expense it."

"How do you have an answer to every one of my objections when you only just came up with this idea?"

"I'm fast on my feet," he replied. "I don't understand why you're objecting. Are you afraid to take a chance and actually succeed? Is that what's happening?"

"I—" I swallowed hard, my denial going down like a ball of railroad spikes. He'd figured me out in one guess, before I could even figure myself out. "Maybe."

He nodded. "I get it. I see it every day. Clients excited until the day comes to put everything in motion. Then comes the backpedaling, bargaining, request for delays. I'm extremely familiar with self-sabotage, and I don't allow it in my office. Tell me you're in, Daisy Dunham, and we'll do this. I won't let you fail, but you have to be all in, no backing out."

Miles Aldrich was not who I'd expected him to be.

He was far more insightful and deliberate than he presented at first glance. I hadn't thought it possible for me to trust someone new this quickly, but I was beginning to trust him. It was a fragile, wavering trust, especially after what Nick had told me, but it was there. I might have been uncertain of Miles as a person, but he took his role at Peak Strategies seriously—of that, I was certain.

That was most important to me.

I held my hand out. "I'm dubious this will work, but I'm all in on trying."

His warm palm slid against mine, and he gave my hand a firm shake. "It's a deal. I'm going to text you my address. Come over tomorrow night and help me remove some wallpaper while we cement the details of our fake relationship."

"Remove wallpaper?"

"Yes." He grinned. "I can't exactly bill you for being your fake boyfriend, now can I? You're going to pay me by helping me with my house renos. Still in?"

I gaped at him. "Oh my god, you did it. You found a way of tricking free labor out of me."

That made him laugh. "I told you, if that were my plan, I'd aim for someone with more muscle mass. Besides, it isn't free. We bartered this deal. You get something, and so do I."

I knew nothing about house renovations, but this was good. If this was strictly a transaction, no lines would get blurred. I helped him, he helped me, that was all.

"Okay, I'll be there."

"With bells on, I hope."

"Now you're going too far."

When he grinned at me, the muscles in my face easily responded. I grinned back. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

"By the way, how's Reed?" he asked.

"Reed?"

"Reed. After the rich bitch at brunch asked to be moved, how was he?"

My chest twinged. My brother…he was having a rough go of it. Being fourteen wasn't easy. Add in slightly different, kind of scrawny, and having the last name Dunham, freshman year of high school hadn't been kind. I'd been watching him disappear into himself for months and didn't know what to do.

"He didn't want to talk about it, but I could see how angry and defeated it made him feel. He just wanted to go home and disappear into his room, and that's what he did."

"Sucks." Miles" chin fell heavy on his fist. "He gets a lot of flak?"

I nodded. "He won't talk about that either, but I know he does. He's having a pretty miserable school year, and when he's home, he locks himself in his room making music."

"What kind of music?"

"He makes DJ mixes, I think. That's what I hear through the door since he won't let me listen."

"Hmmm. At least he has something he's into. Did you ever consider he plays it loud enough for you to hear without having to invite you in?"

"No, I never considered that." I rubbed the tightness away from my chest. "It's a nice thought. Thank you."

We said goodbye after Miles assigned me the homework of learning how to remove wallpaper so he didn't have to waste time teaching me.

It wasn't until I was in my car that what I'd agreed to really sank in.

I was officially Miles Aldrich's fake girlfriend.

Miles was now my fake boyfriend.

I waited for panic to take over, but it didn't come. Instead, I experienced a half-manic kind of giddiness. This whole idea was crazy, outlandish, completely off the wall.

But what if it worked?