8. Chapter Eight

I was in shock. It was my only explanation for following Miles Aldrich into his office. If I'd had my wits about me, I would have thanked Saoirse Rossi for her time and excused myself. After what Nick had told me about Miles, I had no interest in working with him.

But it was really hard to reconcile this friendly, excitable man who baby-talked a fluffy, orange cat and worked with one of the nicest women I had ever met with the person Miles had once been.

People had the capacity for change. That, I accepted. But I couldn't imagine Nick warning me about Miles if he'd truly changed that much. Besides that, he was an Aldrich. Richer than god. There was no way he was anyone I'd want to know.

Yet, here I was, sitting across from him at a small, round table, watching him dig into the cupcakes I'd brought.

Saoirse's office had been a cotton candy daydream while Miles' was more rustic. His desk looked like reclaimed wood, and the table we were sitting at appeared to be a repurposed spool.

It dawned on me that Miles must have designed their beautiful business cards. Despite myself, I was excited to see what kind of business card he would make for me.

Miles groaned as he sucked frosting off his thumb. "I've missed you. It's been too long."

"There's something gory about telling the thing you're consuming you missed it."

His mouth hitched into a half-grin. "You may have a point, Daisy-daze." Lifting the last mini cupcake, he whispered, "Thank you for your sacrifice," and tossed it in his mouth, eating the whole thing in one bite.

He swallowed, took a drink from his water bottle, and cleared his throat. "All right. Now that we got the formalities out of the way, let's talk about you. What's your plan, your dream, your idea? How can I help you make it happen?"

I had rehearsed this part since making the appointment with Saoirse, and I'd already laid it all out for her in her office, so the words should have flowed easily. But I hadn't been counting on sitting through the Miles Aldrich show followed by him turning his full, mega-wattage attention on me.

"I—"

My mouth clamped shut. Miles sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was a ridiculously good look. Confident, slightly cocky, he ran his hand down the buttons of his shirt and flattened his palm on his abdomen. Then he flashed me a wide, toothy smile.

"Contrary to what you just saw, I'm not going to bite…unless you turn yourself into a cupcake, then all bets are off."

I huffed a laugh. "I can guarantee that won't happen." I waved off my cobwebs and nerves. "I haven't put my best foot forward with you today. You being here has thrown me for a loop, but I'm ready now."

He held his hand out. "You have the floor, Ms. Dunham."

I sat up straight, my hands on the table. "I would like to start a charcuterie business. You saw my…meat cups, which are only a small part of my plan. I would offer full grazing tables, individual cups, small trays. These would be ideal for bridal and baby showers, weddings, game days, formal and informal get togethers. My cups and small trays would work at business meetings and conferences. I have experience making these for my own family events, and while it's not the most original idea, no one in Denver is doing it. If I can strike while the iron is hot, I think I can find my niche in this town."

Miles didn't say anything. Taking out his phone, he tapped on it, a line forming between his brows. He must have found what he was looking for because his eyes lit, he nodded, then he put his phone down on the table.

"Sorry, Daisy-daze. I was looking up what exactly charcuterie is. Do you know it means ‘cooked flesh'?"

I wrinkled my nose. "I did know that, and I try to forget it. Besides cooked flesh, there's cheese, nuts, fruit…the definition has expanded over the years. You can put anything, really."

He cocked his head. "Cupcakes?"

"God, Miles, has anyone ever told you you're obsessive?"

He rubbed the line between his eyes, his smiling lowering but hanging on. "I can't say they have, but I'll take it." Shifting in his seat, he leaned his forearms on the table. "Now, tell me what you have planned for this cooked flesh business."

I threw my hands up. "Nothing. I do these for family events. They're always telling me I should go legit, so I started to believe them." I sighed, pissed at myself for not being more prepared. "I'm wasting your time, aren't I? I'm sorry, I should have written something down. It's just…when I start thinking about this, I get overwhelmed."

Andy and I had talked about my idea a lot over the last year we were together. He'd ask me questions—questions he knew I wouldn't have the answers to, like who would hire me—and my motivation always died along with our conversation.

"No. None of that," Miles replied with a cutting edge that made me sit up straighter. "I think you have more than you're giving yourself credit for. That ends now. You're not to come into my office and get down on yourself. Leave that at the door. In here, every idea is a building block for the next one. Nothing you say is stupid or useless. That isn't how I do things, and when you work with me, you'll get with the program. Got it?"

I found myself nodding without thought, as if Miles Aldrich held my strings with the force of his authoritative tone. The grin he gave me coated me in warmth.

Reaching across the table, he tapped my knuckles with his fingertips. "Good job, Daisy-daze. Now that we have that settled, I need to know more about these charcuterie tables. I want to wrap my head around what you do. How can we make that happen?"

"I'm actually doing one for my sister's birthday party this weekend. I can—"

Miles snapped. "Perfect. I'll come to that. I can be your assistant."

"I was going to say I'll take pictures and videos."

"No." He shook his head. "No, that won't cut it. I'll be there in person."

"It's a family party at my parents' house."

"That's fine. I don't mind meeting your family."

"Miles…"

My mother would love this man. She'd be absolutely thrilled he was going to be helping me start my business. But she wouldn't be the only one there on Saturday. It would be all of us, and we were…a lot. Then again, if I threw Miles into the deep end—a party above the funeral home with my very effusive and opinionated family—he might realize how impossible the situation was and cut me loose. That would be best for us both.

"You're not going to talk me out of it," he said.

"Fine. I won't try."

He tapped my knuckles again. "All right. I'm glad one thing wasn't difficult for us to agree on. Text me your address and the details."

"I—" Panic flared in my belly, and my eyes went wide.

Miles' brow crinkled. "Why do you look like that?"

"You can't ask someone why they look like they do. That's rude."

He poked a finger at me. "Don't try to distract me, Cupcake. You're freaking out." He leaned in, peering at me with suspicion. "Text me."

I tried my best to seem easy-breezy. "I will. Later. My phone's low on battery and—"

"Did you delete my number?"

I bit down on my bottom lip, and Miles guffawed.

"You did, didn't you?"

I nodded once.

"Huh. Well, this is awkward."

"It isn't personal."

"Did you delete anyone else's number?"

"No, but—"

He held up a hand. "That's all right. I'm going to text you so you have my number again. Unless you blocked me too…?"

"I didn't block you." I almost had, and, man, this would have been even more mortifying.

"I never know with you." He tapped on his phone, and a second later, mine vibrated. He'd sent me a cupcake emoji. Despite myself, I let out a laugh.

"Obsessed," I whispered as I input my home address and the time of the party. "There. I sent you the details. If you can't make it, I understand."

"Oh, I'm showing up." He flipped his phone face down. "When we're done with our working relationship, feel free to delete my number again. I would hate to clutter up your contacts."

"I'm—okay." I had no words to defend myself, and I certainly wasn't about to dive into why I had half-heartedly severed our connection. "I guess I'll see you this weekend."

"Hold on. Before you go, I have homework for you." He paused, making sure I was listening. I nodded, and he went on. "I want you to write down all the questions you have about how to start—what are you calling it?"

"I haven't decided." I had an idea, though. I hadn't told Andy because I hadn't wanted him to tell me it wasn't any good. He might've loved it, but I hadn't trusted how he would have handled it if he didn't. But I couldn't get out of this without telling Miles, so I braced myself for him to laugh. "But I was thinking I might call it Grazing by Daisy."

Miles pinned me with a long stare. So long, I couldn't sit still under the weight of it. I shuffled my feet and moved my ass in my seat, nearly jumping out of my skin when he slammed a hand down on the table.

"Yes. I like it. It works." Picking up his tablet, he tapped on it, saying nothing else.

I didn't know what to do. Was the meeting over? It seemed like it was…though, it hadn't been much of an ending. I squirmed a little more. Miles was lost in whatever was happening on his screen, so I mentally called it.

Grabbing my bag, I rose to my feet. "I'll see you this weekend."

He glanced up, the corner of his mouth quirking. "I'll be there, Daisy. Don't forget to do your homework."

"I won't."

I left Peak Strategies feeling…well, I didn't know. Optimism wasn't really my thing, but there was a lightness in my chest that hadn't been there before I'd walked in. To be honest, I'd been dreading this meeting, assuming it would only punctuate how far I was from achieving anything.

That hadn't happened at all.

Between Saoirse, the cat, and Miles, it was like I'd just gotten off a tilt-a-whirl.

My mind was whirring, but I knew this was a step. A small one, but before today, I'd been too stymied by self-doubt to even shuffle my feet.

I plunked myself in my car, thinking about my homework assignment, when a text vibrated my phone. I lifted the screen, and blood drained from my face.

Andy: Hey. How are you, Daisy? I thought I would have heard from you by now. Just because we're not together doesn't mean we can't be friends. Let's be grownups. We have too much history to just disappear from each other's lives. Talk to me.

A bucket of dread dumped on the sliver of optimism that had been breaking through my cracks. Andy must have had some sixth sense that I was moving on, doing something for myself.

My thumb hovered over his contact. I had no need for it. We weren't going to be friends. Not after…everything.

Heaving a sigh, I let my head fall against the steering wheel.

I couldn't do it. I wasn't ready.

I would. I had to.

But not today.