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“What do you say, Daisy? Want to bring your cupcakes to my office and have a chat?”
Her big brown eyes slid to mine, eyebrows disappearing beneath her bangs. Her jaw was as rigid as her spine. I thought she was going to turn me down, but she nodded once.
“All right. We can talk.” Leaning down, she pulled a pink box from her bag and handed it to Saoirse. “These are for you. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“Of course. Anything for Clara and Shira.”
Saoirse gave Daisy a hug on her way out, which was really fucking cute since Saoirse was a foot taller and had to bend in half. When Saoirse let Daisy go, her cheeks were red. Even cuter.
“Come on, Daisy-daze. We have plans to make.”
And cupcakes to eat.
Chapter Eight
Daisy
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?”
