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“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?”
