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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.
