Page 49 of So Not My Thing
I turned to follow him, and Jay asked, “Wait, do you want to do that? Dude looks big mad.”
“He is. But he won’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” I was sure of it.
“Okay, but I’m calling you in twenty minutes, and if you don’t answer, I’m calling the police. These shoes are too expensive for me to be wandering on the riverbank looking for your body.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern, but I’ll be fine. For real.”
“Twenty. Minutes.”
I flashed him a thumbs up and headed down to the parking lot.
Miles was standing beside the Mustang, the passenger door open and waiting for me.
“My receptionist has asked me to confirm that getting into your car won’t end with my murder.”
Miles snorted. “No. At this point, you’re mostly in danger of having to watch me eat sick amounts of Brennan’s bread pudding while I punish you with pouting and silence. Broody musician.”
I hid a smile and slipped into the seat. “I might prefer murder to pouting,” I said when he shut the driver’s side door and started the car. “But also, bread pudding? Aren’t you supposed to snort cocaine off a model or something when you’re mad?”
“No, that’s rock starpartying. I’mbrooding.”
“Right. So maybe whiskey and petulance?”
“I like bread pudding better than whiskey. But I’ve got loads of petulance.”
We lapsed into silence on the ten-minute drive to Brennan’s, although I texted Jay to let him know I would not be murdered. It was lunchtime now, and the main dining room of the iconic pink restaurant on Royal Street was nearly full when we walked in, but the hostess recognized Miles and led us to a quiet corner on the patio.
She left us with drink menus which neither of us touched.
“You’re mad I didn’t tell you that Miss Mary’s place is coming up for lease.”
“Damn straight. It’s perfect.”
I blinked at him. “It definitely is not.”
“Why not?”
“I live there.” That was an answer I could safely give him.
“So? I thought we’d called a truce.”
“We did. But I live over a breakfast café. Miss Mary and the staff clear out by five. I have quiet evenings and wake up to the smell of coffee and bacon every morning. I don’t want to live over a jazz club.”
“You’re saying your idea of a ‘visionary’ is someone who comes in and replaces it with something exactly like what’s already there? You’re only going to lease to someone who sells breakfast and lunch?”
“It’s not that crazy,” I told him. “When Mary leaves, there’s going to be a need for a breakfast place. It would be a smart investment.”
“That’s an extremely narrow potential tenant base.”
“It’s the ideal, but I can live with a dinner place too.”
“I’ll serve dinner. Let me have the property.”
“You’ll serve dinner, then drinks, then I’ll have bass pumping up through my floor past midnight. I’ll have drunks in my alley and whooping at all hours. That’s extremely different.” It was a bulletproof argument and as compelling as the one I couldn’t make aloud.I like the idea of you being close too much to let it happen. “And don’t forget, Chloe and I aren’t the only ones up there. I’ve got tenants in the unit across the hall too. They didn’t sign up to live above a nightclub.”
“That’s what sound-proofing is for. The materials are incredible. You’re giving me easily solvable arguments.”
A server stopped by for our drink orders. When he left, Miles leaned forward and pinned me with a gaze that demanded an answer. “I want to know the real reason you won’t consider me for the café space.” His voice was quiet, earnest. It held a tinge of hurt.
