that I knew exactly what he meant. Tourists always beelined for the French Quarter without ever realizing that the true gem was next to the Quarter. In the Bywater, we had Royal Street and all the rest too, but once they crossed Esplanade into the Marigny and on to the Bywater, the streets were alive with locals who were escaping the neon clatter of the crowded Quarter. On their side of Esplanade, it was full of bachelorette parties and moms escaping their kids for the weekend, everyone drunk and sloppy in the streets at night.
On my side, it was happy chatter, friends calling to each other, lively conversations between sidewalk tables, the music of locals spilling from the doorways of lowkey bars. And none of it disrupted by drunken shrieks and the rude things men called to women, trying to entice them to do a little flashing and earn plastic Mardi Gras beads, year-round.
“It sounds stupid, I know,” Miles said, and I realized I’d been quiet too long.
“No. It doesn’t. The Central Business District, as advertised, is pretty corporate.”
“Should we go look at the other two properties, then? Because this one is so not my thing.”
My breath caught, and my mind blanked as I struggled for words. He might as well have stabbed me for how hard those words hit me, the Live with Laura words. The meme words. So not my thing.
He did know it was me.
“You okay? Sorry, that was a bad joke. When I was an idiot kid, I...you know what? Never mind. Don’t know why I resurrected that.”
So...he didn’t know it was me in that meme with him?
I gave him a long look, weighing and measuring. He didn’t seem to be watching me for any kind of reaction to see how his joke had landed. I hadn’t seen a single flash of recognition in his face the whole time we’d been in here, no fishing to suggest that he knew who I was. Who I’d been. And what’s more, he’d called his words a bad joke and avoided a chance to bring up his own fame.
I ran through the evidence of the morning. He’d only been five minutes late because he was getting me coffee, he’d apologized for spilling it, offered to buy me a new shirt, and had the instinct to know this building lacked soul.
Maybe Miles was more grounded than I thought. He wasn’t Bywater-cool, but a lot of jazz clubs thrived in the French Quarter.
“Let’s not look at the other two places,” I said, making an announcement before I even fully realized I’d made a decision. “In fact, let me look at some different properties I’m thinking of in the Quarter.”
“Great, let’s go.”
“I didn’t mean now.” I swept a hand down to indicate my workout shirt. “I need to change.”
“Oh, right.” He looked sheepish. “Me too, I guess.” He plucked at his shirt, and it stuck to him slightly.
“You spilled on yourself too?”
“Kind of a lot,” he admitted.
“You didn’t say anything.” I would have expected a rock star to pitch a fit. Then I took a short breath and offered an apology. “I’m sorry. The coffee spill was my fault.”
He shrugged. “Not really. I bet if I’d been on time, it wouldn’t have happened. Anyway, not a big deal, but I wouldn’t mind drying off.”
“I’ll text you with some appointments for tomorrow. Sound okay?”
“Sounds great. Looking forward to it. I’d better, uh...” He gestured toward the door.
I followed him out and locked up behind us.
“I’m this way.” He jerked his head in the opposite direction from where I needed to go.
“I’m the other way. Drive safe. I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
He nodded and headed up the street.
I watched him go until he was long out of sight. “Looking forward to it,” he’d said. He’d sounded like he meant it.
Weirdly, I kind of did too.
Chapter Five
I settled in at my desk the next morning and texted Miles that I wanted to check on the properties before I brought him to see them and set an appointment with him for Monday. I spent time on LoopNet checking out the spaces available and found some strong possibilities. None of them was perfect, but with a little imagination, each could be adapted to become a jazz club.
The rents would add up to a nice commission too. In fact, if Miles took any of these...
I opened my calculator app and ran the numbers.
“Well, well, well,” I said, leaning back in my chair.