whole rest of high school after the Live with Laura thing, my greatest fear had been being recognized by strangers. And it happened. A lot. At school, of course. But even in the grocery store or at the skating rink with friends. People used to ask me for selfies a lot. Can you do the face like the meme? And they’d want me to sit there either crying like I had during Miles’s hometown performance, or worse, make the stupid goober face I’d made on Laura, the one that had actually gone into the meme for maximum hilarity against Miles’s mildly disgusted face and the words, “So not my thing.”
Miles picked up a beignet and bit into it. “Mmm.” He grabbed a napkin and shook it out before handing it to me. “Here. You know, for your sugar bib.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Check yourself before you wreck yourself, buddy.”
He glanced down at his shirt, a dark blue button up with short sleeves and pearl snaps. Sugar was drifting down as we spoke, speckling it. He set his beignet down and tucked the napkin into his own collar instead. “Told you. And I don’t care. Because dang, I forgot the perfection of their beignets.” He took another bite so enthusiastic, it sent a puff of sugar in the air and made me laugh.
“Fine. I’ll take the hit.” I picked up my beignet and leaned over my plate, trying to bite it so the sugar would sprinkle down there instead, but when I leaned back, my light green top was dusted with it anyway. “What the heck?”
Miles grinned. “That’s what you get for making fun of me.”
“I haven’t made fun of you,” I protested.
“Yeah, you have. You do it with your eyes constantly.”
I narrowed said eyes at him for a second, then slipped on my sunglasses.
“Doesn’t matter,” he grinned. “You give off strong judgy vibes. I’ll still be able to feel them. By the way, this is a good time for you to tell me how you done me wrong.”
“I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. So let’s talk about that.”
I set down my beignet and picked at one of its corners. “I normally do a much better job of listening to my clients. I haven’t really done that for you.” He sat quietly, like he was waiting for me to finish the thought. “In my defense, I sort of inherited you.”
“How would you have approached this property search if I’d started with you on day one?”
“Hey, Miles. I’m Elle. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll go out and find it for you?”
He leaned forward. “Well, Elle, I’m looking to open a jazz club to nurture the next generation of talent.”
“And you want to build on your fanbase. I imagine it’s pretty big in New Orleans, so you’ll want a place with a fair amount of space for them to come see you perform.”
He was shaking his head before I finished the sentence. “Elle? This goes better when you ask questions instead of making assumptions.”
It was the first time I’d seen him even close to annoyed, and I wanted to snap back, but I wouldn’t do that to any other client, so instead I bit back my retort. “Fair enough. You’re saying you don’t want a large space?”
“I’m saying it sounds like you think I’m building myself a theater so I have a captive audience. I won’t trade on my name to get people in the door. I’ve had my fill of performing. I’m over it. That’s not what this place is for.”
It was another zig where I’d expected him to zag.
I swallowed and started over again. “Hi, Miles. I’m Elle. I understand you want to open a jazz club. I went to look at some this weekend to get a feel for their layout and vibe, so I have a sense of the market. But why don’t you tell me more about your vision?”
He gave me a smile of thanks. “I don’t know how much you know about my history...” He hesitated, like he was waiting for me to fill in the gaps.
“I know some. Tell me more.”
He nodded and took a deep breath, like he was looking for the best way to explain things. “I got famous on Starstruck. It was a good experience, and I’m grateful because it gave me opportunities I wouldn’t have had otherwise. But at the same time, it took away others.”