a shake, I gave him a polite smile and a nod toward the plate, like, “See? Hands full.”
He shot me a quizzical look, and I froze for a second. Had he recognized me? We’d never met in person, but my face had been everywhere on the internet for years, and it was possible.
But he didn’t say anything before turning toward the next person, so I dropped my plate into the trash can and walked to my seat. Walking had never felt more complicated. I wanted to strike the perfect balance between casual and purposeful. Instead, I kept fighting the urge to hunch and scurry.
I forced my shoulders back until I caught Dave’s eyes widen and realized that my subtle power stance looked more like I was sticking out my boobs. I dropped my shoulders faster than a Mardi Gras necklace could hit the ground at a parade and slid into my seat to watch Miles work the rest of the room.
“I thought people were supposed to look shorter in real life than they do on TV,” Donna, the office manager, said quietly from her seat next to mine, “but he looks taller.”
“I guess.” Her comment gave me a reason to study him for a few seconds while Dave took his turn getting his handshake. Miles had filled out since he was a teenager, growing into the promise his broad shoulders had shown on his skinny frame back then. He was still on the lanky side with a build more like a runner than a gym rat. Although...he wore a fitted black sport coat, and the plain white T-shirt beneath it hinted that he made time for the gym. His distressed jeans and worn black Converse saved him from looking like a douchey frat-bro and more like a low-key star. Back then, his thick, dark hair had a tendency to flop and curl. Now it was cut with some length on top—not enough to spill over everywhere—and a close fade on the side.
“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Brenda said, leading him and his manager to the seats on either side of her at the head of the table.
“Sorry we’re late,” Miles said. “We were—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Brenda was already waving away the rest of his words. “You’ll find Crescent is a very laidback environment.”
Donna kicked my foot beneath the table. It would be fair to say we were somewhat flexible, but I didn’t think Brenda had ever had a single laidback moment in her life. She was hard-charging energy, all the time.
“In the folders in front of you, you’ll find the spec sheets for the three properties we think will serve you best, but I’ll put them up on the main screen while we take a virtual tour.”
That was Donna’s cue to start the presentation while Brenda rose to narrate from our end of the table. Dave sat across from me, and as he turned from Miles’s end toward the screen, his gaze swept over me then paused, his eyes widening a tiny bit again.
I glanced down to make sure that my boobs weren’t somehow sticking out without my knowledge and gave a small gasp. Donna glanced over and immediately gave me a sympathetic look.
I could add “a metric ton of sugar” to my power suit accessories. There was a sprinkling of it all over my lapels, down to the first two buttons, stark against the black fabric.
No, sprinkling was kind. It was a sugar apocalypse all up on my bosoms.
No wonder Miles Crowe had looked at me in confusion. He must be wondering how a toddler got invited to the grownup table.
Why didn’t you tell me? I mouthed to Donna.
I just saw it, she mouthed back. She handed me the napkin under her coffee, and I took it, but I didn’t bother wiping at the sugar. Anyone with beignet practice knows that the sugar only smears when you rub at it, like erasers pushing chalk dust on a dirty board. There was no way to fix this until I could get to the bathroom and dissolve it with water, but I couldn’t walk out in the middle of Brenda’s presentation.
I tried to pay attention to what she said, but I knew the properties inside and out. They weren’t sites I would have picked. They would all work as a club space, but none had the vibe I would want if I were opening a jazz club. But the three properties she was presenting were double profitable for the