Twist of Fate by Louise, Tia (free ebook reader for ipad .txt) 📗

word, but I can’t seem to let him go. We’re friends, right? Friends keep in touch and support each other, right?

You’re doing it, Daisy. It’s really cool.

Thanks. How’s it going in LA? Any big news?

Got a callback for a pilot. Pretty psyched.

My eyebrows shoot up. Scout! That’s amazing! Name, please.

Mighty Thunder. Stock car drivers who fight crime.

Snorting a laugh, I shrug as my thumbs move over my phone. Somebody’s got to fight crime. Can’t wait to see you on the small screen.

Gray dots float on my screen and stop. They start again and stop. I feel like I’m hanging by a thread waiting for his next words, and it should be a wake-up call. I’m too invested in a relationship that’s essentially over. The dying embers of a flash fire.

Sorry, gotta run. Dinner date.

Dry pain hits my throat like a punch. He has a date.

Of course, he does. Get over yourself, Daisy. He’s a hot, single guy in Los Angeles. I imagine he’s going to parties every night, meeting gorgeous aspiring actresses. I’m sure he kisses them at auditions. If they’re any good, I’m sure he asks them for their numbers.

I’m three thousand miles away with nothing but my memories.

God, I’m such a fool.

It’s over.

I don’t even respond. I won’t be texting him anymore. Tossing my phone on the nightstand, I pull a pillow over my head and cry myself to sleep.

We’re just back from another, longer tour, this time through Tennessee, and parts were recorded to be included in the Antiques Today special public broadcast show. It was fun and exciting and emotional, and I’m feeling happy and completely exhausted.

Immediately after lunch, I’m summoned to Miles Klaut’s office. Spencer meets me in the hall, and I realize we’re headed in the same direction.

“What’s going on?” I whisper like we’re in trouble.

“No clue.” Spencer is cool, unaffected. “It had better be important. I was still sorting my mail from last week.”

No one is in Miles’s office when we enter.

“This is amazing.” I’m still whispering as I slowly trace the perimeter of the oak-paneled room.

The office is lined with massive, built-in bookshelves holding an array of rare antiquities. I recognize a Simon Willard lighthouse clock from the 1800s that’s probably worth $75,000 at auction.

A white and blue porcelain dish is on a higher shelf, and if I checked the stamp, I know it would say Wedgwood, and it would be authentic, not a “Wedgwood & Co.” knockoff, putting it at around $6,000.

“Good morning.” Miles says it almost dismissively, as if it’s expected, as he enters the room.

Spencer and I respond in kind, taking our seats. It’s my first time meeting Miles in person, and he’s shorter than I thought, about the same height as I am. He’s dressed in a plain brown suit, but he exudes importance.

He sits across the mahogany desk from us in a deep-green leather chair studded with brass buttons. “When I saw your résumé, Miss Sales, I confess, I dismissed you as just another of Spencer’s protégés.”

Casting a glance at my co-worker, Spencer shifts in his leather chair beside me. I didn’t know Spencer had protégés.

“Then I saw your restoration of the Winthrop BnB, and what can I say? Captivating.” Miles’s bushy brows rise over his hazel eyes. “Grandmillennial mixed with vintage country? It’s so obvious yet so inspired.”

My heart beats faster as excitement shimmers in my chest. Everybody who is anybody in the antiques world hangs on Miles’s every word. If he declares something a trend, antiques dealers jump on it and the value goes through the roof.

He single-handedly drove Hausenfraus dustpans from the three-hundred-dollar range to the three-thousand-dollar range by saying they would be the quaint kitchen accessory of the season.

Now he’s saying I’m inspired? I might faint.

“What I like even more, is the way viewers connect with you.” He levels his gaze on me and pushes out of his chair. “Your ratings are off the charts in the forty to sixty-five age bracket, which is the absolute sweet spot for antiquers.”

I glance again at Spencer, but he’s looking at his nails perturbedly.

“You’re not just a talented young woman with potential. You’ve got heart.” Miles places a hand on my shoulder. “You really care about the people in the lines, and it shows. Viewers love you.”

The room falls silent, and I need to say something. God, don’t let me sound like a drip.

“I-I guess I empathize with them. They love these items so much, and when we tell them they’re worth hundreds or thousands of dollars—”

“It validates their love.” Miles nods. “You truly get it. Unlike Mr. Freeze over here.”

He cuts his eyes at Spencer, and I take a quick pivot. “Spencer simply has a different approach. His personality is different from mine.”

“Yes, yes. I know.” Miles grins, and points at my colleague. “He’s the Simon Cowell of Antiques Today, no getting mired down in emotionalism. And he has his fans, don’t get me wrong. I’m simply impressed.”

I glance down at my hands clasped in my lap. “I wouldn’t know half the things I know if it weren’t for Spencer.”

“Oh, please.” Spencer stands, rising to his full six-foot-two slender height in a sleek charcoal suit, pocket square perfectly folded and in place. “Enough false modesty, and stop talking about me as if I’m not present. I discovered this young woman in her father’s store in Greenville. I don’t need to hear about her country-girl heart. I recognized it at once as a strength.”

Miles presses his lips together in a smile, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s been yanking Spencer’s chain. I feel like I might understand the office politics a little better. Spencer is the snob, and Miles is the big dog who brings him down a peg. It’s how they relate.

I’m ruminating this discovery when Miles turns to me. “I’ve decided to put you over the Southeast region.”

My eyes flash wide, and I choke on air. “I’m sorry… You—You want me to be—”

“The head of all our events from Tennessee to