Page 1 of Waiting for Acceptance
PROLOGUE
LAUREN
3 MONTHS AGO
New York isn’tthatdifferent from Nashville, in that they both have some of the busiest streets I’ve ever been on and everyone seems to have somewhere to be. Sure we don’t have subways that are confusing as shit, taxis all over the place, or skyscrapers on Broadway. Nor does New York have music playing through bar windows around every corner so loud that you can feel it in your chest, but you get it—same general vibes.
Okay, maybe they’re nothing alike at all and I’m just feeling a little homesick. Sue me.
Coleson Realty, the real estate firm I’ve worked for since I graduated college, sent me and one other agent, Luther, to this very exclusive conference that The Fitzgerald Firm was hosting in New York this weekend, and even though I’ve been running around like crazy since my plane landed Thursday, it’s actually been pretty fun.
There were panels for agents to attend, educating us on everything from having the right people staging and photographing homes for you, to the relationship you have withbrokers to ensure your clients have the most seamless selling and purchasing experience possible. All of which are things that I’ve mastered since my second year at Coleson, but it was still interesting to hear from people representing the largest real estate firm in the US. Getting to talk with some of the employees from The Fitzgerald Firm, and seeing them seem impressed bymyaccomplishments, kind of had me on cloud nine. That is until I got a phone call from my mother following the last panel of the day which prompted my immediate search for the hotel bar.
I’ve been leaving my glorious ass print on this barstool ever since I hung up with her with no plans to move until I can’t read the bartender's name tag—and I’d say I’m already getting close. Luckily I have his name memorized, so reading won’t affect my ordering abilities. I’m blankly staring at the Dodgers game playing above the mirrored wall housing all the expensive liquor, suddenly wishing I was three beers and a stadium hot dog into the excitement. My phone continues to go off with texts, but I only have to glance at it once to make the decision to turn on my do not disturb. I look around me, noting that it’s now dark outside and the room is far more crowded than it was when I got here.
Why are there so many damn people here?
“Mixer for the real estate convention that was going on earlier,” Antonio, the very attentive bartender, answers the question I didn’t realize I asked out loud. I smile at him, silently thanking him for the explanation, before turning my head back around to take in the expansive dining area once again. There are large windows that wrap around the room from the front door all the way to the wall where the kitchen entrance is, with tables of four along each wall. No comfortable booths in sight, just wooden chairs that would be killer on your back and fancy tablecloths that I know for a fact are a pain in the ass to wash every night. The few years I spent waitressing at fancyrestaurants like this when I was in college are a strong reminder of how much Idreadedbeing the one to close and having to do all the dirty work.
The bar I’m occupying a stool at is absolutely massive as well—set right in the middle of the dining room with enough liquor on the shelves to supply a corner store. Not to mention every beer you could possibly name on tap and a lovely bartender who makes a mean spicy margarita. Maybe I’ll get one more and see if Antonio will take me home tonight.
“Another spicy one, Antooo-nio.” I wink at him, I think. Maybe I just blinked? Either way, he smiles and nods.
“Of course, coming right up.” I glance down at my phone again, blinking a couple of times to help me focus on the numbers.12:03 AM.
Holy shit, I’ve been here a while. I don’t even want to know how high my tab has gotten.
When Antonio returns with my drink I decide to take a lap around the room to see if I spot Luther, seeing as thisisa mixer for the real estate convention we were attending—apparently.
I sure as hell don’t remember any mention of it, but I’m here now so I might as well mingle.
Maybe I’ll see one of The Fitzgerald firm reps and they’ll offer me a position making millions here in New York and move me far away from the root of my crippling anxiety—my parents. My ambitions get a little out of hand when I have alcohol in my system.
I sip on my drink as I sway to the music that’s coming from the speakers above me, doing one of my favorite things—people-watching. I like to think I have enough furtiveness to not classify it as lurking. Calling it people-watching ismuchclassier.
The dining room is packed with people talking and laughing loudly, probablyalmostas drunk as I am. I get so lost in the music and how comfortable the room feels that I don’t realizeI’ve closed my eyes until someone approaches me, causing them to shoot open again.
“Hey doll, wanna take those moves somewhere more private?” The guy standing next to me has slicked-back blond hair, wears a pair of khakis that are creased down the front, and a sports coat, paired with a smile that sends a cold chill down my spine. Or maybe it’s the gross, unwelcome hand that’s wrapped around my waist making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“No thanks, I’m good here.” I take my index finger and thumb, grabbing his wrist to release my waist and pull away from him, looking around again for Luther, oranyonethat looks less threatening than this douche canoe.
“C’mon. I promise I’ll show you a good time.” His tone is arrogant as he tilts his head, studying me. Looking at me as if I’ll be missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime if I don’t leave with him. In the words of our queen, Cher Horowitz,as if.
He reaches out like he’s going to touch my hair and that does it for me. “Do not touch me.” I flinch away from him, causing me to collide with another body behind me. I spin around to apologize, but I’m stopped short when the guy I’ve hit speaks first.
“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” His arm wraps around my shoulder and he gives me an unthreatening wink, causing me to pause.
Do I know this guy?
Upon further assessment, I come to the conclusion that I do not. Though the fact that I’m not getting the same danger vibes as I was with the other guy, makes it easier to play along with whatever gimmick this is. “You’re not giving my wife any trouble, are you?” His piercing blue eyes leave mine and he’s locked on the guy who was just trying to molest my hair. He’s kind of gorgeous, actually. The stranger whose arm I’m nowtucked beneath. Dark black hair, the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen, and—wait a damn minute. Did he just call me hiswife?Is he drunk too?!
“Your…your… My apologies Mr—” Douche guy shakes his head and his face turns an odd shade of red.
“Yes, well. Why don’t you call it a night before you have something to be sorry about, hmm?” I don’t think I’ve ever heard a threat sound so polite, sobusiness-like,and unbelievably sexy. The guy stares back at us like he’s shocked by the fact that we’re together.
Why? I have no idea, but I wish he would take his buggy little eyes and sleazy hands elsewhere.
The stranger with jet black hair and glacier blue eyes turns to face me, and whenhishands glide over my hips and he pulls me closer to his body I’m afraid I may slip through his fingers from melting. Why I feel so much comfort withhimis a mystery to me, but I’m not mad at it.He leans down and his lips land on mine with purpose and my entire body ignites. I try to lean into the kiss that tastes like expensive scotch andheaven, but stumble over his foot and spill my margarita all over him instead. I expect him to immediately pull away, or curse over the cold tequila seeping into his crisp white button-down, but instead, he lingers a little longer before pulling his lips away from mine.
