Page 19 of Waiting for Acceptance
“Uh, no. Can’t say that I have.” I pick up the leatherbound menu, another sign this place is way too freaking fancy for me to frequent the way he’s probably assuming I do. He hums to himself and it immediately rubs me the wrong way. Like he’s judging me for not coming to a place where nothing on the menu is under twenty dollars, knowing he came from New York and hassold millions—ugh, I’ll never be able to get that phrase out of my head—the prices probably seem low to him. Which makes me feel inferior in more ways than I care to count today. With that thought, I quickly remember the way he became standoffish at our last showing and anxiety settles in my stomach, making me feel too nauseous to eat. I place the menu down and grab the glass of water the waitress sat down a moment ago, taking a long sip.
“What’ll it be? I think the frittata affogato sounds good.” He continues scanning the menu as he talks.
“I’m not hungry,” I lie.
“But I thought you said?—”
“Just order your frittata and don’t worry about me, okay?” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, running my forefinger along my water glass. I try not to look at him, because those icy blue eyes of his are as seductive as they are scary, but when the heat of his gaze begins burning my skin, I break. I glance up to seehim staring intently at me, his menu now closed and pushed off to the side. I watch his throat work as he swallows and just when I think he’s about to say something, the waitress comes back.
“Have we decided?” I glance up at her and meet her wide smile with a small one of my own.
“Just the water for me, thanks.” She nods politely at me and when I look back at Fitz his eyes are still locked on me, the weight of his stare making my cheeks heat.
“I’ll have a glass of Lambrusco, the Italian Sausage & Pepper Frittata Affogato, and an order of Chicken Florentine Pasta. Thank you.” He barely glances at her as she tells us she’ll be back with his order shortly, then he’s back to me.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.” My heart hammers in my chest at his words.
“What?”
“There will be no critique from me after lunch. You are one of the best sales agents I’ve ever had the opportunity to observe. You were excellent today.” I open my mouth to say something, but shut it again when I can’t think of what I want to say. I want to tell him his opinion doesn't matter to me, that I could give a fuck less what he thinks becauseIknow I’m a damn good agent. But the fact that the anxious pit in my stomach has subsided along with the way I had to fight a smile at his praise tells me I’d only be fooling myself.
Damn my undeniable need to please people.
“Then why did you leave at the end of the last one?” I ask, refusing to saythank you, or anything that would give him the satisfaction of knowing his words meant anything to me.
“Believe it or not, something more important than crown molding and spider burners came up.” I’m chewing on the inside of my lip so hard to keep from laughing when the waitress comes and puts Fitz’s food in front of him. My stomach growls when the scent of the delicious Chicken Florentine sauce hits my nose andI immediately regret my decision to not order, at the very least, a salad.
“Would you like this?” He points to the dish I’m staring at and I raise a brow at him.
“Feeling gluttonous all of a sudden, are we?” I tease. His gaze narrows and his jaw works as he shrugs back into his seat.
“Just thought you might be hungry after all, but if not…”
“Fine.” I roll my eyes and his nostrils flare. “Yes, I would like some. I’m fucking starving.” The devilish smirk on his face makes me immediately regret my decision.
“Say please.” My cheeks flame with anger as my fingertips grip the plate across from me.
I lean in closer to him until my ribs hit the table. “Bite me.” Then I pull the plate to me, holding his heated gaze as I unroll my silverware and place my napkin in my lap.
His tongue peeks out to wet his lips, making me feel completely disarmed. Two can play this game,Fitz. I reach across the table and pick up his wine glass, taking a sip before placing it back down in front of him.
He scoffs and shakes his head. “Brat.”
This time I don’t hold back my smile, and I even add a little wink for flair.
CHAPTER 11
FITZ
“What do you mean you’re coming back? The hell you are. You’re not finished there.” I grip my phone and fight to keep from throwing it across the room.
“Why can’t we have Gerald come down for the assignment? You know he’s not doing anything but scratching his balls anyway,” I hopelessly argue.
“Which is exactlywhyhe isn’t the one I sent. This isn’t some small potatoes assignment, Fitz. This might be one of our biggest?—”
“I know,” I cut him off with a defeated sigh. “I know. I just. I hate sleeping in hotels.”
“Well, that I understand. The mattresses are shit, but just remember that the payoff at the end of all of this will be worth it.”
