Page 31 of Waiting for Acceptance
“Why? Gonna try to steal my chair if it does?” The smallest hint of a smirk plays at his lips and I can feel one of my own trying to surface.
“So, what? I leave for one month and you lose all momentum to stay at the top? Come on, Sweetheart. I trained you better than that, didn’t I?” He gives me a condescending wink and my will to smirk is quickly replaced by an annoyed eye roll.
“Careful,Mr. Fitzgerald, you’ll fall off that high horse of yours.” I snatch my folder from my desk, conveniently it’s timefor me to leave for my showings today, and stop right in front of where he’s blocking my exit. “You and I both know I was already what this company needed before you ever got here. I think you just enjoy my company. It’s…decent…don’t you think?” I pick a piece of fuzz from his suit, flicking it away with a mask of indifference as his jaw suddenly flexes.
“Decent, indeed,” he says through bared teeth. He stands up straight, towering over me as he does, and looks behind me. Then he hums to himself and silently walks away. I frown, looking back to see what he was looking at, and my mouth pops open when I notice a perfect ass print slowly losing its shape in my chair.
Stupid memory foam chair.
As soon as I’m left alone again I notice the way my heart is thumping and my cheeks feel warm and I let out a groan.
“Seriously, Lauren?No.” I scold myself as I head to Brüman’s for my morning coffee.
CHAPTER 17
FITZ
I’m going to rue the day I ever told Lauren Long she was onlydecentin bed. The word is already beginning to haunt me, though now’s not exactly the time to tell her she was anything butdecent. My father has all but ruined New York for me, and the month Ithoughtwould be spent enjoying being home, wound up being a month-long marketing andimage-buildingtrip to hell. I’m pretty sure Jessica Vanderbilt, and all of her less-than-desirable characteristics, thinks we’re now betrothed or something of the sort. If my entire life didn’t revolve around the fact that I’m meant to take over my father’s company in a year I would disown them and disappear. However, doing that would result in me losing everything I have in the process, and though that doesn’t sound half bad most of the time, I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of the good things I can in the position I am in now. Things I’m not willing to give up.
I sit down at my desk, watching as that perfect ass of hers saunters out the front door. I get the idea to follow her and insist I go with her to her showings—to ensure she hasn’t lost her edge in the month I’ve been gone, of course—but before I can move my phone begins going off repeatedly.
Jessica Vanderbilt
New York is missing you already. It was nice having you back for a whole month.
Jessica Vanderbilt
You can deny it all you want, but we make a good team.
Iwilldeny it because it’s impossible to be a good team when your teammate makes you want to lose the ability to hear half an hour into an event because her fake laugh is worse than styrofoam cups rubbing together.
Mother
You and Jessica make a lovely couple. Maybe you can come back more often and you two spend some time together. Outside of networking events of course.
Me
Not a couple, mother. A mirage. Fabricated by you and my sperm donor, no less.
Mother
Don’t shut down the idea just because you’re being stubborn, Fitz. Remember what I said about this life being lonely.
Me
Yes, mother. I’m quite familiar with how lonely your home feels even when it’s full of people. I have work to do. We can discuss this later. Or never again. I’m fine with either option.
I take the liberty to ignore Jessica’s texts since I am, in fact,notobligated to her in any way, shape, or form, and run a handthrough my hair. It’s about time for a haircut, but did I have a single spare moment to get it done while I was in New York? No. Of course not.
How early is too early to start drinking around here?
I managed to make it until four o’clock at work before peeling out of the parking lot on two wheels in search of a place to get a drink. I walk into the first bar I see—and while the name is absolutely absurd, it’s a lot quieter than any other bar on the main strip—so I’m willing to take the chance of getting robbed or beaten to death by the group of bikers smoking outside to enjoy a drink in peace. Their vests readDrengrwith a shield and crossed axes on the back and they’re all looking at me like—well, like a guy in a three-piece suit walking into a biker bar.
Only it’s not a biker bar it’s… I have no idea what the fuck it is. There are photos of bikers, service members—active and retired it looks like—there’s more viking-esque decor on the walls, a neon sign that saysChattahoochiesabove the bar, pool tables to the right with a jukebox playing “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd next to them and…a fuckingdogsitting in a booth to the left.
“What the fuck is this place?” I ask, mostly to myself, sitting down on a barstool.
“Mine.” I look up and see a man scowling at me like he wants to throw meandthe barstool I’m sitting on right back out the front door.
