Page 13 of Waiting for Acceptance (Nashville Nights #5)

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 exactly why he 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.”

“Yeah.” Lucky for me my father can’t see the look of irritation on my face right now. Once again he’s speaking a language I don’t care to learn.

“Why don’t you come back next month and stay just about as long? Get things sorted out there so the place doesn’t fall apart without you and then come back home to network. We’ve got some events you could attend while you’re up here.”

Yes, cause that’s exactly why I wanted to go back home.

“Sure, whatever you think is best.” The mantra of my life.

“I think it’d be best if you found a date for the events. Jessica Vanderbilt should be around for the Cocktails and Counseling event at the end of next month, so you’d just need to find someone to escort to the damn charity gala.” My eyes narrow and I scoff.

“You already asked her for me, didn’t you?”

“Well, I assumed you’d find some reason not to and show up alone.” I clamp my jaw shut, cracking my neck trying to rid some of the tension there.

“I’m thirty-four years old, Father. I don’t need you asking women out for me.”

“Then learn to do it your damn self. See you next month.”

Beep beep beep .

I look down and see the call is disconnected. Just as another one is coming through from my dad’s best friend and business partner, Frank. I take a deep breath, trying to rid my frustrations with my father before answering this call.

“Fitz,” I answer the phone, pressing the speaker button as I fall into my chair and bury my head in my hands.

“Hey there, Champ.” I hate when he calls me that now. I love Frank. He’s always been like an uncle to me, always supportive and shows up for every damn thing, but ever since Lauren mentioned what a good name it would make for a dog, I’ve wished he’d call me anything else.

“I know he can be a lot, but you know how he gets during big deals. This acquisition is no different. Once Coleson is officially part of The Fitzgerald Firm you’ll be back home in no time.”

That’s the problem, every deal is a big deal and there’s never not a deal happening.

“The. What ?” My head snaps up when I hear Lauren’s lethal tone coming from my doorway. Without a second thought, I end the call with Frank and make my way around my desk.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” I pull her into my office and shut the door behind us, causing her to stumble and almost drop the stack of papers in her hands.

“Yeah, no fucking shit. What acquisition?”

“Do you mind lowering your voice?” I growl through my teeth.

“Fuck you.” She frowns. “Where do you get off asking me to do anything after I just found out you’re lying to literally everyone here. Do Jack and Barbara even know they hired a rat ?”

“I’d be more than happy to explain all of this to you over lunch like adults, that is if you’d start acting like one, but I will not ask you again to lower your voice.” I glance up at my door, hoping everyone else has already left for lunch. Or at the very least, are out of earshot of my office.

“You have a stapler I can borrow?” I can practically see the thought playing out in her mind right now of her stapling the papers in her hands to my forehead.

“With the look on your face, I wouldn’t trust you with an eraser at the moment, so no.” I smirk humorlessly at her and she opens her mouth to say something, the color suddenly draining from her face.

“The Fitzgerald Firm,” she whispers to herself, her eyes locked on mine.

“Oh my god. ” My fingers twitch to reach out and cover her mouth but I’ve held off touching her this long for a reason, and I’m not giving in now.

I can see how pissed off she is at the moment but I know as soon as I explain it to her she’ll understand—hopefully.

“Your last name is Fitzgerald. ”

“Such a smart girl.” I smirk and her nostrils flare. “My old man nicknamed me Fitz to get me good and branded to take over the company when it was time.” She must not hear the way I loathe the future that’s been forced upon me because she closes her eyes and scoffs.

“I can’t believe I’m so stupid.” Then she shakes her head, her eyes pop open and she turns lethal again.

“Wow. Well, congratulations on the elite, upper-class life you have waiting to fall in your lap at any moment. You know, you really had me fooled lately that you may actually be a decent guy, turns out you’ve just been lying this whole time.

” That statement hurts way fucking more than it should.

“Let your dad know if he ever changes his mind on giving you a real estate empire , you’d be excellent at undercover work.

A plus deception, really Fitz.” Her voice cracks and something in me does too.

Just tell her the truth, you idiot. Tell her it’s not what it looks like and fucking tell her who you are!

I’m about to do just that when she swings the door open and the final blow hits.

“There you are, Sour Patch. You ready to go?” Some tattooed building of a guy smiles at her and she immediately relaxes.

“More than you know.” She slams the folder she was holding into my chest and I watch in horror as she leaves with him. A burning rage builds inside me and I can’t quite figure out what it’s directed at most.

The fact that she thinks I’m an entitled, elitist asshole.

The fact that she thinks I’ve been lying to her—which I guess I have been, sort of.

Or the fact that she has a boyfriend.

Fuck this whole day.

I’ve never quite enjoyed going to bars alone.

But seeing as how I’m lacking in friends here, and the one person I thought I was making headway with actually hates me with a fiery passion, being alone seems to be my only option.

The Lucky Bastard Saloon is the closest bar I could find where the music playing inside didn’t make me want to get a lobotomy on site, so that’s where I’m currently drowning my rage in the most expensive scotch they had on the shelves.

If everyone is going to end up thinking I’m an elitist asshole, I might as well really own it.

I hate my father. I hate everything this company stands for and I hate that I have no way out of taking it over in a year.

I hate that Lauren had to find out that way and I really hate the sadness I heard in her voice today accompanying the anger.

The same sadness I’ve not been able to get off repeat in my mind since she left my office today.

I don’t want to be here. I should be at home, trying to figure out how I’m going to get her to listen to me so I can set the record straight.

Well, I know how to get her to listen to me, I’ll trap her against a door again if I have to—I quite enjoyed that method the first time—but getting her to listen isn’t going to be the problem. Getting her to believe me will be.

I rub my eyes beneath my glasses, which I put on halfway through the day when my contacts dried out, and drop enough cash on the counter to cover my tab, plus a hefty tip for the bartender before standing to leave.

I make my way through the very drunk people stomping their boots against the floor just as my little troublemaker is walking through the door.

Fuck her for being so damn alluring all the time. She could spit on me—which I genuinely wouldn’t put past her—and I’d probably say thank you.

Something is seriously wrong with me.

Maybe if I keep my head down I can make it out of here without running into her, and inevitably doing something stupid.

Someone starts singing along to the Teddy Swims song playing behind me and they manage to back into me while shaking their hips, promptly cutting them off.

“ Don’t love anyone, anyone, anyone but yourse– Oh!

I’m so sor—” I huff when she hits my chest, causing me to look up—though I immediately wish I hadn’t.

She gives me a split second assessment, fixating on my glasses before her features turn stone cold.

“I’m so sorry your prescription doesn’t seem to be working.” Not in the mood for her attitude tonight, I stoop to play her little verbal sparring game.

“Maybe you’re the one who needs glasses, then you’d be able to see how many of your clients are falling into my lap.” I see a fire light in her eyes and I suddenly feel exhilarated enough to remind her exactly who she’s dealing with.

“Who’s the friend, Lauren?” The same motherfucker from earlier slides up to her side and that ungodly feeling settles in my chest again that makes me want to throw a barstool at him.

“Friend is a stretch. We just happen to work in the same office, unfortunately .” Something familiar crosses his face that leaves me curious—though, not for long.

“Oh, is this Lucifer?” Even in the low light of this bar, I can see her cheeks redden.

No chance in hell—pun intended—I’ll let her live that one down.

Then another guy, not quite as bulky but still not lacking in muscle, also covered in ink, shows up at her other side. The two of them share similar features so I could assume they’re brothers, though I am most curious about why they’re both standing so damn close to Lauren.

“It’s Luther. We played Topgolf together once—” He tilts his head, looking a little more closely at me. “Didn’t we?” His question is directed at me and I’m wondering if he seriously just mistook me for the Luther I work with who could not look more unlike me.

“Um, no. We did not.” His lips turn down in confusion then he brushes it off like he could care less who I am.

Then I turn back to face a very blushed Lauren.

The two guys surprisingly disappear from her sides, giving me a chance to step closer to her.

“Lucifer, really?” She rolls her eyes, lifting a brow as she shrugs as if she’s completely unphased.

I hate when she seems unbothered by me. I’d rather her feel rage, hate, lust, or anything else in place of indifference.

I lean in to speak directly in her ear—I wouldn’t quite call it a whisper since the music in here is loud enough it could make your teeth rattle, but nonetheless, she’s the only one who can hear me.

“Tell me, Trouble. How did it feel, dancing with the Devil?” I glance down at her, touching her for the first time since that night when I wrap my hand around her neck and caress her cheek with my thumb.

I’m looking for any hint of realization on her face, but when she narrows her eyes at me I wink at her and walk out.

Maybe another time.