Page 7 of Waiting for Acceptance (Nashville Nights #5)

LAUREN

“I can’t tell you guys how happy I am that we didn’t wait two more days to pour it out.” I pour myself a generous cup full of Shane’s bomb-ass margaritas and take a long sip.

“I feel that. I’m still not over my catastrophic date from Monday night,” Leah agrees.

Taylor takes over the conversation next, always the queen of bringing the biggest news to the chat.

She goes on talking about her trashy ex-situationship and absolutely horrendous former roommate, who are now sleeping together, apparently.

Tana was a case for the health department and Zander should be flagged in a social media group somewhere—as in red flags because that’s all that boy is.

“I still can’t believe you ever slept with that thing,” I mumble into my margarita, catching an eye roll from Tay.

“So there’s that. Lauren, you go. Pour it out, baby.” Leah gives me the nod to let my shit out and boy do I not hold back this time.

“ UGH , okay. So we have this new guy in the office that came from New York, right? And since he apparently made millions selling some of the most upscale homes and penthouses there, he thinks he’s like, the god of real estate or something and wants to tell everyone how to do their jobs.

Like, excuse me Mr. Real Estate, I’m pretty fucking great at my job already.

Sit down.” I down the rest of my drink and slam it on the table while my best friends look at me like all the skin just fell off my face.

“Who is he?” Ruby finally asks, breaking the skin-tingling silence.

“ Fitz. That’s it. He just goes by Fitz. Like he’s Elvis or Prince or something. I mean, come on how pretentious is that?” Taylor, the freaking five-foot-nothing Rottweiler of the group agrees with me with an eye roll I feel in my soul.

“I should just call him Lucifer. Suits his personality better but lets him keep the whole one-name brand going for him.”

“Whose name is Lucifer?” Tank asks, swiping his keys from the island while holding their youngest son Poe in his baby carrier with their oldest son Hendrix not far behind.

I don’t feel the need to give Tank the full informational packet on how I’m being mega dramatic about this and that his name isn’t actually Satan, so I just give him a guy answer. Short and to the point.

“New guy at my work.” His brows bounce up to his hairline and he tilts his head judgmentally.

“Poor guy. His parents really set him up for failure.”

After he tells Ruby goodbye we are left to finish our girls’ night full of belly laughs, good food, and strong drinks.

My workout playlist is playing at a volume that scratches just the right part of my brain as I push through the last few minutes of my run.

New day; new possibilities. I haven’t felt quite like myself since I went to New York a few months ago and I’d do anything to go back and never pick up the phone when my mother called me.

I’m used to the subtle jabs at how the way I live my life isn’t good enough for them, but this was the blow that took me out at the knees, and I’m not sure any of my regular remedies will pull me back together this time.

I slow myself to a jog and stop at Brüman’s before walking the last block back to my place.

This way I don’t have to backtrack for my coffee before heading into the office.

“Morning Lauren!” Clara greets me as soon as I walk through the door and pull my headphones down around my neck.

I keep my shoulder-length black hair down during my runs because feeling wind in it is extremely calming for me.

I quickly run my fingers through it to settle any flyaways before smiling back at her and rubbing my hands together.

It’s early December and while most people would probably choose to run in a gym instead of out in the cold, nothing beats the fresh air for me.

“Good morning, Clara.”

“Your usual?” She pulls out a large cup and eyes me curiously.

“You know me well.” Unzipping the pocket of my jacket, I pull out the cash I had blindly grabbed from my wallet this morning and notice all I have on me is a twenty-dollar bill.

I typically grab a ten so I can hand it to Clara and demand she keep the rest as change.

Twenty dollars for coffee just seems a little outrageous though.

Coffee’s on me this morning, Trouble.

I shake my head at the memory that violently flashes through my mind.

Lips like heaven.

The elevator.

Hands on me everywhere .

“Brown sugar shaken espresso, three pumps of white mocha, and of course , vanilla cold foam,” Clara sings out my order with a smile and I realize I’m absentmindedly rubbing the spot on my neck that I remember being sore the day I woke up in a strangers hotel room. I quickly recover and smile at Clara.

“You really could just call my name instead of saying the whole drink, Clara. It’s kind of a mouth full and I trust you with my order, you should know that by now.

” We share a laugh as she cashes me out and I drop a five-dollar bill into her tip jar before winking at her, placing my headphones back on, and heading home.

When I finally walk through my front door I’m immediately relaxed by the familiar scent of coconut and fresh linen.

I’ve spent a lot of time making my home my own little safe haven— somewhere I feel happiest, a place that truly reflects who I am.

It’s undoubtedly my favorite place to spend my time.

I set my coffee down and rush into my bedroom, stripping out of my running clothes and turning the shower on until the bathroom looks more like a sauna.

I brush my hair and throw my shower cap on before stepping in and letting the steaming hot water ease the tension in my shoulders.

I speed through my shower, giving me plenty of time to do my makeup and it’s not until I open my emails, while finishing off my coffee on the way down to my car, that I remember I have three unopened emails from Satan himself.

I can’t believe I actually forgot to open them last night.

I was well past the point of being able to safely read anything from him though.

Especially when the reply button has no ability whatsoever to tell me I’m tipsy and about to say something that would more than likely get me fired—through a company email no less—so they remain unread.

And that’s how they shall stay, for now.

I’m back to my regular routine of being the first one in the conference room for our team meeting today and I have the great displeasure of being accompanied by Fitz—who chooses to sit right next to me.

With a room full of open chairs, he drops his stuff down on the table right beside me.

I close my eyes as the gust of wind blows across my face from his folders hitting the table and swallow down my annoyance.

Successful for only a moment in remaining calm until…

“Care to tell me why my emails are still unread?” His tone is arrogantly expectant.

“Because I didn’t open them.” I don’t look up from my phone when I answer but I can feel his eyes on me.

“But you saw them, did you not?” I suck my teeth and tilt my head to the side and finally look at him, regrettably so, because the man is so gorgeous it makes me want to bleach his perfectly trimmed beard just to take him down a few pegs.

“Oh, emails from you? No. Must have gone straight to junk where they belong. Why? Were they important?” I feign ignorance as he studies me. Then he narrows his eyes and leans in closer—much closer than is necessary since we’re the only two people in this dead silent room.

“Bitterness does not become you, Lauren.” I bare my teeth and feel my chest tighten.

“Entitlement does not become you, Fitz.” I hope for some kind of reaction. A sign that he isn’t some corporate robot that is incapable of doing anything other than piss me off but he simply raises a brow at me and sits back in his seat as he keeps his eyes on me.

“You don’t like me, do you?”

Duh.

“I don’t know you.” Trying to avoid this conversation going any further I pull my pen out of my notebook and make a note to go for a run after work tonight. No matter how cold it is, I already know I’ll be in need of a little decompression run after today.

“And yet—you don’t like me.” I finally let the petty part of me that uses sarcasm and indirect responses as a way to deflect uncomfortable situations sit this one out and look at him more directly and confidently in what I’m about to say.

“I don’t like the way you treat people.”

“And how do I treat people?” If I’m not mistaken he actually looks interested in my answer, so I don’t hold back with it. I toss my pen down on my planner and link my fingers together folding my hands over the top of it.

“Like they’re beneath you. Less important.

” His jaw tightens and I can finally tell I’ve struck a nerve.

Though I must say, I’m a little shocked that this is the topic that finally warrants a reaction from him—but I continue.

“You come in here on your first day, not bothering to look up at anyone as they walk in. You continued emailing the whole time Marcus is going through our morning meeting, then you interrupted Jack when he was trying to introduce you . It was the most disrespectful behavior I’ve ever seen pass through this office and I am shocked Jack actually hired you.

” He nods slowly like he’s processing, and just when I think we’ll see some kind of breakthrough, I’m proven wrong.

“Well, I hope you can get past this little disapproval you have of me, because we’re about to be spending a lot of time together, Sweetheart.

” And with that, he stands up, collects his things, and walks out of the conference room.

He stops to chat in hushed tones with Marcus before disappearing down the hallway.

Marcus comes over, sitting in the chair Fitz just abandoned, and lets out a sigh.

“Do not say it, Marcus. I’m so serious.”

“Don’t say what?” His brows knit together in confusion.

“Whatever you’re about to say that informs me I’ll be working with Lucifer for whatever god-forsaken reason he’s come up with.”

“I don’t call the– Wait, did you just call him Lucifer?” I close my eyes in annoyance and take a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about that. What did you mean? You don’t call the what? The shots? Because last time I checked that’s exactly what you do when Jack isn’t here.” He pulls his bottom lip in with his teeth, rubs a hand along his jaw, and looks across the room, clearly frustrated. “Marcus?”

“I’m sorry, Lauren. I wish I could do something, but you’re doing a round of training with Fitz.”

“What?! Why? ” My eyes grow wider and my heart feels like it’s fighting against my ribs.

“Marcus, you know I keep up with my training, I stay up to date on everything there is to know in this business,” I lower my voice to a whisper.

“I’m one of the best agents you have. What do I need training for? ”

“You don’t. You’re right, you are the best. I have no idea why this is happening, I was just told to inform you of your new assignment.” He gives me an apologetic smile, lets me know I don’t have to stay for the meeting, then stands and addresses the rest of the room.

What the fuck is happening?