Waiting for the Sun (Waiting for the Sun #1) Read online

  “A music scout without a badge? Really?”

  “A hot young blonde with a clipboard? Please. No one will even notice you don’t have a badge.”

  I don’t have a clipboard either.

  I sit quietly in the parking lot and watch hordes of people stream down Cesar Chavez in both directions.

  “Look at all of them, Frankie. Only a handful are in pairs. Most of them are by themselves.”

  She has a point.

  “There are advantages to going without me, you know.”

  I quirk a brow. “Such as?”

  “You won’t have to eat a single thing from a food truck.”

  Jane taps her fingers against her chin as if she’s trying to come up with another one. I’m quite sold on the first one.

  “Oh, I won’t drag you all over the city looking for free drinks.”

  “You mean I can actually go to a music festival for the music? People do that?” Before she can answer, I grab her hand. “Wait. We’re in your car. How will I get home?”

  We always take her little red Chevy Cruze in case she ever needs to get back to Jacob—kind of like right now. Plus, the sound system is killer. Especially when compared to the nonexistent one I enjoy in my old 1965 Chevy pickup.

  “I’ll come back,” she says. “Early if I can.”

  Maybe Jane’s right. Maybe I do need this. If it wasn’t for the diner where I work, I could easily go weeks without seeing another human. I’m not what you’d call a social butterfly. I’m more of an antisocial caterpillar who’s yet to don a pair of wings. It’s not that I’m shy; I’m just…

  Stuck in my ways. An introvert. A loner.

  Jane nudges my arm. “What do you say?”

  Boring.

  “Earth to Frankie.”

  A faint smile peeks through my scowl, but I quickly squash it. I’ll admit, the idea intrigues me, but there’s no way I’m letting that little fact slip to Ms. Flutterby over there, or next thing I know I’ll be booked alone on a cruise.

  Wait. What am I thinking?

  “Jane, this is crazy. We could book a cruise for what we’re paying for our room.”

  Her brows pinch together. “Frankie, it’s South By. The cancelation ship sailed a week ago.”

  “Ugh. I forgot about that.”

  “No, not ugh,” she says. “This could be really good for you. I think Jacob’s timing might be perfect.”

  I think Jacob’s timing might be planned.

  I heave a defeated sigh. “You swear you’ll try to come back early?”

  “Cross my heart.”

  “Because the main ingredient in a girls’ trip is girls. Plural.”

  “Can’t argue with that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay?” She squeezes my hand. “Just think, Frankie. This would make the best book: Single girl finds herself at the world’s largest music festival.” She lifts her backpack from the floorboard and starts rummaging through it. “Find a guy too, and I’ll make it a romance.”

  Jane considers herself an aspiring writer, but I consider her an aspiring finisher. She writes all the time; she just never finishes anything.

  “Why not focus on one of the dozens of books you’ve already started?”

  “This is better.”

  I shift the car into reverse. I’m pulling out of our parking space when she slaps a colossal box of Trojans on the console. I slam my foot on the brakes. “You bought me condoms?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I brought them for me. I’m a single mom living with my mom. I was hoping to get laid.”

  My mouth falls open. From the size of the box, it appears I would’ve been flying solo anyway.

  “Don’t judge,” she says. “Vibrators are great, but they’re no substitute for the real thing.”

  I love that she’s not even remotely offended I’m gawking at her.

  “And at least I date occasionally,” she continues. “If anyone in this car needs to get laid, it’s you.”

  Jane only dates occasionally because of Jacob. Back in high school, she could have had a different date every night of the week if she wanted. My best friend is stunning—hazel eyes, honey-brown hair, and skin that tans so effortlessly during the summer she looks like a walking advertisement for Hawaiian Tropic. I, on the other hand, look like a walking advertisement for aloe.

  I release the brakes. “You’re certifiable. You know that, right?”

  She shrugs, and I shake my head.

  “I said I would stay,” I tell her. “But you can keep your family-size pack of condoms.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  It’s just after seven o’clock on Monday evening when I pull up to the Four Seasons. Two valets are on us instantly, and Jane laughs as they open our doors.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “No one ever does this at our usual hotel,” she says, stepping out of the car.

  “Motel. And if we were booked there this year, I’d be going home with you.” I climb out of the driver’s side and leave the door cracked. “Think you’ll be able to find your way back to San Antonio?”

  Jane pops the trunk and grabs my duffel as I make my way around the car. “Crazier things have happened.”

  I smile. “Just promise me you’ll use your GPS and not your instinct, okay?” Jane’s the only person I know who can get lost in her own driveway, which is why I usually drive.

  “Yes, Mom,” she says, buckling herself into the driver’s seat.

  With my bag slung over my shoulder, I lean in and hug her goodbye. “I won’t talk to strangers. I’ll eat my vegetables and drink plenty of water. I’ll get eight hours of sleep—”

  “Good God, Frankie. You’re going to put me to sleep. And I thought you were dull last year.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t dull. I was just worried I’d get carded and they’d kick us both out.”

  She closes her door, her eyes fixing on mine as she rolls down her window. “You’re twenty-one this year. I expect you to act like it.”

  “Then I’ll drink all the free vodka I can find while having wild sex with strange men. Better?”

  “There’s my little romance novel heroine. I love you,” she says. “And if Jacob gets better, I’ll come back, but in the meantime, try to have some fun.” She puts the car in drive and slowly rolls past me. “You’ll thank me for this one day.”

  “Or kill you.”

  A rush of cool air kisses my cheeks as I step inside the Four Seasons lobby. Wow. This is different. Dark wood-beamed ceilings. Polished marble floors. Intricately carved mahogany walls. And cowhide. Lots of cowhide. If I had to sum it up, I’d say rich-people rustic, and I am not rich people.

  I have a small party-planning business I started in college. It does okay, but it’s inconsistent. To make up the difference, I wait tables. When my dad passed away, he left me a nice little nest egg by way of his life insurance policy, but I haven’t touched it—not even to pay my half of this ridiculously expensive hotel. As soon as Jane and I scored the room, I began pulling doubles at the restaurant. I’m a work-first, play-later kind of girl.

  “Checking in,” I say when I reach the front desk. “Francesca Valentine.” I take out my ID and credit card as the clerk consults his computer for my reservation.

  “Is it possible the room is booked under a different name, Ms. Valentine?”

  “Try Jane Townsend.”

  Jane Town…send, the clerk mouths as he returns to his computer. A slight frown pulls at his lips as his fingers click against the keyboard.

  My stomach growls, and he glances at me over the rim of his glasses.

  “I’m sorry this is taking so long. Is it Townsend or Townsand?”

  “Townsend.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t have a reservation under either name. Do you have your confirmation?”

  The blood drains from my face. Jane made the reservation; she has the confirmation.

  “No. Yes. Hold on a sec.” I dial Jane’s n
umber, but the call goes straight to voice mail. “Jane, please tell me you have—you know what? Never mind. I’ll call you back.”

  If we don’t have a room, we don’t have to pay for a room. That’s good, right? Because there’s no guarantee she’ll even be able to make it back, and I don’t really want to stay by myself, do I?

  You promised him, Frankie.

  My stomach clenches. If I go home, I’ll spend another six months eating frozen dinners and binge-watching Netflix. I’ll want to change. I’ll want to live a little, but I won’t actually do it because brooding is way too easy.

  Can a person brood to death?

  Breathing an uneasy sigh, I lift my gaze to the clerk. “I have to have a room; my life kind of depends on it. Okay, that may be a tad dramatic. It’s just…I promised my dad and—oh forget it.” I throw my head back, my lips pinched in a frustrated smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been kind of a long day and a really long year and I. Am. Kaput!” The last three words ring loudly, giving us both a start. I lower my voice. “I don’t have my confirmation, not with me anyway. Look, I’ve never had this problem with your hotel before, Mr.”—I stand high and mighty on my tiptoes, stretching to read his name tag—“Hernandez.” I’ve never had this problem before because I’ve never stayed here before. “May I speak to the manager?”

  “Of course, Ms. Valentine,” he says, sounding a little too eager to be rid of me. “One moment.”

  I move off to the side and check my watch. It’s almost seven thirty. I guess I could try to get a cab or an Uber, but the idea makes me laugh out loud. A ride after seven at South By is harder to come by than a golden ticket in a Wonka Bar.

  Ugh. On a scale of one to ten, this has a suckage factor of eleven.

  I dial Jane again and get her voice mail…again. “Jane, I hate to do this to you, but I think they lost our reservation. You might have to turn around. Call me.”

  Okay, don’t panic. You’re stranded in Austin, not Tokyo.

  Mr. Hernandez reappears with his manager, and it’s painfully obvious I’m not getting a room.

  “Ms. Valentine, I’m Brad Harper. I apologize for this inconvenience.”

  Inconvenience? An inconvenience is taking too long with room service or forgetting to replace my towels. This is a little more than an inconvenience.

  “We’re calling a few neighboring hotels and the festival lodging committee,” he says. “We’re trying our best to remedy this situation.”

  Mr. Harper’s eyes are kind and his smile is warm, but his words are crap.

  This situation cannot be remedied with another hotel. Finding one will be impossible. There are never available rooms in this part of Austin once South By kicks off. The festival’s so big, most downtown hotels only accept reservations from badge-holders, and we aren’t, nor have we ever been, badge-holders. It was a fluke we were able to reserve this room.

  From the looks of it, you weren’t able to reserve this room.

  “I appreciate it,” I say, sagging against the counter, “but I think we both know I’m SOL.”

  Mr. Harper gives me a rueful smile. “Probably, but let’s give it a shot anyway. I’ll be right back.”

  The second he steps away from the desk, a chill sweeps up my spine, making every little hair on the back of my neck stand beneath my sweater. It’s that feeling you get when you know someone’s watching you, but it’s more intense—like they’re not just watching, they’re staring. I slowly, discreetly, turn my head until my eyes land on the source of my suspicion.

  Who is that?

  My breath catches at the sight of him—tall and uncommonly handsome. Hollywood handsome, as Jane would say. I drop my gaze to his fingers, casually unfastening the button on his suit jacket, then to his hands as they disappear inside the pockets of his slacks. He rocks back on his heels and a slow, sexy smile spreads over his lips, turning my knees to water. Swoon. I stand up straight and grip the counter for support. The way he’s looking at me…it’s deliciously unsettling. It’s like he knows me, but I’m certain he doesn’t.

  A girl wouldn’t forget a face like that.

  Mr. Harper clears his throat, and I jerk my head in his direction.

  “Unfortunately, you appear to be right,” he says, reaching across the counter with my ID and credit card. “I do apologize, Ms.—”

  “Actually…” I take a deep breath and try to stand taller than my five-and-a-half-foot frame. “I understand these things happen, but without a room I’ll miss the festival. Is there anything you can do to make this right?”

  Is there anything you can do to make me look like less of an idiot in front of Mr. Beautiful over there?

  “Make this…” His words trail off, and a smile so small I almost miss it flashes on his face. “Ahh, Mr. Fox.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Twentieth Century Fox

  Drew: It’s a good thing you’re handsome or that panel you just gave would’ve been a real snoozer.

  Darian: It’s already uploaded? And why are you stalking me?

  Drew: Slow day.

  Darian: Obviously.

  Drew: BTW no chance in hell you’re getting laid in that tie bro.

  Frankie

  “Mr. who?” I turn my head to find him standing right beside me.

  “Might I suggest a comparable room, courtesy of your upstanding hotel, on a weekend of her choosing?” he says to the manager before glancing down at me. “Would that satisfy you?” His voice is as satiny and rich as cream cheese frosting on a red velvet cupcake.

  I’m sure this is where I should say something, but I’m too preoccupied with his last sentence to form one of my own…until I realize both men are staring at me.

  “Oh, um…yes, it would satisfy me.”

  Jane and I can have a do-over!

  Mr. Harper narrows his eyes at my new advocate and then smiles down at me. “Ms. Valentine, I think that can be arranged. I’m generating a two-night voucher for a complimentary guest room as well as restaurant credits for both days of your visit—for you and a guest, of course,” he says, casting a glance at him.

  The thought instantly propels me into fantasyland, and poor Jane is forgotten.

  He stuffs the voucher in an envelope and hands it to me. “Just have your original confirmation number available when you make your reservation.”

  “Thank you,” I say, tucking the envelope in the front pocket of my duffel.

  “Thank him,” Mr. Harper says, his lips curling in amusement as he backs away from the desk, “and make sure he knows he owes me one.”

  As soon as he’s gone, the man beside me offers me his hand. “Darian Fox.”

  I’m mesmerized by how soft yet strong it is. Tanned and lightly dusted with hair.

  “Ms. Valentine?”

  And so large it practically swallows mine.

  “It is Valentine, right?” he says, giving my hand a squeeze.

  My eyes snap to his. “Oh, sorry. Yes, Francesca Valentine.”

  Now, let go of the nice man’s hand, Frankie.

  Darian Fox is beautiful. Too beautiful. I want to run my fingers through his tousled chestnut hair but think better of it.

  Thank you for your help. Do you mind if I touch your hair?

  His skin is sun-kissed, a stark contrast to mine. And he’s tall. He towers over me by at least seven or eight inches—and that’s with my boots on. He’s dressed in a black fitted pin-striped suit, a crisp white shirt, and a quirky necktie patterned with little multicolored Flying V guitars.

  That didn’t come from Men’s Wearhouse.

  My eyes climb from his tie to his upturned lips and continue their ascent until they’re captured by his olive-green stare. My cheeks warm at the intensity, and I quickly lower my gaze back to his hand and to his long, slender fingers gripping and tapping the counter in front of us.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Fox, and thank you,” I say once I’ve pulled myself together. “I’m pretty sure I was on my way to twenty percent off my next visit b
efore you showed up.”

  “You’re welcome. And it’s Darian.”

  My lips curve into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Darian.”

  The growing crowd drives us from the front desk to the lobby where we sit opposite each other on matching navy suede love seats. I watch Darian curiously as he takes off his suit jacket and loosens his tie. He’s silent for a minute while he fusses with the jacket and then looks over at me.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he says.

  I arch my brows. “A proposition?”

  Darian laughs, and the most adorable dimple appears on his left cheek. “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the best word choice.”

  “You’ve certainly got my attention,” I say, smiling.

  He returns my smile as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers linked together. “I’m staying at The Mendón on Sixth. I booked the entire top floor for myself, which leaves three available rooms. You can have one if you want it.”

  Oh. My. God. Mr. Beautiful just offered me a room. The best romantic comedies start this way. But…so do the best horror movies. And probably the best porn.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why am I offering you a room?”

  “Why did you book the entire floor?”

  “So I could proposition you—clearly.”

  Laughter bubbles out of me, but I dial it back.

  “I’m kidding,” he says. “I’m here on business. I never know if I’ll need the extra space.”

  “What happens if you do need the extra space?”

  “I’ll see that I don’t.”

  A tingling sensation creeps up my neck and settles in my cheeks, sending my gaze to my lap. “I appreciate it,” I say, suddenly fascinated with the frayed fabric on my duffel strap. “But my friend will pick me up.”

  Darian sinks into the love seat and brings his ankle to his knee, one arm draped over the armrest, the other stretched across the back. “I’m not sure where your friend is coming from, but are you familiar with Austin traffic?” He checks his watch. “It’s nearly eight. This place is about to be a madhouse, and God knows how long it will be before your ride gets here. The room is just sitting there, vacant.”