Bait (Wake, #1)(49)

Since, taking over thirty percent of Bay Brewing last month with the help of my mom, stalking Blake, and ultimately her boss’s moves with their company, these trade shows proved to be good business and hopefully the traveling would lead to pleasure as well.

If I had anything to say about it, there would be a lot of pleasure.

We didn't talk on the phone often, okay we did, just not as much as I'd like. But we text every day about nothing and everything and I both loved and hated it. I was becoming stingy and sharing her was difficult.

I couldn't wait to see her face when she walked in. It was Friday and according to The Atlanta Food and Beverage Show's itinerary, she should be arriving to set up her booth anytime minute.

That was pretty much what the first day of the show entailed. Setting up display areas and signage, and then walking around and getting to meet the other vendors. It was great networking for Bay. Afterward, there would be a cocktail thing and a dinner.

It may have been a little overboard to call the organizer and have our tables placed across the aisle from each other. I could admit to that. But ask me if I cared. It'd been too long since I’d seen her face. I wouldn't be able to focus on work all weekend if I was wondering where she was and making up excuses to leave the booth to seek her out.

And Marcia, the event planner, was very receptive. Turns out her husband loves beer. Who would have thought? I may have walked an inappropriate tightrope to get my way, but I'd gotten it, so to hell with it.

I'd do what I had to do, and if that meant bribing a middle-aged woman with beer for a front-row seat to a weekend of, at very least, seeing her front and center, only fifteen feet away for a whole day, then I was guilty. I don't give a shit.

Since Bay only had a handful of employees—and we were currently swamped—I'd suckered Troy into joining me that weekend. He actually knew quite a bit about the company and the process, but really, all the people wanted at these shows was a nice-looking face and free beer. Not to sound like a chick, but he was a pretty good-looking guy and I had enough beer to last a week.

Troy had many jobs. He worked with my brother at Tinnitus Music, played in a few bands, and worked some nights in a recording studio. Sometimes he even bartended at The Front Row, a music venue back home.

I arrived early, knowing I'd want to be done setting up by the time she arrived. I even knew when her plane landed. If she took that morning's direct flight from Seattle to Atlanta and then came straight there, she should be walking in at any moment.

“I'll grab the ice in the morning. I'll just take this cart up stairs with me tonight,” Troy said about filling up the sample and display tubs.

“Good idea. One trip.”

“You say that like you're surprised that I'm good at this. I'm a musician, remember. I know how to gig.”

“Gig?” I huffed a laugh, “When was your last gig?”

“Fuck you. It wasn't that long ago,” I heard him say, and then I thought he called me a dick under his breath as he set up the signs behind the booth.

That's when I saw her walking through the double doors that lead into the massive convention room in the bottom floor of the hotel hosting the event. She was wheeling in two huge hard cases, probably full of their company's propaganda. She was prettier then I remembered.

She was luminescent. Her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and pieces of it had fallen out, and she'd cut the front part again, which fell just above her eyes. She was wearing dark brown dress pants and an ivory, silk sleeveless, button-up shirt. So hot.

As I watched her sign in and talk to the folks at the front of the room who managed the registration, I pulled my phone out.

Me: What are you doing right now? I want to tell you about what I'm looking at.

I watched her startle and heard the sound of her phone from across the room. She was fantastically disheveled, and I couldn’t help but laugh. She sprang into action looking for her cell. When she found it in the pocket of her jacket, which was threaded through the handles of her cases, she swiped her hand across the face to open the message.

She smiled and blushed.

The couple on the other side of the table gathered her registration forms and documents and set about putting them into the event folder that each vendor was given.

Honeybee: I'm busy. I'll text you later.

She smiled again, but didn't put the phone away. She was still holding it when I sent a message back.

Me: Too busy for me now? Come on. I really want to tell you about this.

“Dude, you're not doing shit. You better be naming a beer after me for this,” Troy complained from behind me where he almost had the whole booth ready to go.

“Sure, I'll call it Man Bitch Ale,” I replied, but I didn't take my eyes off the front of the room where she was standing.

“Who are you staring at?” Troy asked as he stood by be and followed my line of sight. Blake and Troy were both a Micah's graduation party, but Troy was too wasted that night to remember anything, let alone a girl who wasn't there for a whole hour before she left to get drunk by herself. “That girl? You're looking at the one at the registration table.”

I didn't answer, I only watched as she finished with a message she was typing back to me.

Honeybee: You're so needy. What are you looking at?

Me: I don't want to tell you now.