Chapter 1
I walked into the bar of my hotel , finding it packed with Friday night revelers . I was a little surprised since it had been virtually empty earlier in the week , but then again, I was staying in the touristy Fisherman’s Wharf area of San Francisco. There was nothing like a group of happy vacationers here for the weekend to keep the alcohol flowing. Low rock music thumped from the stereo, but it was almost impossible to hear over the din of the crowd. Oddly enough, the loud noise and all the people crammed inside gave the entire place a warm and cozy feel —maybe because it was easier to be enveloped into the crowd and disappear this way. Nothing was worse than sitting in an empty bar and having some creepy guy hit on you because you were the only chick there. I could hopefully enjoy my dinner tucked away into a corner somewhere and then slip back upstairs to my room.
I traveled a lot for work and was used to finding myself alone in a new city . Monday through Friday I’d be in airports, on planes, and in strange hotels all over the country finalizing the details of the conferences I org anized. Vendor agreements, menu select i on , transportation to-and-from airports, even floral arrangements—it was all second nature to me . I had good attention to detail and was a people person, so the job was a perfect fit . Finding myself stranded in a strange city over the weekend, however, was not something that I was accustomed to. Although the weather here in California was perfect, my flight back home to Chicago was cancelled due to the snowstorm descending on the city. I probably wouldn’t be able to fly out for another day or two, which meant losing my precious weekend to catch up on things at home, and more importantly, missing my best friend ’ s b achelorette party tonight .
Morgan and I had been best friends since college. We’d been roommates our freshman year and inseparable ever since—well, until her fiancé Josh came along at least. I was thrilled for them but disappointed to miss out on our last weekend together as single girls. Morgan was a free spirit and hopeless at getting the details of something like wedding planning nailed down , so I’d happily agreed to the role of being both her maid of honor and wedding planner . The wedding next Saturday, which also happened to be Valentine’s Day, was the type of thing I hoped to plan for myself one day . It didn’t have to necessarily be on February 14, but a wedding with lush bouquets of red roses and an intimate dinner with plenty of warm candleli gh t filling the room sounded just about right. All I needed was for the right guy to come along. I’d also planned a kick-ass bachelorette party for tonight, which right about now , Morgan and all of our girlfriends would be enjoying without me .
The hostess told me there were no tables available, and I negotiated my way through the crowd until I found a seat at the bar. I was even dressed for our girl’s night out : my shoulder-length brown hair silky smooth, my makeup done just so, and my slinky black dress and black patent heels perfect for a night on the town. I’d had high hopes earlier today of jetting off to Chicago and taking the cab straight to our first destination of the evening. Unfortunately, a fter staring in frustration at the “cancelled” sign on the airport arrivals and departures board, I’d reluctantly taken a cab back to the hotel I’d just check ed out of here in San Francisco . Because I’d been in charge of the large conference here this week and had brought in tons of business for them, the front desk was more than willing to find me a room. I’d just dropped my bags off and was now down at the bar to drown my sorrows and grab a quick bite to eat.
Sinking down onto my barstool, I glanced around. The group of middle-aged women to my left didn’t pos e any threat . They certainly wouldn’t be hitting on me and
I walked into the bar of my hotel , finding it packed with Friday night revelers . I was a little surprised since it had been virtually empty earlier in the week , but then again, I was staying in the touristy Fisherman’s Wharf area of San Francisco. There was nothing like a group of happy vacationers here for the weekend to keep the alcohol flowing. Low rock music thumped from the stereo, but it was almost impossible to hear over the din of the crowd. Oddly enough, the loud noise and all the people crammed inside gave the entire place a warm and cozy feel —maybe because it was easier to be enveloped into the crowd and disappear this way. Nothing was worse than sitting in an empty bar and having some creepy guy hit on you because you were the only chick there. I could hopefully enjoy my dinner tucked away into a corner somewhere and then slip back upstairs to my room.
I traveled a lot for work and was used to finding myself alone in a new city . Monday through Friday I’d be in airports, on planes, and in strange hotels all over the country finalizing the details of the conferences I org anized. Vendor agreements, menu select i on , transportation to-and-from airports, even floral arrangements—it was all second nature to me . I had good attention to detail and was a people person, so the job was a perfect fit . Finding myself stranded in a strange city over the weekend, however, was not something that I was accustomed to. Although the weather here in California was perfect, my flight back home to Chicago was cancelled due to the snowstorm descending on the city. I probably wouldn’t be able to fly out for another day or two, which meant losing my precious weekend to catch up on things at home, and more importantly, missing my best friend ’ s b achelorette party tonight .
Morgan and I had been best friends since college. We’d been roommates our freshman year and inseparable ever since—well, until her fiancé Josh came along at least. I was thrilled for them but disappointed to miss out on our last weekend together as single girls. Morgan was a free spirit and hopeless at getting the details of something like wedding planning nailed down , so I’d happily agreed to the role of being both her maid of honor and wedding planner . The wedding next Saturday, which also happened to be Valentine’s Day, was the type of thing I hoped to plan for myself one day . It didn’t have to necessarily be on February 14, but a wedding with lush bouquets of red roses and an intimate dinner with plenty of warm candleli gh t filling the room sounded just about right. All I needed was for the right guy to come along. I’d also planned a kick-ass bachelorette party for tonight, which right about now , Morgan and all of our girlfriends would be enjoying without me .
The hostess told me there were no tables available, and I negotiated my way through the crowd until I found a seat at the bar. I was even dressed for our girl’s night out : my shoulder-length brown hair silky smooth, my makeup done just so, and my slinky black dress and black patent heels perfect for a night on the town. I’d had high hopes earlier today of jetting off to Chicago and taking the cab straight to our first destination of the evening. Unfortunately, a fter staring in frustration at the “cancelled” sign on the airport arrivals and departures board, I’d reluctantly taken a cab back to the hotel I’d just check ed out of here in San Francisco . Because I’d been in charge of the large conference here this week and had brought in tons of business for them, the front desk was more than willing to find me a room. I’d just dropped my bags off and was now down at the bar to drown my sorrows and grab a quick bite to eat.
Sinking down onto my barstool, I glanced around. The group of middle-aged women to my left didn’t pos e any threat . They certainly wouldn’t be hitting on me and
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