Waiting For Us (Beautiful Surrender, Part Three) (A Billionaire Romance)

by Ava Claire

  He whispered a kiss on my forehead, inhaling my scent like it was the sweetest thing.

  “You know,” I began, deciding to take another stab at a joke. “When I have moments, it usually involves drunken texts and voicemails or eating everything in my fridge.”

  A smile dashed across his face. “Something to look forward to.”

  Before I could tell him that Crazy Melissa was absolutely, positively nothing to look forward to, he pressed his lips to mine. The kiss we shared was filled with the things that songs were written about. Tenderness, excitement, hope for what was to come. I felt his lips all over my body, seared into me in the most delicious way. When we came up for air, both breathless, I thought about something that was completely insane. Maybe we could make this work after all. I felt like nothing was tethering me to the ground, so filled with happiness that I could fly. Anything else was easy, as conquerable as the clouds that were so close that I could touch them.

  “I think I'm in love with you.”

  The words slipped out in the haze. A haze that cleared almost instantly when Logan's eyes filled with horror.

  If my ascent was magical, a high that nothing else compared to, crashing back to earth was the thing that nightmares were made of.

  I covered my mouth, but it was too late. The words were out, and he was still looking at me like cockroaches, snakes, and spiders were crawling all over me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, knee buckling nausea hitting me in waves. Before I could attempt to take it back, he cleared his face of emotion and spoke.

  “Melissa, let me—”

  “Explain?” I finished hoarsely. The nausea was fading and burning, lava hot anger was bubbling to the surface and spewing out of my mouth. “Don't worry about it. I'm the dumb one that fell for some guy I’ve barely known for a week. A guy who told me he doesn't do relationships.” I hit below the belt. “A guy who punches mirrors when life gets tough.”

  His jaw tightened. Razor sharp. “If you could let me finish—”

  “Don't.” I turned on my heels, fleeing down the stairs. It was almost a Cinderella moment, except the thing I left behind was my underwear—and a broken heart.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I stepped into Mika's Brew and Pastry, and barely got two feet in the door before I came to a hard stop. Just like always, Mika's had a line clear out the door. Men in two piece suits, women in blouses and razor sharp black pants; men in hard hats, students and women with little ones in tow—we all lined up for our hit of caffeine. The baristas shouted out names at the pick up station. The air was heavy with the aroma of warm croissants and meaty biscuits. The same artsy fartsy pictures hung on the walls, surrounded by the small cafe tables you had to fight it out Hunger Games style to score. Everything was just as I remembered it when I left for Pleasure Point.

  Everything but me.

  When I got back home and stepped into my apartment, I remembered how Logan's lab, Maddie, would rush to meet me, nearly knocking me over she was so excited. I remembered seeing him in some manner of undress, his muscled chest glittering beneath the skylight. The devilish wink that made me weak in the knees. The eyes filled with dark promises that made my body ache for his touch. And sleeping? It was more lack thereof. After I finally tossed and turned myself to unconsciousness, I'd wake up and throw my arm to his side of the bed and jerk myself awake when it dropped to the mattress.

  But I soldiered on. I lied to myself as I went through my routine. Said it was all a dream. All in my head. Had to be—because I must have been living a fantasy if I ever thought Logan Mason wanted me for anything except for sex. Anger put fire in my belly and when I walked into work and nailed my pitches and secured two new high profile clients for Kaleidoscope Marketing, even my dad seemed impressed. Somehow I held it together. I avoided the internet and gossip websites. Even if Access Hollywood's commercial popped up, I changed the channel. Hearing about Delilah or seeing his face was the storm cloud that hung above my head and I lived in constant fear that the sky would open up at any moment.

  I put on a good show, though. I even swapped a few lighthearted texts with my best friend, Stacia Rodriguez. But there was something about Mika's that was making me come undone. Sweat exploded at my temple, my heart punched my chest as I shuffled forward and the door shut behind me. The walls seemed to be closing in, trapping me. When a familiar voice rang out above the conversation and drum of the espresso machine, I knew why.

  “Melissa! Over here!”

  I drew a shaky breath and searched for the smile I'd been forcing on my lips all week before I faced her. She had prime real estate in front of the bay windows, easy access to several outlets. Her smile glittered as brightly as the sun that shone through the painted glass. Her makeup was lighter than she usually wore it, her natural beauty stunning me even though I'd seen her without a stroke of it on at all. I wasn't the only one that noticed. Several of the men in line shifted in her direction even though their names were likely not Melissa. I maneuvered through the cafe and pulled my smile tighter. She leapt from her seat and threw her arms around my neck like it had been two years since we'd seen each other instead of two weeks. She released me, giving me a minute to catch my breath as she stood back and inspected me. I waited for her face to fall and the barrage of questions to hit me like the waves back in Pleasure Point.

  “You look amazing!”

  I rolled my eyes, lowering myself into the seat across from hers. “Did you add a little something extra to your coffee this morning?”

  She reclaimed her seat, her eyes shining with excitement. “Coffee? None for me, thanks.” She pointed a manicured finger at her coffee cup. I arched my brow expectantly. She made a grander gesture, but I was clearly still missing something. When she finally picked up a string that was dangling on the side, I nearly fell out of my seat.

  “You're drinking tea?” I feigned horror, my eyes going wide. “Who are you, and what have you done with Stacia Rodriguez?!”

  “Ha ha,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me. She rolled her shoulders back. Shoulders that weren't clad in her usual blazer, and beneath, some monotone blouse. Her caramel colored skin was accentuated by a lilac colored sleeveless top. I craned my neck around and saw she wore a billowing, beach approved pleated skirt.

  I rattled off the list. “No coffee, hardly any makeup—”

  She wiggled her eyebrows. “No makeup actually.”

  I made a face. Entire YouTube series existed to create the sun kissed look she had naturally. “I stand corrected: no coffee, no makeup, no blazer and slacks...what's going on?”

  She brought her cup to her lips, but I still saw the secret smile on her lips. “Can't I just switch things up?” Before I could rebuff that and remind her that she was the queen of structure and routine, she added, “Let's just say a lot of things can happen in two weeks.”

  “Ain't that the truth,” I muttered, and instantly regretted it when I looked up and saw the concern rush across her face.

  “What? What happened? Is everything okay?”

  I swiped the second cup on the table, dodging the question. “For me? You shouldn't have.” I paused midair. “None of that tea nonsense right?”

  “Hell no,” she shuddered. “I remember you going off when they tried to pass decaf off on you.”

  I took a hearty gulp, relaxing since we were talking about anything except my vacation—though heat rushed my cheeks at the memory of my brief freak out a few months back. Apparently, she was never going to let me live it down. “I didn't go off.”

  “You hurled the cup in the trashcan and hissed that you never ordered decaf. You were moments away from leaping over the counter and beating the poor barista within an inch of her life,” Stacia joked.

  I winced, remembering the day more vividly than I'd like. I'd gotten into it with my father after he set me up for failure, spearheading three major ad campaigns on top of a massive workload. He added the hair that broke the camel's back when he told me he wanted me to take
on two more clients that wanted a complete image overhaul. I'd snapped and he'd called me an ungrateful brat and I'd stormed over to Mika’s for some much caffeine. I couldn't put my anger where it belonged, so the barista unfortunately stepped in the line of fire. I was so lost in the memory that I forgot I was avoiding one conversation and my silence was just reinforcing the fact that I wasn't okay.

  “So, you going to tell me what that little comment was about?” Casual clothing or not, her face was intent and serious as a heart attack. Her dark brown eyes were trained on me, scouting for the truth. No wonder her conviction rate was so high. It was impossible to be on the receiving end of her glare and hold on to your secrets.

  “Not sure what you mean.” My hand shook as I took another sip. I squirmed beneath her gaze and ripped my eyes away, yanking them up to a TV on the wall. I nearly dropped my coffee when Delilah's face popped on the screen.

  There she was, dressed in some skin tight number that looked better suited for a club than a morning talk show. It was black and barely covered her lithe frame. Her fire engine red hair was wild and unkempt, like she'd just fucked back stage and remembered she had an interview. Her jade green eyes were bloodshot, intensified by jet black eyeliner and mascara. The volume was lost, but from the deep breath she drew and the shocked looks that reverberated across the hosts faces, I had an idea of what she was saying.

  The words emblazoned across the bottom of the screen confirmed it: ‘Actress pregnant by billionaire businessman’. I told myself to breathe, because I knew what was next, but I still gasped when Logan's face shone down at me. The picture must have been recent because I'd done a fair amount of Googling despite everything in me screaming it would do me no good, and every picture I'd found he looked impeccable. Not a hair out of place, clean shaven, usually clad in some dark and tailored two piece suit. The Logan above me looked haggard, his hair somehow longer than I remembered. Stubble lined his jaw. His appearance wasn't collected and sophisticated, and he was practically growling at the camera.

  He looked miserable.

  I felt like that should have brought me comfort. Some form of karma for the broken heart I refused to admit I had. But I didn't feel a sense of justice or that he got his comeuppance. My heart leapt to my throat as I stared at the image like I wanted to pull him from the television and into the room. Like I wanted to pull him into my arms. I wanted to tell him I missed him and I knew the timing of me saying I loved him couldn't have been worst if I planned it. I wanted to tell him that even though we only had a week together, it was the best week of my life...and that couldn't be it. I couldn't bear it if I never saw him again.

  “Huh. I thought you weren't into all that celebrity gossip stuff?” Stacia snapped me from my thoughts. Her head was tilted slightly, like I was a puzzle she was trying to figure out, gathering the pieces together one by one.

  I downed my coffee and gave her a smile so big it went to my hairline. “What can I say? It happens to the best of us.” I pushed back from the table, already planning my escape route. “I actually only have a few minutes. Lots of meetings back at the office.”

  She rose too, but she gave me a little slack and didn't follow. Very minimal slack.

  “I'm not dropping this, Melissa! We'll talk later.”

  I gave her an awkward wave and stepped onto the bustling sidewalk, fading into the crowd. The Kaleidoscope building was right across the street, but I walked past it. I needed to move, to stay in motion. I wasn’t ready to admit that I was trying to outrun the memory of Logan’s lips pressed against mine.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I collected myself as best I could as the elevator dragged me back up to Kaleidoscope's offices on the 15th floor. The door opened and the switch inside me flipped, turning my face bright and happy. Years of my father drilling into me that appearances were important, were everything, had been seared into my consciousness. Even though I wanted to climb into my car and drive to San Francisco, find Logan and do...something, I launched my heels forward, turning to my ever growing stack of projects.

  I flashed Brenda Walker a smile that I mostly meant. She was the receptionist for Kaleidoscope, perched at the front desk and the only one that gave it to my dad straight and still had her job. She was 65, with salt and pepper hair and kind eyes. I wasn't close with my grandparents, but if I would have had the opportunity to pick my grandmother, I would have picked Brenda.

  I angled toward the back offices, but she waved me over, giddy with excitement. I slowly approached her, apprehension barely hitting my radar as I got caught up in her bright eyed bouncing.

  “What's the occasion?” I bit my lip, adrenaline shooting through me like a rocket. “Oh my gosh is it Dietnem Motors? They decided to sign?”

  She pushed her horn rimmed glasses to the bridge of her nose, only to have them fall back to their original place as she shook her head effusively. “No, it's much better than that!”

  I was officially on the edge of my seat. The Dietnem family behind the regional stock car racing team had money in the bank...millions to spare that was burning a hole in their pocket since one of their drivers became an overnight sensation. The problem? The patriarch at the head of the family, Johnny Dietnem, was old school and hated every single concept he was presented with. After our last meeting when he all but stormed out, we were all waiting for them to say they were going with a different firm. Dad was offering a significant raise for whoever could get them to sign the dotted line.

  Brenda clasped her hands together with glee. “Someone sent you flowers!”

  I repeated it in my head twice before it clicked and when it registered, I gripped the side of her desk. How did Logan know that I'd been thinking about him? Missing him, craving him? My mouth was dry and dusty. I struggled to find the words, to say something, but only a croak came out.

  Brenda gripped my hands tight, her joy cocooning me in warmth and care. “I'm so happy you found a nice boy after that no good Jason! You know first comes flowers, then comes marriage—”

  I couldn't help but laugh at that. A grandmother through and through, trying to marry me off. “I'm not sure that's how it goes, Mrs. Walker.”

  She let me go, nodding in the direction of my office. “It's a gorgeous arrangement.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Very expensive.”

  I had to restrain myself to keep from dashing toward my office. I saw the interested looks from my co-workers, the questions sparkling in their eyes. I stepped into my office and shut the door behind me, then faced the most beautiful red roses I'd ever seen. I'd never truly noticed how monotone the rest of my office was until that moment. I was transported to some noir, black and white film, my desk, bookshelf, and office chair nothing extraordinary. The walls were blank and unimpressive. The only color sat perched beside my computer. The richest red. The color of passion. The color of forgiveness.

  I barreled toward my desk, picking up the vase and burying my nose in the understated floral scent, water droplets spritzing my skin. It took me back to the beach. Back to him.

  I bit my lip excitedly as I plucked the note from the center. I never would have pegged Logan for a flowers kind of guy, but he'd get no complaints from me. I remembered all but begging Jason to get me flowers and his rebuttal that I couldn't even keep my potted plants at my office alive. Trying to explain to him that it was the thought that counts was pointless. I backed down, just like always. Pretended I was happy with the scraps of love he gave me.

  I pushed the memory away, not wanting it to further poison my moment. I opened the card, reading the note aloud.

  “Forgive me, Mel.”

  My heart slammed to a stop, then plummeted to the floor. The nickname, something I hated until he whispered it while he was making love to me...it wasn't, couldn't be Logan. My head refused to believe it, scrolling to the end. Hoping I was wrong.

  Nothing's been right without you here. I made a terrible mistake. Please forgive me.—Jason

  “No,” I whispered, clutching the vase so tight
ly I was surprised it didn't shatter in my hands. “No!” The word echoed around the room and returned to me, making me feel sick.

  The flowers weren't from Logan. They were from my ex. The same ex who broke up with me because he fell for someone else.

  The room blurred as tears filled my eyes. I was back in my apartment, wearing that ridiculous lingerie, so excited for him to come home. Hoping that night would be the start of better times. Happier times. The door opened, he took one look at me and asked, 'Are you wearing lingerie?' From his complete disinterest, he may as well have asked me why are you wearing lingerie. The Santa Cruz trip was supposed to be for us, but he'd dropped the bomb before I could even get it out. He wasn't in love with me anymore...he'd fallen for someone else. I'd kicked him out and was left alone, left with the wreckage of my broken heart and a trip I'd already paid for.

  Something had clicked inside me and I decided to go without him.

  And that's when I met Logan.

  My heart clenched into a balled fist in my chest. I knew it wasn't fair to feel slighted by Logan or upset that he hadn’t sent the flowers. We weren't even technically a couple. He didn't owe me anything. He made me no promises besides a sexual experience that would liberate me, and he'd done just that. But I still felt a gut wrenching hollowness. I wanted to shut off the lights, close my blinds, and curl up on the floor and cry until there were no tears left to run down my cheeks. It would be so easy to sink to my knees, to give over to the emotion I'd been bottling up, the pain I thought was finally ending. I thought these flowers were a do-over, a second chance with Logan, not a too-late apology from the ex that never really got me in the first place.

  A lone tear splashed onto my hand and I swear I felt the sadness in it down to my very bones. But it wasn't alone. The anger and refusal to shut down rushed over me, beckoning me like a old friend. I one handed the roses, using the other to wipe my face. I put the vase back where I found it, sniffling as I dumped the note in the wastebasket.