Waiting For Us (Beautiful Surrender, Part Three) (A Billionaire Romance) (4 page)

“Well, let's get on with it,” I muttered to myself. I pushed the door open and a chill raced down my spine, writhing in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't even stepped inside, but I felt like something was wrong. Something was off.

I hadn't crossed the threshold, but I knew someone was inside my apartment.

I remained in the doorway, my body slightly tilted toward the parking lot, ready to get the hell out of there if I needed to.

“H-Hello?” I called out hesitantly. It would have been funny if I could stop shaking. What was I expecting? The intruder to answer me with a smile and wave? That I'd lucked out and scored a criminal with manners?

There was no reply and I took a step back, fumbling for my phone.

I hitched my breath as the light switch in the kitchen was flipped, flooding the darkness with a fluorescent glow. My fear dissolved instantly when I saw his face.

Not the one guy who could break into my house and get away with it because he'd already broken into my heart.

Not Logan.

The guy who'd shattered my heart was there instead, grinning like a fool, holding another bouquet.

Jason.

“Surprise!”

I gritted my teeth and weighed out my options. I could turn on my heels, get back in my car, and avoid whatever this thing he had going on was altogether. I could take the phone in my hand and dial 911 since only my name was on the lease and he was technically breaking and entering.

Or I could take the phone in my head and throw it at his head.

I gripped the doorknob to Door Number Three as I stepped inside and saw that he'd prepared a dinner very similar to the one I'd set up for him the night we'd broken up. Chicken Alfredo, salad, bread, even a bottle of white wine. It would have been romantic if I wasn't being assaulted by memories of how disastrous that meal had been—and the fact that I'd prepared it because it was
his
favorite. Even now, when he was trying to win me back, he couldn't be bothered to make
my
favorite meal. It was, and had always been, all about Jason.

I turned my back to him, closing the door and deciding against assaulting him with my cell phone. He wasn't worth the trouble. I repeated that until I calmed down and could see other colors in the spectrum besides red.

I faced my ex boyfriend. It had been two weeks since I'd seen him, but it felt like a lifetime. The blond hair that used to be so coifed and sexy seemed stiff and filled with product. His signature polo and khaki shorts felt like a uniform. Even the playful smirk grated my nerves. All of it seemed fake, every aspect of him engineered to some nefarious end. I looked into the blue eyes that used to make my heart fly right out of my chest and I didn't feel a damn thing. Well, that wasn't exactly true. As he came toward me, holding those flowers like a shield, the red bled all over everything. The ones he'd sent to the office were already too much...this felt like a violation. How dare he let himself into my apartment and cook and pretend he hadn't ripped my heart out of my chest?

He stopped a few feet away from me, noting my erratic breathing and the fire that burned in my gaze. His smile withered and turned into ash on his lips.

“I hope it's okay that I'm here,” he said, the confidence in his voice waning. He gave me a peevish smile that he hid away quickly. “I guess I didn't give you much choice, huh?”

I locked my jaw. “No, you didn't.”

“My bad.” He put the bouquet on the counter, maintaining his distance. Noticing that his surprise wasn't packing the punch he thought it would, he switched tactics, trying flattery. “You look great.”

I swatted it away. “I look like shit.” It was the truth. My blouse was an untucked, wrinkled mess, my hair hung in wild strands, trying to escape the bun I'd pulled it into this morning. My makeup was a smeared mess from all the crying I'd done. Telling me I looked great when I clearly looked like I'd been put through the ringer was worst than a lie. It was insulting.

“Well, I think you look great.”

“Well, we're not together anymore,” I said tersely. “What you think doesn't matter much.”

He looked wounded, then the playfulness returned to his azure colored eyes as he took a step toward me. “You're pissed off. That means you still care about me enough to be angry.” When I didn't say a word, he shrugged a Lacoste clad shoulder. “I'll take whatever I can get, Mel.”

I wanted to yell that I'd almost committed assault via iPhone and what he could get was the hell out of my apartment, but I didn't want to encourage him. He was stubborn as a mule—if he convinced himself that my anger was misplaced affection, there would be no unconvincing him. So I drew a deep breath and pulled it close, folding my disgust until it was small enough that I could tuck it from view, leaving nothing but apathy.

I chose my words very carefully and delivered them precisely and without emotion. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

He cocked his head at the table, his eyes all but saying 'duh'. “I made you dinner. Your favorites—”

“Those are your favorites,” I cut in, my tone measured even though my heart ached when I realized that this guy, someone I thought was one of my best friends, who I thought was 'the' guy, didn't even know that my favorite meal was a med rare burger with sweet potato fries. I wasn't expecting him to cook it, hell, even when we were together, I did most of the cooking, but the least he could do was get it right.

He didn't know me—not really. Gazing into his flabbergasted face as he struggled to pull my favorite meal out of his ass, I realized how wrong I'd been about us from the start. The whispers of doubts were screams now. Even if all Logan could offer me was everything up to 'I love you', it was still more fulfilling than the countless, empty times Jason had said those words to me.

Jason went all in, rushing toward me, wrapping his arms around my body. “God, I've missed you.”

My arms dangled at my side until he started stroking my back. I pushed him away, my eyes narrowed. “You don't get to do that. How about you go comfort
her
?” There was the anger, wrapped around the final word. Choking it.

He tried to cradle my face, but I wasn't having it. His words ran in one ear and out the other.  “She means nothing, Mel. You're the one I want. You're the one I need.” His voice was soft, meant to be a caress but it raked over me like sandpaper. “I made a terrible mistake. I never should have left.”

His hands were back around my waist. His hold was like iron, chained to my feet and dragging me into the darkness like an anchor. “No, your mistake was—” I didn't finish, because he forced his mouth against mine, kissing me so hard that I swore I could taste blood. The aggression, the passion I'd begged him for was finally there—but it was too late. My heart, my body, belonged to someone else.

I shoved him away from me, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Don't touch me again.” He reached for me, testing me, and I slapped his hand away, my voice low and threatening. No, not a threat. A promise that if he tried to force me to kiss him, touch him, or forgive him, I'd show him just what a mistake coming here truly was.

“Give me your key, then get out.”

Hope was in its death throes, flopping around his features like a fish out of water. He sighed and pulled the key from his pocket, seemingly giving up. He tried to fake me out, holding on to it when I reached to take it, forcing me to step closer. “This can't be it, Mel.”

I gave him a look and he let go, severing the last thing that tied us together. “Don't come back here. Ever.”

As I watched Jason go, a crazy calm settled over me. I couldn’t go on like this. I couldn’t live, couldn’t function until I made things right with Logan.

S
an Francisco never failed to take my breath away. There was something about crossing the bridge, cars pulling toward the hills lined with life that made my heart race with excitement. I expected the nerves to take over at any moment. Anyone with a lick of sense saw right through me calling in sick to work. The cars were packed so tightly in the narrow lanes that one error could cause a serious crash.

And tucked in the Financial District was Mason Acquisitions.

I was only a few minutes away from the one person in the whole world that got me. Every part of me. And he had the power to chew up my heart and spit it out. He could take one look at me and tell me that we were through. Hell, he didn't even have to let me as far as the elevator before he had me removed like...like...

The DJ sprung onto the airwaves, her voice a mix between a woman who smoke a pack of cigarettes a day for twenty years and a bubbly teenager.

“And the latest development in the most talked about baby since Kimye, Delilah James is pulling us along for her real life fairytale. Reportedly, she claims she's still madly in love with billionaire Logan Mason and even if they can't work out their issues, she'll always have a little piece of him.” The DJ cued a sound effect, the studio audience sighing 'awww' and twisting my stomach in a knot. I punched the power button.

The world had 'Delogan' fever. Delilah James played her part, the lovelorn mother-to-be who would stand by her man even if she was standing all alone. She was clearly the good guy in this story and Logan was becoming more and more villainous with every interview she gave. Recently, she'd even brought a battalion of paparazzi right to his doorstep, but security wouldn't let her further than the lobby. She'd come back out with tears streaming down her face, clutching her chest like she'd expire at any moment. Anyone else would have looked pathetic. Delilah James made sobbing look glamorous.

Logan looked like he was sucking on a lemon in every picture and screen grab I saw, handsome features tight and obscured by his scowl, or using his hand or suit jacket to hide his face.

What would he say when he saw me? Would he see me at all, or just have me escorted back outside like his ex?

I drummed my fingertips on the steering wheel.
Happy thoughts...sand between my toes, sun warm on my skin, Logan staring at me over the rim of his shades like I was his paradise in the flesh
. The nerves just amplified, goose flesh making me shiver.

I bit my lip as I turned into a parking garage a couple of blocks away from Mason Acquisitions. I flipped the visor down, staring at my reflection. My face was flushed, but I knew there was no point whipping out my makeup bag. My blond hair was tousled, the waves on their best behavior for once. I glossed on a bit of Chapstick and stepped out of the car. I tied my trench closed, and held my head high as I marched toward the exit. After a Mini Cooper almost took me out, I maneuvered onto the sidewalk, pointed toward Logan's building. Even if I hadn't memorized the street crossing and address, it would have been difficult to miss it. People were huddled near the entrance, a couple of them wielding big, fancy looking cameras, their movements jerky and caffeinated. As I approached their eyes all rippled in my direction, probably trying to determine if I was someone worth knowing. They dropped me once they realized I wasn't, their hawkish eyes batting between the entrance and the steady stream of people on the sidewalk. I rotated through the revolving door, dumped into the lobby.

“Wow,” I whispered, the word echoing around the expansive room. I expected a lobby not much different from the one at Kaleidoscope Marketing. Neutral tones and potted plants and a security guard that barely grunted hello. The Mason Acquisitions lobby was like a work of art. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings and a chandelier dangled overhead with crystals sparkling like diamonds. Framed art work and glass sculptures surrounded me and fresh, lush flowers beckoned with floral scents that I wanted to inhale and keep with me forever—but a security guard stood like a mountain in my way, preventing me from taking one step further.

He didn't even ask for my purpose, or if I had an appointment, his beady eyes just bore holes into me like lasers.

I took a nervous step backward. “I-I need to see Logan Mason.”

“Name?” he barked.

“Melissa Foster. But I—” He didn't wait for me to finish, putting his finger to his earpiece and saying my name. “I don't have a—”

“There's no Melissa Foster on the approved list.” His voice darkened. “You can leave, or I can put you on the other side of the door.”

I gulped, taking another step back. He could snap me in half, without breaking a sweat. Even if I had the guts to tell him my story and how I needed to see Logan or my world would stop turning, I think he'd just pick me up and drag me out the exit, kicking and screaming.

You came all this way. You're not gonna even try?

I looked into the man's unsmiling face as he posed the question a second, and final time. “What will it be, kid? You gonna leave on your own, or will I be escorting you out?”

I sniffed and gathered my wits about me.
Kicking and screaming
. “I have to see Logan. It's very important.”

“Have it your way.” He gripped my elbow, not-so-gently yanking me toward the revolving door. The paparazzi were watching, some in awe of my balls, some just amused at the show.

I dug the heels of my flats in, forcing my body limp. “If you could just tell him I'm here—”

“Jake! She's clear!”

I looked over my shoulder at a statuesque woman that was scurrying over toward us. She was clad in a black blouse and black slacks. Her chestnut colored hair cropped short, intensifying her big brown eyes and cheekbones. She flashed me a smile that dried the tears of frustration that filled my eyes. We hadn't even officially met, but it was a smile shared between the best of friends.

Jake had stopped dragging me toward the exit, but his hold was firm as he wheeled me to face the woman. “Mr. Mason was clear, Ms. DeLaurentis. Anyone who isn't on the list—”

“That'll be all, Mr. Johnston.” The friendliness was long gone, her lips a red slash, her eyes the color of fire and brimstone.

Jake's hold on my arm slackened and I snatched my arm the rest of the way, fighting the urge to stick out my tongue. I stepped around him and jutted out my hand toward my savior.