Waiting for Always (Beautiful Surrender #5)(5)
Author: Ava Claire

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, her eyes finally settling on me. “Your picture plastered all over TMZ and random Internet trolls calling you a slut? That’s ridiculous. You running off to San Francisco with a billionaire? That’s crazy. But love? Love isn’t supposed to make sense. It’s random and complicated and frustrating and heartbreaking and beautiful. If you guys are in love, I’m happy for you, and sad all at once.” Her voice went shaky, tears drowning her words. “B-because love will rip your heart out if you let it.”

I gripped her hand, not pushing it. Not picking at the wound. She didn’t have to go into it. This had her ex written all over it. I wanted to shake him, to make him see what an amazing woman he had. An amazing woman he kept breaking over and over again.

Stacia forced a smile, giving my hand a squeeze before she steeled herself, flicking her tears away. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I took the day off, and I want every leg-shaking, pu**y-dripping detail.”

Chapter Three

Logan

I walked into the conference room, the usual nostalgia that swept over me confronted with another emotion: dread.

I’d purposefully had the top floor outfitted to accommodate the expansive room we used for board meetings. It was a psychological move. Even though the company was mine, a seedling that I nurtured into the Fortune 500 Company it was today, I still had to answer to a board filled with people that had been cautiously skeptical of my vision—until the profits started rolling in.

They had to come to me. Climb every floor to the place in the sky they didn’t believe I could build.

I’d always felt a sense of accomplishment, of power, when I walked through the door. I was always the first in. Drinking in the long glass table and empty leather chairs. Appreciating the view of the city from the window.

But today, I just walked to my seat at the head of the fragile table and sank into the chair with a sigh. The creeping ache wasn’t soothed by the silence; it was magnified. The dread took root and taunted me with everything I had to lose if push came to shove.

With the exception of my mentor, Roman McLeod, I had no friends on the board. They tolerated me, a man half their age calling the shots, because Mason Acquisitions was profitable and heralded as a pioneer in our field. We turned something cutthroat into greater opportunities for everyone, from the account managers to the janitorial staff. We fostered a sense of community: when we all pulled together, we all succeeded.

That wasn’t some byline I was told to sell by the PR team. As someone that grew up with very little, I made a point to ensure no one on our staff went without.

It didn’t endear me to men who were used to putting their needs, and wallets, first.

I gripped the cup of coffee that was waiting for me, ignoring the tremble in my hands. The brand I’d built was tarnished. It was now synonymous with Delilah and the pregnancy. I worked so hard to separate myself from the herd, but if you followed the headlines, I was just like every other cold, filthy rich douche bag.

I stared into the mug, sinking into the pitch-black nothingness. The color of my heart, if you asked any number of commenters on the articles and blog posts I pretended I didn’t read. They poised rhetorical questions about what kind of man would abandon his child. If they only knew I’d been ready to be there for my little one. Really be there. Yes, I could provide for them financially, far beyond the average person’s dreams, but I wanted to be more than a bank account. More than a flick of a pen on a birth certificate.

But she took it all away.

Delilah gave me a piece of something I never knew I wanted, then snatched the earth out from under me.

And I would repay the favor.

"Seems great minds think alike."

Roman’s thick, Scottish lilt jerked me from the dark. Even though everything had changed for me since I was paired with him in the outreach program in high school, he looked exactly the same. Up until the moment we met, I’d associated suits with church and funerals, but he’d looked like he could move mountains in his. He had an authority when he walked into a room. I sat up straighter. Paid attention to the man with the red hair slicked back from a face that tolerated exactly zero nonsense. Green eyes that seemed to find every shortcoming and challenge me to do better with a single glance.

There was one difference though—his smiles were a rarity back then, but these days, they created permanent wrinkles beside his eyes. The one he wore today had a hint of sadness and melancholy. I pretended that I wasn’t the one behind that sadness. That I hadn’t been the one to disappoint him.

I unbuttoned my jacket, rising to shake his hand. Neither one of us wasted time talking about emotions. It was one of the things I respected most about him as my mentor. He didn’t try to save me, he just pointed out my potential and laid out the roadmap. It was my job to make the journey.

But this handshake wasn’t a quick, abrupt, business-like transaction like the other countless times. He held onto my hand, enclosing it between his.

"You okay, son?"

Hearing him use that word was like he’d slugged me. I yanked my hand from his grasp, taking two steps away from him, toward the head of the table. I was in control of my emotions. I would not break down here of all places.

"Everything is fine, Roman," I said, ironing the discomfort from my voice. After I took a breath, it came out as indifferent and starched as the shirt beneath my jacket. "And how are Lucia and the girls?"

"You know Lucia," he chuckled, pulling out the chair beside mine. "Out to save the world, one charity luncheon at a time. The girls are in London on a school trip." He leaned back, the chair whining as he swiveled toward me. "You haven’t answered my question."

My hands shook, so I stuffed them in my pockets. It wasn’t lost on me that I had a similar pose when he and I met. I remedied it, leaving one safely out of view. The other shook with the telltale sign that I was struggling to keep my brave face on.

"I’m perfectly fine, Roman." I added a smile to drill the point home. "I’m glad you could make the meeting this morning. They were ready to hang me out to dry a month ago, even via video."

He stared at me intently, not giving me a break from his silent interrogation until the secretary brought him a coffee. He took a stoic gulp, then let out a sigh like it was the best coffee he’d ever had. "I’d love to find a pound of this to take home."

I leapt at the subject change, reaching for the control panel that would alert the secretary. "I could have some packed up for you-"

"That’s quite alright-"