Waiting For Forever (Beautiful Surrender #4)(2)
Author: Ava Claire

Hurt colored her face at my dig. "I get that you’re stressed, but if you’re going to be a jerk about it, you can drink your overpriced water alone."

Apologies weren’t my thing, even in the rare instances where I was wrong. ‘I’m sorry’ seemed like a weakness. Surrender. Call it ego. It probably didn’t help that I was surrounded by people too afraid to call me on my BS because it could cost them their jobs. Either way, there was something refreshing about someone giving it to me straight.

Melissa Foster was getting a second apology in less than twenty-four hours. If that wasn’t proof that she was good for me, I wasn’t sure what was.

"I’m sorry," I sighed. "You asked me a reasonable question and I snapped at you."

She dipped her head twice in acknowledgment, her eyes signifying she was still waiting for something. Sorry or not, she wasn’t letting me off that easy.

"Delilah knows exactly what she’s doing," I began, loosening my tie and putting down my defenses. Slightly. "She’s insulated by photographers who are hungry for scandal and eager to devour whatever scraps, however mundane and boring they might be. In every picture, she’s clasping her stomach or answering her cell with an expectant look, hoping her wayward lover is finally ready to step up to the plate.

My calls are ended if I don’t agree to meet her somewhere public, because I know what she’s really asking is if some photographer can snap our pictures together. Maybe a couple with me looking contrite, tail between my legs." The frustration and anger about how Delilah was playing the media, playing me, stormed to the surface. "This isn’t a game for me. I want what’s best for the kid. I won’t play into her hand and have one more terrible thing for my kid to see or read about their father one day."

Melissa leaned forward slightly, eyes tracing every line of my face in silent awe. "You really mean it, don’t you? You want what’s best for your child?"

"Of course I mean it," I said indignantly, then relaxed when I remembered we hadn’t been together for weeks. The last time she saw me, I’d sucker punched a mirror. Not exactly Dad of the Year behavior.

She wasn’t there when I tossed and turned, dreaming about my little one. A boy with my eyes. A girl with Delilah’s fiery red hair. She didn’t know that I woke up in a cold sweat, filled with shame that for one second, I’d wished that I never met Delilah. That I wished my child away.

That night, I’d pulled myself from my bed and looked into the fragmented mirror. I stared at the man that looked back at me. A man whose life was driven by desire–my desire to succeed professionally at any cost. To never feel the emptiness of going without again. A man who regulated his personal life, building barbed wire around his heart to keep anyone from getting too close.

The spark of life in Delilah changed all that. It wasn’t just about me anymore.

I had called Amanda at 3am, giving her the most important job of her career–finding out who made the best crib, car seat, hell, the best pacifier, and purchase it all. I opened a trust and arranged to fill it with more money than my child could spend in a lifetime. And then I tried to call Delilah and realized that she was already using our child as a bargaining chip, and she had no intention of letting me in until I publicly flagellated myself.

My sin? Not loving her.

Love was something I was incapable of giving Delilah, but our child? I was already head over heels.

I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out a way to explain it to Melissa. Make her understand. "It probably seems like I’ve done a complete 180-"

"I get it." She gripped my hand, her eyes swimming with tears as she squeezed tight. "Maybe it’s because I’ve been looking for signs of it from my dad as far back as I can remember and have always come up disappointed. I can see it in you, Logan. I can see how much you love your baby, and it’s beautiful."

All the emotion that had been building in me from the moment I realized I was going to be a father rocked my entire being. I hadn’t cried since I was a child, and the man in me fought tooth and nail to keep the tears at bay.

"Everything okay over here?" Our server had impeccable timing, standing beside our table with our drinks and an empty smile.

I pulled my hand away, giving her a curt nod. She brandished Melissa’s latte, then my bottle of Perrier.

"May I?" she said, gesturing for permission to pour it for me. I nodded a second time, giving her a tight smile. The sound of the water filling the glass dominated the silence, the awkwardness from the interrupted moment writhing like the bubbles that danced in the glass.

"I’m sorry," the server said smoothly, the high-pitched youth all but disappearing, "But you’re Logan Mason, right? The billionaire dating Delilah James?"

"Dated," Melissa corrected brusquely. She blushed when the server arched her eyebrows with interest. "Sorry."

The woman pointed at the two of us. "So you two are together now?"

I eyed her warily. "I’m not sure how any of that is your business."

"My apologies, Mr. Mason," she said sweetly. "Why don’t I give you two another minute to decide what you’d like to drink?"

Before I could remind her that she had just delivered our drinks, she hurried off toward the kitchen.

"Sorry," Melissa apologized again. "Do you get that a lot? Random people coming up and asking you a bunch of questions?"

"Unfortunately these days, yes," I sighed. I looked toward the kitchen, something scratching at the back of my mind. "I don’t mind the questions, I’m just used to them being asked by photographers that hound my every movement, not a server in a restaurant."

Worry rippled across Melissa’s face. "And what will happen when they find out about me?"

"We’ll deal with it," I assured her. "Together."

A harried looking server stepped up to our table, pulling her lips into a smile that was more of a grimace. "I’m so sorry it took me so long to get over here. We’ve been slammed. And we had an issue with a photographer sneaking in to get pictures of some billionaire." She paused, noticing we already had drinks. "Who was helping you?"

Melissa’s jaw dropped in disbelief.

I shook my head, tossing my napkin on the table with disgust. "Welcome to the circus."

CHAPTER TWO

Melissa

Breathe.

Just breathe.

My body seemed happy to completely ignore my commands. My heart still roared in my ears. My breath still came in rapid hiccups. My brain replayed the moment I realized that I was so out of my element: our actual waitress coming to our table, apologizing and telling us they had an issue with a reporter sneaking into the restaurant. Realizing that the reporter was the one who had been pretending she was our waitress, bringing our drinks and slyly asking Logan questions.