Page 5 of Waiting For Forever

Melissa’s eyes widened in awe. I gauged her reaction, half expecting her to squeal and dash down the corridor like a kid during Christmas. That was the usual response when someone saw my place for the first time. It was the reason I spared no expense. The foyer, brightened by the skylight, was enhanced by the custom mahogany floors. The light shone down on my collection of rare, original art prints. The artwork was behind glass and carefully curated.

She stopped in front of each one, studying each piece in silence. Without a word, she continued to the main room, pausing in the entryway. I mirrored her smile when her gaze darted to and fro, not sure where to begin.

“It’s a conceptual studio layout-”

“Studio?” she snorted, arching an eyebrow my way.

“I suppose it’s slightly larger than the traditional studio that comes to mind,” I smirked.

“By a lot,” she muttered with a chuckle. She started in the living room area.

“It has a continuous flow.” I followed her, watching her fingers glide over the back of the leather sectional. I ticked off the 60” flat screen TV, the state-of-the-art Bose sound system, the imported, one-of-a-kind table from Italy. She barely even looked at any of it.

She turned her attention to the dining area.

“All custom made.” I patted the sturdy, solid surface. When she said nothing, I pulled off my tie. Tough crowd.

She had to at least appreciate the sunroom that led out to the balcony and the priceless view of the city. But she walked right past it, sliding onto one of the barstools that lined the granite countertop. She peeled off her jacket, draping it on the seat beside her.

“You have a beautiful place, Logan,” she said finally. “Breathtaking, even.”

“And you haven’t even seen the bedroom,” I joked, hoping for a smile. An eye roll. Something. The sides of her mouth lifted slightly then dropped.

“Okay.” I swiveled her to face me, going serious. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Her eyes glittered like crystal. “Nothing. I mean-” She drew a shuddering breath. “I feel like I’m in a movie. The view, how perfect and unique everything is.” She left me hanging, biting her lip instead of finishing her thought.

“Talk to me,” I repeated tersely. When she raised her chin defiantly I changed tactics, stifling the frustration and trying tenderness. “I’m supposed to be the dark and mysterious one, remember?”

Her eyes sparkled, her lips spreading into a grin. “True.” Her internal debate continued for a few moments more, then she sat up straight, crossing one leg over the other. “Okay. Your place is gorgeous. That’s obvious. I can see the care and money that went into every square inch of this place, from the floor to the skylight. But none of it feels like home. I don’t see the warmth that lights up a room when you walk in.” She hopped from the stool, her eyes piercing to the bone. “It just doesn’t feel like you.”

And I thought that she’d gush over my state-of-the-art furnishings. Melissa showed me just how foolish I’d been to expect her to be like any other woman I’d brought here.

“Warmth? Not many people would use that word to describe me.” I listed a few greatest hits. “Cold. Vicious. Calculating-”

She crushed her lips against mine. Her taste lingered when she pulled back.

“Then they don’t know you.”

She said it so simply. Effortlessly.

I almost believed it.

“Besides, where are the pictures?” she continued, faking confusion as she searched high and low. “Is this a ‘studio’ or a museum?”

I pulled her into my arms, an idea springing to mind. I whipped my cell out, bringing up the camera. I extended my arm, getting both of us in the frame.

The guy on the screen was happier that I’d ever seen him. She fit in my arms like a missing piece clicking into place, counting down the seconds until we made the moment last forever.

“1, 2, 3-”

The screen changed, my assistant’s name flashing across the screen. My thumb hovered at the decline button until Melissa elbowed me.

“Maybe it’s an emergency!”

“Then she’ll leave a message.” When Melissa shook her head with disappointment, I conceded, eyes rolling to the ceiling. “Yes, Amanda?”

“Mr. Mason!” Her voice was breathy, like she’d just run a marathon. “I-I know you didn’t want to be disturbed-”

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