Chapter 10: Chapter 10: It was Supposed to Happen This Way
Vanessa
Isley gives me that look again.
I roll my eyes.
We're in the hospital waiting room because Grandpa Delta's spending time with Grandma Suzy-May. He sits to my left.
A weeping woman enters the waiting room, followed by a young man with a tear-stained face. I lower my gaze.
"Well, Vanessa," Isley says, "you should call Brent to ensure he received your message."
"Why? Is that what's-her-name some kind of a ditz or something?" I joke.
Isley doesn't laugh.
He tells me, "the Linda chick isn't ditzy. She's a witch. I bet she's trying to bed Brent right now."
Bed Brent, huh?
I cross my arms over my chest and lick my lips. Sometimes I can still taste Brent. My lips tingle with the memory of his lips.
"Make sure he received your message," Isley says.
My phone rings.
Brent.
I gasp.
Isley looks at my phone's screen, concerned. "Is it the hospital?"
I shake my head and motion to the door. Then, quickly, I answer the phone once I reach the door's threshold.
"Yes?"
"Vanessa?"
"Mr. Halladay, yes, it's me."
There's a long pause.
Brent's tone changes from pleasant to frustrated. "No matter your answer on the surrogacy matter, I'd appreciate it if you would have adhered to our deadline and given me an answer."
My nerves crash into my stomach and explode through my body. "I'm sorry if you feel that way. My grandmother's in the hospital, and I haven’t thought about it much."
Okay, that's a lie, but it sounds good, right?
Brent exhales. His tone doesn't change. "I'm, well understanding of that, Vanessa. At least, you could have given me a request for an extension or something."
"I did," I breathlessly interject. "I called your office earlier today and spoke to your legal—"
"What time," he demands.
"Around one thirty," I tell him, quickly adding, "I'll check my phone log."
"Let me check it," he tells me.
"You? How?" I place my left hand on my hip, pacing.
Brent doesn't immediately answer.
"Well?" I ask, "should I send you a screenshot or something?"
"'I'll have my driver drop you off at my home," Brent asks, "where are you?"
"One, I'm at the hospital." I stop pacing and hold up my left index finger. "Two, I'm not going to be interrogated by you at your place."
Brent angrily tells me, "For my satisfaction, you'll do that. And since we're counting, my firm closed three hours ago, so we can't meet there."
"Come here."
He laughs. "This isn't the type of conversation I want to have in a hospital unless you plan to have all your medical tests done tonight."
"Which hospital?"
I don't say anything.
"I'll have my driver to every hospital…"
I name the hospital with a sigh.
"Be ready in fifteen minutes," he tells me and enters the call.
****
Brent's driver opens the passenger's side door for me.
I exit the car, wanting to return to its safe comforts. Unfortunately, although I've lived in Los Angeles my entire life, I've never been to this area of town: Beverly Hills. It's the area known as the "Flats."
A tall man dressed in a suit opens the front door to a bungalow fit for one of those old Hollywood movie stars. He motions for me to enter.
Inside the foyer, I can't help but look around like I'm on a tour of the stars' homes. It's a beautiful place with Queen Anne furnishings.
I envisioned Brent having more of a contemporary style.
"Mr. Halladay prefers to meet by the pool," he says, placing his hands behind his back. "Do you have any objections?"
Slowly, I shake my head as I look around. It's my crazy attempt to admire everything before we go.
"Follow me," he says before we enter several rooms and reach the back of the house.
Outside is a well-lit oasis of golden lounge areas around an oval-shaped pool. The dark lavender and red sky give the already lush decor and patio a romantic setting.
"Mr. Halladay will be with you shortly," he interrupts my thoughts. "If you need anything, I'll be in the kitchen. My name is Jeffery."
I nod, watching him enter the sliding door. It's to the left of the entertainment room where we exited.
From what I can tell, the kitchen resembles a chef's kitchen on a cooking show.
I hear footsteps from the pool's far side and turn around.
Brent strolls from a gate between two tall shrubs.
This place has too many entrances.
Slowly, I press my lips together as I watch Brent stand on the other side of the pool. He's wearing an untucked blue business shirt with unbuttoned top three buttons.
Also, he's wearing jeans and sneakers.
No eyeglasses.
I squirm, rubbing the back of my neck, as he stares at me. I'm dressed in a white jean skirt and long blue blouse.
He motions to the chair behind me. "Sit down, please. Do you want something to drink?"
I sit and place my purse on my lap, searching for my phone.
Brent mumbles, "I guess that's a no."
Slowly, he strolls over to my side of the pool area and sits sideways on the lounge, facing me.
I turn and hand him my phone, showing my call log.
He doesn't accept it immediately. Instead, he gazes at me.
I look down until I feel my phone leave my hand.
"Well," Brent says, staring at my phone. Then, briefly, he smiles, "I will talk with Linda on Monday."
I drop my phone in my purse and place it on my shoulder. As I stand, I tell Brent, "I'll call Isley to pick me up."
"We seem to have some miscommunication issue," Brent says, standing inches from me. "I am sorry for the way I acted."
I think about telling him I won't accept his apology for a moment. However, I shrug.
Brent touches my bare upper arm, causing me to shiver. He chuckles. "My apologizes."
"It happens." I quickly add as I motion behind me. "It always gets chilly in Los Angeles at night. I don't care where you go."
Although I expect him to say something or laugh, he doesn't. Instead, his gaze lowers.
Great. I don't have to look down. I remember putting on the wrong bra this morning—the one with less padding in the cup.
"I'm cold," I sternly tell him, "nothing else."
We make eye contact.
Brent's hazel eyes narrow.
There's a long silence.
Finally, in a husky, low voice, Brent asks, "Do you understand that this is a business contract?"
I watch him for a long time, giving him a challenging stare while ignoring the growing sexual tension between us.
All I want him to do is kiss me.
Touch me, please.
"I'm sharing my body with you for money," I tell him, my voice shaky, "how is that not prostitution?"
"And in vitro isn't prostitution because," Brent pauses, he lowers his face so that his lips are inches away from mine, "I wouldn't be physically inside you, but my sperm would be?"
You won't make this argument—my feelings and thoughts—sound silly.
Brent chuckles. "Are you trying to determine the best course of action regarding physical attraction?"
I look away.
He lifts his shirt. "I'm not wearing a belt this time."
As I shake my head, I roll my eyes. "That can happen with anyone."
Brent shrugs. "How many times have you kissed Isley like that?"
I flash him a disgusted look. "You're gross."
Although I expect him to laugh, he doesn't.
Brent kisses me.
No, don't kiss him back. He'll never let you forget it.
Quickly, I break the kiss. I tell myself to pull away.
He places his hands on my hips, pulling me closer.
I fall against him and passionately kiss him.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone