Chapter 4

Damien's point of view

I'd been seated here for over four hours, each candidate worse than the last. I mean, how difficult is it to find someone to pay five million dollars to have your child?

As if having a terrible day wasn't enough already, I had to stumble upon the rudest, most foolish woman I've ever met. And I've met plenty of foolish, unreasonable women in my life.

This woman scratched my car as I was parking in the hospital garage, spilled water all over my clothes, made me have to go back home to change, and still had the audacity to call me names.

What was it she called me again?

A blind, pompous, bloody, dumb daddy's boy. A lot of adjectives to describe someone she'd never met before in her whole life.

Now she sat opposite me, eyes fixed on the tile floor like a new discovery was being made.

"I said get the fuck out of here." She wiped her dry hands with the corner of her clothes.

"Hold on, sir—" She started. Oh, now I was a sir.

"Just go wait in reception," Fredrick intervened.

Her shoulders caved inward as she walked out — a sheer ghost of the vibrant, agile, vile woman who'd been cursing me out.

"What is the problem with her, sir?" Fredrick sighed after she left. The first act of defiance he'd ever shown me. I guess being in the same place for over four hours does something to people.

Proud of him.

"I don't like her." I knew I sounded rather childish right now, but I didn't owe anyone an explanation for whatever decisions I made.

"She's the best match we've found so far. With your blood group, it'll be difficult to find someone compatible who can have your child without deficiencies and risks. We might not find another. We're lucky to have found this one."

Reasonably, I should agree with the doctor, the professional. But I wasn't feeling too reasonable right now. "She's a fucking drunk."

Not that I'd caught her drinking or anything, but that was the only reasonable explanation for how she'd acted when we met earlier.

I mean, who drinks before coming to a surrogacy job interview? A damned addict, that's who.

And I don't want an addict carrying my child.

"There's no record of addiction on her," Fredrick said, glancing back at the computer on his lap.

Now these two were getting on my nerves.

"I saw her before I came in — she was drunk." I let my head fall back against the seat before my irritation got the better of me.

"That wouldn't be possible. Reception wouldn't let a drunk sit and wait for the interview."

"What are you implying?" the doctor cut back.

"If you truly have a problem with her, we'd find someone else. It might take some time, and you'd risk testing with one of the possible matches to your blood type."

A flash of purple caught my eye in the left corner of the room. She wasn't covered in blood this time, and her hair was dyed pink — like my junior year of high school.

You always do this, she mouthed, before disappearing.

I always did what?

Deep down, I knew what she meant. How couldn't I? I've thought about the same thing for years.

I felt the deep hole on my heart— that never seemed to want to heal— rumble again.

I was being selfish.

I am letting another woman risk her life for me.

Die for me.

I wouldn't let that happen, not again.

"It's fine. She'll do."

The two of them stared at me like I'd grown a horn in the middle of my head, and not one they particularly liked.

I put my shades back on, heading out.

I needed a smoke.