Start With Me: A Novel (Start Again Series Book 3)

by J. Saman

  Shifting my position in the bed, I lay back against the scratchy pillow before swiping my finger across the screen, finding his number and pressing the button.

  It rings three times before his voicemail picks up. I hang up before I can leave a message and try his office. On the first ring, the phone picks up and the sexy, raspy voice I’ve grown to love, greets me.

  “Ryan Grant’s office, Claire speaking.”

  I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face as I picture the beautiful redhead sitting at a desk, answering calls and typing away. In my fantasy, she’s wearing librarian glasses and her hair is piled on top of her head, secured with a pencil, and she’s showing an incredible amount of cleavage. And then I feel like a total chauvinistic pig for picturing her like that. I shake away my salacious thoughts.

  “You sound very professional,” I tease. Silence. “It’s Kyle,” I add wondering if I really need to tell her that.

  “I know who you are, loser, but you don’t normally call to chat on the main line,” she says. “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. You?”

  “Pretty terrific now that I’m talking to you.” Claire says that with no hesitation or even a hint of sarcasm. She absolutely means it. I love that about her. “You trying to reach the boss man or is this a friendly mid-day call because you miss me?”

  “I do miss you, cupcake.” Damn, I meant to say that in a friendly light way, but my voice came out sounding sad and desperate. I clear my throat. “Is the big guy around? The stupid bastard called me four times today. Everything okay?”

  “Ha!” she laughs out. “That sappy noodle. Yes, everything is peachy keen. Big doings, Kyle, my friend. Big doings,” she says with a smile in her voice. “I’ll let him be the one to drop the bomb, though. He’s in his office in a meeting, but he’d shit an elephant if I didn’t tell him you were on the phone, so hold tight.”

  “Right. Thanks, babe.” Why does just hearing her voice make me smile when I’m in absolutely no mood to do so?

  “You got it, stud.”

  The line goes silent for about two minutes and then, “Kyle. About time, asshole,” Ryan’s deep voice booms through the phone.

  I roll my eyes, knowing he can’t see me. “What’s with all the calls, man?”

  “Your office said you were home sick, you okay?”

  Damn it! Fucking Nancy. I didn’t want to tell him about this and I still don’t have to, but Ryan is perceptive as hell and if he even so much as detects a hint of a lie in my voice, he’ll find me and find out why I’m here. Even though I can lie to pretty much anyone when needed, I can’t lie to him.

  “Sick is a bit of an overstatement.”

  Yeah, I’m stalling.

  “What’s up, Kyle?”

  I sigh, running a hand through my hair before tilting my chin up to the ceiling, staring at the square tiles. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Awesome. Then tell me.”

  “Fine, but you cannot mention anything to Claire.”

  “You’re kidding me with that, right? First of all, I wouldn’t. Second of all . . . well, never mind, I don’t think I want to know. Just out with it.”

  “My CBC is messed up and I have a fever. They’re running some tests.” My voice shakes ever so slightly on the word tests. I can stand in front of a jury and convince them of anything I want. I can go toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous criminals and not even blink or break a sweat.

  But telling my brother that I may have leukemia again terrifies the shit out of me.

  Ryan blows out a long breath into the phone, the sound crackling through the receiver. “Fuck.”

  “It’s not as bad as you think. It’s just a biopsy.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  “No.” I shake my head, but grin slightly at the offer. My brother hates flying. Hates it. He was in a plane crash several years back and ever since, he won’t fly unless it’s absolutely necessary. In fact, he drove across the country from Philadelphia to Seattle when he moved out there in order to avoid it. That’s how he and his wife, Kate, got together. “Thanks, though.”

  “When will you know the results?”

  I shrug, running a hand through my hair, staring up at the water stained drop ceiling. “Don’t know. Soon, I assume. They haven’t even done the biopsy yet.”

  “Damn it, Kyle. I hate this. I hate you being there and me being here and feeling so fucking helpless. I’m going to have Katie get me something and I’ll be on the next flight.”

  “No, you’re not. I’m fine, dickface, and by the time your drugged-up ass landed in New York, I’ll be discharged.”

  Another heavy sigh. “Did you call Mom and Dad?”

  I snort out a derisive laugh. “What do you think?”

  “I think you better get your ass better, because you’re going to be an uncle.”

  My head snaps up and my eyes widen as a huge smile spreads my lips for the second time in five minutes. “You’re shitting me?”

  “Nope. Katie’s about ten weeks along. I would have told you sooner, but it’s not the sort of thing you tell people via text. And clearly, we couldn’t tell anyone else until I told you because Claire has a big mouth and would have spilled that one. But Katie couldn’t wait any longer and told her this morning, so I’ve been phone-stalking your ass since.”

  “Jesus, man. That’s fucking awesome. You’re going to be a father? Holy shit,” I laugh the words. “God help you if it’s a girl.”

  Ryan laughs too. “I know. I told Katie that it has to be a boy otherwise I’ll be walking around with a shotgun strapped to my back, and will install bars on the windows and locks on every door.”

  “Congratulations, brother. I’m so happy for both of you.” I really can’t stop my smile. “This made my whole day. I’ll have to call my sister-in-law tonight.”

  “She’ll be pissed if you don’t, and trust me, I can already tell how emotional Katie is going to be during this pregnancy. I swear she cried during a fabric softener commercial last night, though she swore she just had something in her eye.”

  I laugh so hard my side hurts. God, I miss them.

  “I love that woman. Too bad she met you before she met me.”

  “Fucker,” he growls, but I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “You’re lucky blondes aren’t really my thing.” Just redheads. Shit, where did that come from?

  “You sure I can’t come? Even just to spend the weekend with you? You’re going to need some help once you get home.”

  My hand reflexively goes up to my chest, trying to rub away the sudden tightness. “I’ll be fine. I live in New York. Everything I need can be delivered to my apartment. Besides, your wife is pregnant. No way you’re leaving her.”

  We’re both silent for a beat before I hear him breathe into the phone.

  He doesn’t like this.

  He cannot tolerate not having control of a situation, or not being able to help me out.

  Ryan is the quintessential overprotective big brother. Maybe it’s the age difference or the fact that he donated his blood and stems cells when I was sick, but knowing him as well as I do, I’d bet my next paycheck that he’s pacing around in a circle, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

  Finally, he blows out another torrent of air into the phone. “I’ll call you later, okay? I gotta jet. I left people sitting in my office for far longer than I should have.”

  Christ, I totally forgot Claire interrupted his meeting. This is why I love my brother. The tall bastard left a meeting to speak to me. For a man who runs a billion-dollar company, he has no ego.

  “Go back to work. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

  We disconnect the call and I let it drop into my lap, blowing out a deep breath as I scrub my hands up and down my face.

  I’m going to be an uncle.

  My niece or nephew won’t really know me. I mean, how often do I get out to Seattle? Once, maybe twice a year, if I’m lu
cky. And I know that when they have a baby, they won’t be traveling out here. Especially with Ryan’s fear of flying.

  I’m sitting alone in a hospital room waiting patiently for a test that will determine if I have cancer again. I spend all my time working to defend degenerate assholes. I live alone in an apartment that’s too big for one man, and any woman I date doesn’t last longer than a few weeks because none of them can stand my work hours and perpetually coming in second.

  The only people who genuinely make me smile live three thousand miles away.

  What the fuck am I doing with my life?

  Chapter 3

  Claire

  When I was six, I asked my mother if I could marry Prince Charming. I had just seen Cinderella for the first time, and naturally, I was hooked. My mother proceeded to sit me down and tell me that there was no such thing as Prince Charming. That he was simply a fictitious character created to disillusion young girls, and women alike, into believing that a man was going to come in, sweep us off our feet and change our lives by fixing all our problems.

  She went on to explain that even though Cinderella was strong in that she maintained her optimism despite her grim situation, and had an admirable work ethic, I would not be as lucky as she was to find a prince like Charming. My mother enforced the notion that the only person out there who was going to save me, was myself. That learning how to take care of yourself and not relying on others was probably the most important thing a woman could do for herself.

  I was only six at the time, but I took her words to heart.

  My mother met my father when she was eighteen. My father was staying with his cousin or some shit like that and they hit it off. They dated for all of a month before my father went off to basic training. When he came back after basic training for a brief stint before being shipped off to who the hell knows where, he got the surprise of a lifetime.

  A pregnant girlfriend.

  They got married on the fly and my father left five days later.

  Seven months and some change later, baby Claire was born. My father didn’t come home when I was born, and didn’t actually end up meeting me until I was fifteen months.

  My father wasn’t around much while I was growing up.

  He stayed with the army, and climbed the ranks quickly while traveling around the world. By the time my mother gave me that riveting and encouraging, Prince Charming speech, my father was a Colonel.

  That said, my mother managed to finish college and go on to get her masters and Ph.D. in engineering. Coming from a wealthy family has its advantages, so she never had to worry about working to support us while she was in school. About three years after that, when the fact that she was the only woman in a room full of men pissed her off enough, she went back to school and got yet another degree in women’s studies. By that point, she had long since divorced my father and the two of them continue to live very happily apart.

  So, in retrospect, I get her point of view.

  She found herself married to a man she hardly knew at the tender age of eighteen and pregnant with his baby. A baby she didn’t want. When he’d come home on leave, they were like strangers. I can honestly say I don’t remember my parents ever embracing, or even spending too much time in the same room together.

  They never particularly liked each other, though I think it was different early on. They were forced companions, as all the romance, sex appeal and adventure were sucked out of the relationship before it had the chance to begin.

  This fun-filled moment of introspection leads me back to my present situation—having a casual dinner at a safe chain restaurant, with a man I met two nights ago at a bar. He’s cute, which is why I agreed to this date, but now that I’m talking to him without the benefit of copious amounts of alcohol, I’m rethinking this decision.

  For starters, he’s rude. He’s been talking incessantly since we got here, making disparaging comments about the people he works with, as well as physically criticizing everyone in the restaurant. Especially our poor waitress, who is on the curvier side of life.

  “So, I said, that’s just ridiculous,” Bland Bryant says as I slurp down cocktail number two. “There is no way I can train someone that obese. I mean, I’m an amazing personal trainer and all, but I’m not a magician. Am I right?”

  What a jerk.

  “Sure.” I nod, signaling the waitress with my finger before pointing at my glass, indicating that I need another mojito. I took an Uber here, so I’m all set.

  “How’s your food?” he asks, a hopeful smile illuminating his dark brown eyes.

  He really is adorable.

  It’s a shame he has a pint-sized brain and a personality that is too annoying to overlook. Even for one night. I can just picture him talking endlessly about himself during sex, in between moments when he checks up on my orgasm progress, while pointing out any cellulite I might have.

  “Great.” I finished my burger and fries about twenty minutes ago. “Yours?” I ask for lack of something better.

  “Oh,” he says, looking down at his untouched dinner salad—yes, I said dinner salad—with a sheepish grin. “I guess I’ve been so busy talking that I haven’t gotten to it. But honestly, I don’t know how you can eat a burger and fries like that. I mean, you’ve got a great body now, but if you continue eating like that, your ass will get fat, and not in a hot Jennifer Lopez way.”

  Wow, I really don’t know what to say that. And frankly, he’s not worth the effort of a fight.

  The waitress arrives with my drink and I take a nice long pull. For a chain restaurant, they make a decent mojito. Not quite Cello’s caliber, but pretty good. Cello’s make the absolute best cocktails in all of Seattle. It’s also the gay bar where I picked up my straight friend, Ivy. Damn, I miss that bitch. She moved to Boston for her pediatric emergency medicine fellowship almost a year ago.

  Fucking Luke. Why did he have to mess that one up?

  Maybe I’ll go visit her.

  “Did you hear me, Claire?”

  Oh shit. Was he talking again? Of course, he was.

  “No, sorry.” His eyes narrow and I’m struck with a twinge of guilt. But honestly, this guy hasn’t shut up about himself, nor has he asked me one single question about myself other than if I’m enjoying the food. And then he made that comment about my ass getting fat.

  “I guess I do have a tendency to talk a lot, but it’s only when I’m nervous.”

  Okay, that’s sort of sweet. Not sweet enough to get him laid, mind you. More sweet like those pictures of kittens sleeping on big dogs that you see on the internet.

  “It’s fine. You’re fine. But unfortunately, I need to wrap this up. I have an early meeting in the morning.” Yes, I just busted out the universal excuse for getting out of screwing someone. And I think tomorrow is Saturday, but who’s keeping track?

  “Oh.” He looks crestfallen, but really, he shouldn’t be. I’m doing him a favor by blowing him off now. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Sorry there, tiger.”

  “But you’re really pretty and I was hoping we could go back to my place.”

  “You’re a sweetheart, aren’t you?” I grin, taking my napkin off my lap and dropping it onto my plate. “But I’m tired and would like to go home. Alone,” I add, “now.”

  He just stares at me. Jesus, why do men always require such handholding?

  “Really? But I thought this was going well. I figured if I took you to dinner, you’d come home with me.”

  Wow. I must be wearing a t-shirt that says I’m easy. I really should check that before I go out on dates. “Sorry. No can do.” Literally, I smile to myself.

  “Well,” he scoffs. “I’d ask you if you want dessert or anything else, but after your heavy dinner, I can’t imagine you could eat anything else fattening.” Asshole.

  “Then I guess you should get the check?” I shrug, with a placating smile.

  “Oh. Of course.”

  And now it’s just awkward, but considering I don’t
ever plan on seeing him again, I won’t mourn this moment too heavily.

  Bryant, or is it Brian? Shit, I don’t remember. Whatever, that guy I had dinner with, says goodbye by giving me a hug and trying to grab my ass. This is why I usually meet these assholes out in public. As I take the long elevator up to my apartment, I dial Ivy.

  “You done shagging that bloke already?” she answers with her subtle Australian accent.

  “So lame,” I say, sagging against the wall of the elevator. “Seriously, why do men feel the need to regale us with their lives? Like I give a shit.”

  Ivy laughs into the phone, and in the background, I can hear the telltales sounds of the hospital buzzing around her. “Because men are halfwits,” she pauses, her voice beyond bitter.

  She’s thinking about Luke now and I feel a bit bad about that. Luke and Ivy had a one-nighter about a decade ago, but Luke’s hacking bullshit got in the way. They reunited at Kate and Ryan’s engagement party last year, thanks to me, and fell unfortunately in love.

  Then the dipshit broke her heart.

  Like I said before . . . men.

  “They are that, Ivy Pivy. That’s why I’ve been trying to do a better job of vetting them out before my panties hit the floor. I miss the hell out of you, though. When do you come back home?”

  She sighs, the sounds of machines buzzing and beeping fill my ears. “In two months, but if you tell that arsehole anything I will disown you as my friend, and that includes love from Sophia.” Sophia is her sister, and I freaking adore her sister.

  Threat received, Ivy, threat received.

  “I would never do anything of the sort. Luke can suck a dick for all I care.”

  Ivy snorts in a rather unladylike manner to my rather unladylike statement. “You’re crude, but I adore you for that. I’ve gotta jet, luv. Sick kids are calling my name. Cheers, mate.” She hangs up the phone before I can even respond.

  I step off the elevator onto the fourteenth floor and walk down the long hallway that leads to my apartment. Unlocking the door, I flip on the lights, toss my keys onto the table by the door haphazardly and once everything is locked back up, I plop my ass onto the couch. It’s Friday night and there is not a whole lot on regular television, so I decide it’s time to hit up my DVR and see where I’m at with my shows.