The Messenger (Professionals Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  I hated hearing the noise of a television at night, but I suddenly wished Kai had flicked it on, just to make things less awkward.

  But then he finally did break the silence.

  "Hey Jules?"

  I took a breath, feeling it fill my lungs to burning, knowing his soft voice often came with things I didn't always want to hear.

  "Yeah?"

  "It's okay to feel about it. I know you've been thinking about it. But you need to feel it too."

  My body turned, curling on the side facing him, finding his gaze on me already.

  "I'm afraid if I start feeling about it, I might never stop."

  "So what?"

  "So... no one wants that," I told him, feeling sure of it down to my marrow.

  No one wanted messy me.

  Everyone wanted cool, calm, collected, in-charge Jules, one that could handle whatever you threw at her without so much as breaking her stride.

  They didn't want me falling apart.

  None of them.

  "I do," Kai insisted.

  "No... you do..."

  His hand moved out so fast I barely noticed the motion before I felt my chin snagged between two of his fingers, shocking me enough to make me lose my sentence.

  "A man you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, who you thought loved you, who you shared every part of your life with, saw you as nothing more than a mark, stole everything you have worked yourself to the bone for over the past several years, and then left you on your wedding day."

  Somehow, hearing it, hearing it from someone who knew all the ugly bits, knew how deep the betrayal went, it made it something. It made it bigger, more real. Took it out of shallow 2D, put it into three dimensions full of bright, Technicolor detail.

  It broke down the defenses, put gaping holes in the wall I was trying to hide it all behind.

  "Jules, sweetheart, you gotta purge it. If you don't, it's gonna eat you alive."

  That was it.

  My defenses were stripped ruthlessly away.

  The tears flooded and poured before I could even stop them.

  A choked whimper burst out of me unbidden.

  It was hardly a moment before I felt hands reach out to me, pull me close.

  Kai rolled onto his back, pulling me securely to his chest.

  One of his arms went around my hips, holding me close.

  His other hand went to my hair, gently sifting through the damp strands as I soaked through his shirt, as my body racked with the intensity of the feelings he claimed he wanted me to purge.

  I bet it looked a lot like heartbreak.

  What he didn't know was he held me through it all was it was anger, frustration, confusion, shame, embarrassment, fear.

  There was not even a drop of heartbreak.

  Because the deepest, darkest, ugliest secret I would never share with anyone was the fact that I had been ready to marry a man I hadn't been in love with.

  Not even a little bit.

  -

  Flashback - 18 months before -

  He wasn't a workaholic by nature.

  In fact, his job didn't even demand it.

  He was simply meant to step in when a suave tongue and his particular type of charm was needed. To deliver news no one wanted to hear. To land metaphorical blows. Occasionally actual ones. Or receiving them. That happened less than you'd think given that his presence usually meant that everything you gave a damn about was going to hell.

  He'd also pitch in on everyone else's cases if they needed a hand.

  But he wasn't - in any way shape or form - married to his job.

  So why was he suddenly at the office three hours past when he wrapped up his file on his most recent case?

  Yeah, that was the question.

  And the answer?

  Jules.

  The answer was always Jules these days.

  Why was he happy to crawl into work at the crack of dawn?

  Jules.

  Why was he happy to be heading stateside again after a job when he was normally a fan of traveling?

  Jules.

  Kai reached up, pulling his hair loose, having noticed a few weeks ago that she was oddly fascinated with it, had found her watching it, found her fingers curling into themselves like she was trying to hold back from touching it.

  There were a lot of things he could chalk up to wishful thinking when it came to the redhead who single-handedly kept the office from catching fire most days.

  This was not one of those things.

  He knew it.

  He'd seen it often enough to be certain.

  She was fascinated with his hair.

  So he had - naturally, since he didn't have a whole lot of other cards to play - played that one. Always remembering to free the strands from the tie he usually pulled it back with if he was going to be in close proximity to her.

  At this time of night, you would normally find Jules at her desk, typing up the handwritten notes everyone threw at her - barely anything more than chicken scratch.

  If it was just half an hour later, it would be too late.

  Because then she would be moving restlessly around the office, wiping surfaces, straightening magazines, loading up the coffee bar, her heels clicking relentlessly as she did her final nightly rituals.

  Jules was a creature of habit.

  And she got snippy if he got in the way of her cleaning process, having a system that she didn't like getting interrupted. Not even by help.

  So if he missed her between her note dictation and shoulder-roll, he wouldn't get to spend any time with her at all.

  Perhaps it was pathetic of him.

  To watch her.

  To search for windows.

  To leap through them when they opened.

  Hell, he even felt embarrassed about it himself at times.

  But what were you expected to do?

  When you found that person?

  That one who came into your life just like any other person, suddenly one day, unexpectedly, innocently even.

  But turned your entire life on its ear.

  He couldn't even tell you why.

  She'd been beautiful, sure, but his life afforded him the luxury of seeing countless beautiful women in an untold number of countries.

  Beautiful was as common as not-beautiful.

  But it was something else.

  It was something that made him stop breathing, finding the air hard to inhale because it was suddenly thick with something he didn't have a name for, something that made everything slow down, made a tingle work its way up his spine.

  And he knew.

  He knew like he knew the sun would rise the next day, like he knew he would have jet lag after a trip to Australia.

  He knew.

  She was it.

  The one.

  It was something he hadn't planned on, had hardly been a participant in.

  It happened.

  He'd been along for the ride.

  And what a ride.

  So he didn't care that he looked weak and pathetic, that he seemed like some lovesick puppy.

  You did whatever it took to spend some time with the woman who you knew you were meant to be with.

  Even if she was clueless about the whole thing.

  So he stopped at the coffee station, making her a cup while he straightened up a bit before she could see him and yell at him about it, and he made his way toward her desk, finding her sitting there, spine set to steel as it always was. He'd never seen her so much as slouch a day in this office. Her long, delicate fingers topped with perfectly manicured light pink nails tapping relentlessly at her keyboard, eyes pinned to the piece of paper with Lincoln's messy handwriting scrolled across it, at an angle instead of on the actual lines, as he oddly did.

  He moved forward, placing the coffee down beside the one she had been nursing for an hour, stone cold no doubt. Pulling a chair over from the sitting area, he reached across to tidy her desk organizer, to tap the papers back
inside their file folders, to toss curled up sticky notes into the small bin under her desk.

  "I would have gotten to that," Jules said, voice soft. It didn't sound like one, but he knew it was. A thank you. Sometimes with Jules, you had to read between the lines.

  "Yep. But now you don't have to," he offered, turning to find her already watching him. He flicked his head to clear a strand from his eye, seeing her eyes watch the motion as his hair moved backward.

  Worried about being caught, her gaze flew to his, eyes a bit wider than usual.

  Her eye-contact game was generally strong.

  With everyone else.

  With him, though, it had this tendency to skitter, to flutter, to find other places to land.

  But right then, it held.

  And her lips parted.

  And he could have sworn there was something in her gaze, something unmistakable, something heated.

  Something that hinted at the idea that she felt it too, whatever it was between them.

  And a hint, well, he could work with a hint.

  He pulled in a breath as his hand went to the back of her chair, as his fingers curled in, pulling it slightly, making the wheels bring her closer, her thigh brushing his.

  His other hand went on the desk, fingers itching to grab her hand, but wanting to take it slow, knowing this was delicate.

  When her eyes didn't break away, seek another target, the lids only getting heavier, he eased his way closer, heart hammering under his ribcage with the anticipation, with the rightness of the moment.

  "That motherfucker," Gunner's voice yelled from the front door, somehow punching in the code without them hearing, so lost in their moment, making both of them jolt, flying backward, the moment gone, the chance lost.

  There were no words to describe the sinking in his gut at that.

  And the sneaking, niggling suspicion that he wouldn't get another try.

  "I am going to rip his fucking cock off," he added, storming past the desk toward his office.

  Kai took a deep breath, trying to find a voice that didn't sound so tortured.

  "Fenway?" he asked, looking back at Jules, whose eyes held for the barest of seconds before flitting away.

  "Fenway," she agreed with a nod.

  Time would tell he was right.

  He didn't get a chance again.

  She started dating someone right after.

  FIVE

  Kai

  She had cried.

  Relentlessly.

  Soaking through my shirt, her slight body racking forcefully.

  It tapered off after a while, sniffling replacing the quiet sobs.

  But she stayed.

  She stayed there on my chest, her knee pressing into my thigh, her hand on my shoulder. Curled into a fist at first, then curled into my shirt after.

  She stayed there as her hair went dry between my sifting fingers, as my shirt dried under her cheek. As she finally drifted off to sleep.

  It felt like I had waited a lifetime to have her just like she was then, on my chest, resting peacefully.

  It never occurred to me to specify that I wanted her there because that was where she wanted to be, because she found joy there.

  Not because she was hurt, broken, because she needed someone to tell her it was okay, that they would hold her together as she fell apart.

  Regardless, I got something I had wanted for a long time.

  To hold her.

  Even if I had to do so while she cried over another man.

  One thing off the bucket list.

  She rolled away sometime in the pre-dawn hours, curling up on her side beside me, her backside wiggling against me as she settled, making me need to take a few, deep breaths, reminding myself that I was a good guy, not the kind who saw women in the grips of personal crises as an opportunity.

  Sometimes it sucked being the good guy.

  Sometimes you got blue balls and a black hole in your chest.

  I passed back out, waking up alone with the light streaming through the opened blinds, making me let out a loud grumble, never having been the get up and get going kind of person, preferring to hit snooze a few times, to give my body the opportunity to wake up slowly.

  Jules, I figured, was not of the same mind.

  I could hear noises from behind the closed bathroom door, the sliding of something across the counter, the clicking open and closed of something. Products, makeup, something. Then the distinct sound of her heels on the tile.

  The softer, less guarded, aching Jules was gone. Hidden behind the work Jules.

  Maybe I should have felt disappointed. But as much as I liked the unguarded Jules, I liked work Jules just as much. I didn't feel the need to pick and choose which parts of her I preferred. I liked the whole package.

  Pulling myself up in bed, I waited as she went through her routine, noticing a low hum of her music likely coming from her cell. Not Miley. Not anything upbeat like I imagine she used to pump herself up every morning in preparation for her long days. It sounded low and crooning. Like country. Which was yet another piece to the Jules puzzle. I never would have figured her for a country music fan.

  "Oh, you're up," she declared, stopping short at seeing me sitting there waiting for her.

  She chose to pack a simple work dress I had seen her in a few times before, tight but not clingy, in a deep eggplant purple color. I knew without seeing it that it had an exposed silver zipper from the hem all the way up her back and between her shoulder blades. The bodice was cut high - as they almost always were with her work clothes - going straight across her chest right under her clavicles. Her feet were in a pair of nude heels, casual by her standard with only about a three-inch heel. Her hair was pulled back as it so often was, something that should have drawn attention to swollen eyelids thanks to all that crying. But she must have been up long enough to use cold compresses to bring that down. Her eyes were as bright as ever.

  "How long have you been up?"

  "I get up around five-thirty most days."

  "Christ," I grumbled at the very idea. "Why?"

  "Normally, I might workout, then clean up, make breakfast, shower, get ready. Get coffee. Get to the office. There isn't enough time for all of that if I got up later."

  "You have a full day before most of us even wake up. You know, life wouldn't explode if you decided to give yourself some slack, Jules. But," I went on when she tried to interrupt me, "you might implode if you don't ease up on yourself a bit."

  "Thirty," she said on an exhale.

  "Sorry?"

  "The plan is to slow down when I turn thirty. When I was supposed to be married, settled in a home, then maybe becoming a mom."

  "Planning to relax kind of defeats the purpose. And, honey, that is years away still."

  "Bill Gates said he didn't take a single day off in his twenties."

  She had a planner that said Hustle hard in your twenties so you can relax in your thirties.

  "What do you do on Sundays?" I asked, knowing she had most of the day off unless there was a big case. She would stop in the office in the morning, but generally only stayed a few hours at most.

  "I have brunch with my mom and sister. Then I run errands, get my dry cleaning, deep clean my apartment..."

  "Your apartment is immaculate. What could require something called 'deep cleaning?'"

  To that, she shook her head as though I was clueless. "Scrubbing the fridge, the oven..."

  "But you are never home to cook."

  To that, there was simply a look of almost... helplessness.

  Like she couldn't help it.

  Like she needed to deep clean it even if she didn't use the oven at all.

  No wonder she and Finn had always seemed to get on well even though she hadn't forged deep bonds with anyone at the office. When he was going through one of his spells or whatever the PC way of describing his tendency to get completely OCD, and clean until his fingers bled every few weeks. She was the only one capable of calming hi
m down when he came into the office to scrub the heating ducts, the bathroom until the bleach smell would make you light-headed, your office without your permission.

  In fact, if she was out running an errand for someone, Quin would actually call her back to rein in Finn.

  Because she understood him.

  Because she had a bit of a compulsion to clean things herself.

  "Do you ever just sit around and relax?"

  "I read before bed or while dinner is cooking, or waiting for delivery."

  "Why don't you have a TV in your apartment?" I asked, unable to help myself. Who didn't have a TV? Even just to watch the news?

  "We weren't allowed to have electronics in our bedrooms growing up. Mom thought they made you dumb if you spent too much time in front of screens. And it is too easy to lose hours or whole days with screens. If I really need to watch something, I will go on my computer or laptop. But I usually just don't have the time anyway. Plus, they're ugly," she added, giving me a little smile. "Do you want anything from the buffet?" she asked, going to grab her key card.

  "Grab me whatever," I said, climbing out of the bed. "I'll get done while you're gone."

  She clearly wanted to get moving. I didn't want to get a frustrated Jules on my ass.

  With that, she ran off while I showered, coming back with fruit bowls, granola bars, coffee for her, orange juice for me, and, oddly, a side of bacon. At my questioning look, she shrugged. "I didn't know if the fruit and granola would be enough for you." We ate in mostly silence before she turned to me, bursting out, "What are we going to do, Kai?"

  "About what?"

  "About Gary. If we track him down. What do we do? I don't think he is just going to politely hand over my money. Not after all the work he's put into this."

  "Tell you what. You worry about the diatribe you are going to throw at him. Let me worry about the rest. Okay?"

  I knew it wasn't an easy request, that to women like Jules, asking them to just trust you implicitly was just about asking too much.

  So I wasn't exactly expecting it when she watched me for a long moment only to nod.

  "Okay."

  With that, we headed back out to the construction site, finding the boss, Ron, was in as predicted.