The Messenger (Professionals Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  You'll have to be twice as good. And it will still take you twice as long.

  My grandmother had given me that advice, having worked up to head secretary at a large marketing firm back before she married my grandfather.

  She used to regale me with stories of her male employers' inadequacies, how they couldn't use a typewriter to save their lives, how they had no idea how to brew a pot of coffee, how one genuinely did not know how to make his own phone calls.

  My grandmother had been smart, skilled, deserving of much more than that company would ever give her. Simply based on her sex. And while times were better, they weren't where they should be.

  She'd been right.

  If I went that CEO route, I wouldn't have made the money I was making now until I was around forty. And if I wanted children - and I did - that might be out of my reach for longer still.

  I had hit the jackpot with my job.

  Not getting accepted to Yale and losing my high school boyfriend had been the best things that had happened to me.

  According to my life plan, that is.

  For my life as a whole, well, I guess I didn't really even have one of those.

  It was something I chose not to think about too much, knew I would get down on myself for if I did. So I stayed busy.

  It was only in very quiet moments. Like in the shower. On the way to work. right before bed. It was only then that I remembered something.

  Busy did not mean happy.

  Successful did not mean fulfilled.

  I hadn't been to a movie in years. I hadn't gone out for drinks in just as long.

  I had no idea, genuinely not a clue, what satisfied me, what brought me joy.

  Not pleasure.

  Because it pleased me to have a full bank account, to have my bills paid, to be able to go shopping if I wanted to, to have a clean home, and the respect of people at work.

  But pleasure was a superficial thing.

  Joy was lasting.

  Joy was that thing that made you smile as you went to bed, when you got up in the morning.

  Joy was a foreign concept to me.

  Gemma thrived on it.

  My parents found it in each other.

  My grandmother found it in her kids, her husband, her garden.

  But me?

  I didn't know what brought it to me.

  I had no free time, no hobbies.

  I had no children.

  And I didn't really, truly understand what love was.

  Ugh.

  That felt sad even to think.

  But it was true nonetheless.

  My partners had been chosen logically. My heart had nothing to do with it.

  Sure, I loved.

  I loved my parents, my friends who I rarely got to see, my sister, my grandparents before they passed.

  But when it came to romantic love, I was clueless as a newborn baby. I was as lost as people on a road trip before Google Maps was invented.

  I didn't understand it.

  For myself.

  So I didn't understand it in Kai.

  Toward me.

  I didn't mean to hurt him, and at the times the wounds happened, I guess I really didn't even see it. But I was seeing it now. I was kicking myself for it now. For every time I misinterpreted his kindness, for the way I brought Not-Gary into the office, for, Oh God, the day I showed him my ring, foolishly thinking he had just... gotten over me because he had stopped being so attentive.

  He hadn't gotten over me.

  He pulled away so I stopped hurting him so much.

  There was a sharp, stabbing sensation in my stomach at that, something real enough to make me roll onto my back, pressing a hand there, half expecting my palm to come away bloody. That was how much it hurt.

  I lay there for a long time, pressing my hand to my belly as if to staunch bleeding, wondering how many times I had made Kai feel exactly this.

  "Hey, honey, what's the matter?" Kai's voice asked, soft, but rough from sleep.

  "Nothing," I lied, not even remotely convincingly.

  "Then what's this?" he asked, his hand reaching out, swiping across my cheek, showing me the wetness there.

  I hadn't even been aware I'd been crying.

  That was how out of touch I was with myself, with my feelings.

  I half turned on my pillow, eyes finding his. "How don't you hate me?" I asked.

  "What?" Kai's voice lost the sleep in an instant. "Hate you for what?"

  "For being clueless," I explained. "For hurting you with my own lack of awareness or... understanding."

  Kai paused, actually giving it some thought, something I appreciated more than simple assurances or denials.

  "Because... while you don't understand, I do. I get you. I'm not angry or upset because I know you have never hurt me through any fault of your own. I know that you have never really... grasped this whole thing," he said, waving a hand between us. "You can't be blamed for something if you didn't know what was going on."

  "But I did hurt you." I latched onto that, needing to know it. For some reason, needing to hear him say it. Just to prove that I was right. Or to punish myself with. I didn't know.

  Kai hesitated, but I refused to take it back, forcing him to exhale slowly. "Yes."

  My eyes squeezed shut, forcing a few more tears down my cheeks at the motion.

  "Jules, don't," Kai pleaded, fingers wiping away the tears.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for. I'm responsible for my feelings, not you."

  "You should like someone like Gemma."

  "What?"

  "Someone romantic and sweet and kind and good. Like you."

  To that, all I heard was a low chuckle, something rolling and masculine and, well, kinda sexy, to be perfectly honest.

  My eyes opened, finding him up on his elbow, looking down at me, lips quirked up, eyes dancing.

  "What?" I demanded when he said nothing, just kept giving me that unreadable, but somehow amused, smile.

  "You're ridiculous," he declared, shrugging as though that explained anything at all.

  "No, I'm not."

  "You are," he insisted, nodding almost solemnly.

  "How so?"

  "You are acting as though there is a choice in who you love. It doesn't really work that way. You love who you love."

  "Now you're being ridiculous. Of course love is a choice."

  "Being in a relationship with someone is a choice. Loving them isn't. There are plenty of people divorced today who still love one another. And there are a bunch of people out there who love someone with everything they have, but choose not to be with them because they're addicts or they're unreliable, or they cheated. The choosing to be with someone or not part, that is a choice. But who you end up falling for, that is completely out of your control." His hand moved out, pulling the collar of his shirt down from my neck a few inches, the brush of his fingers seeming to make the skin tingle while he did so. He ran his finger down the center of my cross. "You believe there are some things that are out of our control."

  It wasn't a question, but I answered it anyway.

  "Yes."

  "This is just one of those things."

  "Kai?"

  "Yeah?" he asked, finger still tracing my cross, his gaze focused there.

  "Why didn't you ever make a move? You know... way back when? Back before Gary? Back when there was no one in the way."

  "You were in the way," he informed me, lips curing up as his eyes found mine again. "I knew how you felt about your work reputation, how you had a rule about not dating anyone at work. I heard you say it once when Gemma was going gaga over Lincoln when she first met him, asking why you didn't 'tap that.' And I knew I wasn't your type, honey. That doesn't feel great to admit. And it didn't feel great to realize, but it was true. I wasn't your type. And going for it and getting shot down might have been worse than never going for it at all." He paused then gave me a slow, almost sad smile. "I didn't
- and don't - check your boxes, Jules. I get that. I've always gotten that."

  My stomach lurched at the mention of my list. The first thing I was going to do when I got home was burn that damn thing in the fireplace. Along with anything left of Not-Gary's.

  "What's that look for?"

  I exhaled slowly, shrugging. "I want to go home, but I don't want to go home. If that makes any sense."

  "It makes sense. Why don't you want to go home?"

  "Everything in my apartment reminds me of him now. He's touched everything. He's been everywhere. It all seems tainted."

  "So go home, but don't go home," he suggested. "Go stay with your mom. Or Gemma."

  "Look at me," I said, waving a hand at my face. "I would have to tell them the whole, ugly truth. I mean, I plan to do that. Eventually. Once I sort it through. But if I went to them, I would have to explain right now. I just... I don't want to go there. Not yet."

  I didn't want to say it, but I felt it went without explanation.

  And I have no money to stay somewhere else.

  "Come stay at my place," he suggested because, well, of course he would. Because he was just the most selfless human being on the planet. "Don't. Don't rush to say no just because you feel like you can't ask it of me. You're not asking. I'm offering. Come stay at my place for a week. Heal. Get your head on straight again. Then you can figure out what you are doing from there. We can stop on the way back, grab everything you will need, and then go to my place."

  I wanted to.

  I had no idea what Kai's place was even like, and I had gotten a bit picky about such things over the years. Maybe he was as sloppy at home as he was in his office at work. Maybe he put his shoes up on the coffee table or left dishes in the sink for days. Maybe he wasn't anal about soap scum in the shower like I was.

  But, somehow, I found myself genuinely not caring.

  I wanted to go to his place.

  "Say yes," he demanded. "I will even learn how to use my coffee maker for something other than brewing hot water."

  "Okay," I agreed, nodding.

  "Okay?" he asked, like he was sure he had misheard me.

  "Okay," I affirmed, feeling that chest tightening thing again.

  -

  "Is it an apartment or a house?" I asked after we had stopped to load up a few pieces of my luggage with clothes, toiletries, makeup, some books, and my own pillows. It was a weird, maybe somewhat insulting habit I had picked up from my mother who had always insisted we bring our own pillows when we went to stay over somewhere. Not because someone else's pillows were dirty, but because ours smelled like home, would make it easier to sleep in a foreign place.

  Plus, well, I paid the big bucks to get the best pillows I could find - ones that wouldn't go flat in five seconds. I slept on my side. I needed a good pillow or I'd get a crick from hell in my neck.

  "You'll see when we get there."

  "I hate surprises."

  "I know."

  "I could Google it. I know your address. Get the street view."

  "But you're not going to," he agreed with me.

  And, well, he was right.

  I wasn't going to.

  I was going to metaphorically sit on my hands and wait.

  Luckily, it wasn't long.

  "No way," I said when he turned into an industrial part of town, nothing but old warehouses around.

  "Why not?"

  "I picture you with a yard."

  "I'm on the road a lot. I don't have the time to maintain it. I'd like that though. Someday. A house. A backyard with a dog and some kids in it. Right now, though, this works best for me," he told me, pulling up to what had been a textile factory.

  "This is your place?" I asked, not even bothering to mask the disbelief in my voice.

  "Got it on a song. It had been home to some raccoons and opossums. They had their own ecosystem going. But I dropped some money into it, got it all cleaned out. Humanely," he specified as if I could ever imagine he hired someone to bludgeon the poor raccoons and opossums. "Then got to build it up the way I wanted."

  "It's four floors."

  "Yeah."

  "What could you have possibly found to do with all of that space?"

  "Two floors are the actual living space. Got three bedrooms. Sometimes Lincoln crashes if he's between girls. Bellamy and Ranger will stay if they are in town."

  "What about the other two floors?"

  "Well..." he said, hitting a clicker on his visor, making a giant door slowly groan open, allowing him to drive inside. To a giant garage space.

  "Wait... is that Lincoln's..."

  "Corvette? Yes," Kai told me, nodding toward the cherry red car in the far corner. "He ran out of room, and claimed it could never sit outside in the weather. Despite being, you know, a car and meant to sit outside. I am under strict orders not to touch it. Or breathe on it. And my car is not allowed to blow exhaust on it. Whatever that means. Come on, let's get upstairs," he said, jumping out, going around the back to load his arms down with my luggage, leaving me with nothing but my pillows to grab.

  We climbed up steep cement stairs to a door, pausing to let Kai punch in a code, then moving into the dark space.

  "Ready?"

  "I don't know."

  But then the light flicked on.

  And I got to see Kai's place for the first time.

  "Wow."

  "Good wow? Bad wow?"

  "Surprised good wow?"

  It wasn't what I was expecting. Piles of stuff all over with a clean trail leading to the kitchen.

  The room itself was open concept. We stepped into the living room with windows lining both sides. The living room was set up in a square of couches. They were somewhat low, black, and minimalistic. Very modern. On the center was a coffee table was a set of work files. But not strewn about, just tucked all together nicely. There was a large flatscreen across from the seating area, likely where he and the guys - or Miller - hung out and watched games or movies or... whatever people did when they hung out as adults.

  Behind the living room was a simple four-chair black table set before the oversized L-shaped kitchen cut off from the rest of the space with a giant, oversized island. The counters were cement. The appliances were stainless steel. The cabinets were a deep gray.

  The whole area was cool, but not cold. Streamlined and clean. There were no curtains or throw pillows, no decor accents.

  It was the ultimate bachelor's pad.

  Because Kai was single.

  Kai was single, and not a monk.

  He was good-looking, sweet, interesting.

  Women had to be drawn to him.

  Irrationally, I felt a sour taste flood my mouth, recognizing it for what it was. Jealousy.

  Even though I had no right at all to feel that way.

  "Do you have a housekeeper?"

  Kai's neck went a little red, a surefire sign of guilt. "Yeah."

  "But you won't let me clean your office."

  "It's not your job."

  "I straighten up for some of the others."

  "It's not your job," he insisted before moving away from me. "As you can see, this is the main living area. Help yourself to what's in the fridge. I'll pick up some healthy stuff later for you. The main floor bathroom is... here," he declared when I caught up with him, finding a door behind the kitchen. "And back here is just the gaming room," he told me, waving before taking up another flight of wide cement stairs. I hung back, sneaking a look to see what a game room could be. It was exactly what it sounded like. A room full of old school arcade games. And a little section with a giant TV and collection of gaming consoles.

  Kai liked games.

  How did I never know that about him?

  "I'd wipe the floor with you," he declared, having come back down to stand beside me. "At skeeball," he told me, jerking his chin toward where I was looking.

  "I don't know. I used to be pretty good."

  "We'll play later. Winner gets to pick dinner."

&
nbsp; "Sounds like fun."

  And it did.

  Fun.

  What a novel concept.

  "You get to choose your room," he told me as we got to the second floor. "This is me," he told me, waving a hand toward a room with a king-sized bed with steel blue comforter. And another TV. One guy. Three TVs. So far.

  "This is the first one. It's the one the guys usually pick," he informed me, flicking on the light.

  "I can see why."

  It was bare walls and a simple bed with a slate comforter. And, you guessed it, another TV.

  "This one no one has ever picked," he told me, leading me into the last room where the walls were a soft sage green. The queen-sized bed had a lush white comforter. There was a white headboard, white nightstands, and a white and sage carpet so thick I was sure my feet would simply sink into it.

  "I like that look. I guess we have a winner?"

  "Oh, yes. And no TV. You know you have four TVs?"

  "I do know that. I like TV. you should try it sometime."

  "Maybe I will."

  Maybe I would enjoy that too.

  Who knew?

  "Alright, so the guest bathroom is at the end of the hall. Everything you might need is in there. Feel free to spread your stuff out. I have my own bathroom. I will let you settle in. I'll be downstairs if you want some company."

  "Kai," I called a bit desperately as he turned and was gone before I could even draw a breath.

  "Yeah?"

  "Thank you. Again."

  "I'm happy to have you here, Jules." There was so much sincerity in his tone it was impossible to think he was just throwing out pleasantries.

  And there it was again.

  The chest-tightening thing.

  And I was starting to maybe think I had an idea what it meant.

  I moved around, settling in, showering, glad to find my hands were healed over, a bit painful to the touch if I tried to grip anything too hard, but tolerable. There was nothing to be done about my black eyes and the band of bruises around my neck, but I took the time to dry and style my hair, being careful to avoid the slowly scabbing over cut on my skull.

  I threw on a pair of slacks and a simple camisole, happy to feel a bit more like myself, and then headed downstairs to find Kai lounging on the couch watching some crime procedural, feet kicked up on the coffee table. But no shoes, just socks.