Nothing Personal: A Standalone Romantic Comedy

by Karina Halle

  I drop the noodle right in her soup.

  She stares at it for a moment and then slowly pushes her bowl of soup away from her.

  “Listen,” Kessler says after a moment, staring at the soup and then back to me. “I was wondering if I could have a moment to talk to you. Alone.”

  Kate stares up at me expectantly. “You go ahead, Nova,” she says. “I’ll bring the soup back to George. I could use the extra brownie points with the head honcho. Or, the big Kahuna, as we say here.”

  Kessler manages a tight smile. “Right.” He looks to me, brows raised, and I’m struck by how good age has been to him. He has to be now, what, thirty-four? Thirty-five? And he’s just the right amount of youth and manliness combined. The baby fat is gone from his face, leaving chiseled cheeks and a jaw sharper than a hockey skate. The crinkles at the corners of his teal eyes hint at fun life lived and the pepper of grey in his dark hair makes him look distinguished. Then there’s his actual hair. It was curlier back in the day, but it’s still wavy and somehow thicker, like he’s got male pattern baldness in reverse.

  What a dick.

  “Do you mind?” Kessler asks. “I don’t want to interrupt your lunch.”

  “Our lunch was already interrupted when Nova decided to hunt down that wayward noodle,” Kate says before she has a slow sip of her beer, her focus now on the crotch of Kessler’s pants and never wavering. If she dared to look at me, she’d see all the seven circles of hell in my glare.

  And I do mind, of course. He’s the damn reason I went under the table and he knows it. I’m just so blindsided by him, by today, by this week, that I can’t get a handle on anything and I’m bound to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. For example, hiding under the table like I’m a thirteen-year-old that just spotted her crush. But the last thing I want is for Kessler to think he has some upper hand, as petty as that sounds. Even if it’s kind of true.

  Faking a smile, faking everything, I say, “Sure. That’s fine, I have a few minutes to spare on the way back to the office.”

  “Great,” he says, and I hate his smile, stupid perfect veneers. Why can’t he be like most hockey players and have a mouth like a broken piano?

  I grab my purse and give Kate one last glare, which she won’t acknowledge, before marching out of the restaurant.

  “Seems like a cool spot, do you come here often?” Kessler calls after me as he exits out onto the street. “I have to say, Honolulu is nothing what I expected.”

  Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it.

  I make it about half a block before I stop and turn to him.

  “Why the hell are you here?”

  He stops, stepping out of the way as a group of lost tourists wander past. “Excuse me?”

  “Why are you here?” I repeat, wishing I could play it cooler than this. “You’re the last person I ever expected to see again.”

  “I thought I was the last person you ever wanted to see again,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. He looks all cool and comfortable, but I can see the sweat starting to break out on his forehead.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “What makes me say that?” he repeats. “Uh, I don’t know. How about the fact that after we stopped sleeping together, you fucking ghosted. And when you ghost, Nova, you’re gone. You changed jobs and came here within weeks. Half-way across the Pacific Ocean. You cut me out of social media, you changed your number, you never answered any emails.”

  I fold my arms, tapping my foot impatiently. “What’s your point?”

  “My point?” he repeats, and then wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Fucking hell, is it ever not a million degrees outside?”

  “You’re the one wearing a suit,” I point out. “And I’ll have you know it’s only eighty degrees. I think San Francisco broke you.”

  He makes a face but he’s still handsome somehow. “Anyway, I just…I don’t know what happened between us back then, but I just want to make things right. And I know that’s going to be difficult now that I’m your boss.”

  My eyes narrow venomously. “You’re only my boss for three months. Anything can happen after that. Which brings me to my original question: why the hell are you here? You have a child now? I’m assuming a wife or baby mama? Why were things so bad at your old job that you were willing to throw it all away and move here for a chance. Don’t tell me you’ve secretly harbored dreams about living in Hawaii because I know you Kess, and you’re not that type.”

  Now it’s time for his eyes to narrow. “You don’t know me, Supernova.” I roll my eyes at the mention of my old nickname. “If you did, you’d know I’m not married, nor do I have a baby mama.”

  Somehow the fact that he’s not with anyone makes things worse.

  “Then where did the kid come from?”

  “The kid,” he says patiently, “came from a night of poorly planned sex. I was drunk, she was…a sexy Russian model. We met at a party at Kirk Hammett’s house.” There he is with the name-dropping again. “Anyway, long story short, she’s in jail and I have custody of Hunter.”

  I stare at him blankly. “I’m sorry. Back up. You can’t just long story short that part. What happened?”

  He sighs and runs his hand down his face, staring up at the sky scrapers. “Look. Her name is Natalia. She was a legit model. Seventy-five-percent of her was just vagina and legs.” I scrunch up my nose. “She got pregnant. She lived in LA and I said I’d support her anyway that I could—money, time. I’d be as involved as she needed.”

  This should surprise me but it doesn’t. Kessler was anti-marriage, anti-children, but he’s also a got a good heart beneath that burly, sweaty facade. I’d seen it enough to know he’s at least coming from a genuine place in wanting to do the right thing.

  “But,” he continues, “she was adamant she be on her own. I talked to her when I could, she seemed fine. She gave birth. I wasn’t there for it, though now I really wish I was. I wanted to be…” he trails off and his expression turns wistful. “Anyway, Hunter was born and I saw him only a handful of times. Then she moved to New York. Then she moved to Chicago. Then she was arrested for fraud and I learned that Natalia was never her name anyway and she had dozens of them and was in the business of fleecing rich men, stealing identities, and credit card theft.” He shrugs. “Maybe that’s why she never wanted me very close. Either way, I got the call and I was the father and it was either I take Hunter or he goes into foster care. He had no other family.”

  “Oh my god.”

  Do you ever know how to pick ‘em, Kess.

  He nods. “Yeah. Obviously I wanted him. He’s my son. So, there you have it. This only happened six months ago.”

  Damn. “You’ve only had him for six months?”

  He gives me a wry smile. “I’m learning as I go. And I can really use the extra help. So when Mike called and said there was this job and that I could stay in his house and that he would arrange a nanny for Hunter, I jumped at the idea. The last six months have been rough. I thought maybe this would be a good way for Hunter and I to start fresh.”

  Hmmm. For all the reasons for Kessler to come here, it seems like a good one.

  Just a major inconvenience for me.

  “So why is Mike doing all of this for you? You get to have his job, stay in his house, he hires you a nanny?”

  “I guess love can really change a person.”

  Yeah. Love can also shatter them.

  “It’s nothing to do with Mike being a giant hockey fan and you being an ex-NHLer?”

  He tilts his head. “It still really bugs you, doesn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “The whole hockey thing. Back in the desert, you could never let it go. How I got a job. How I moved ahead. You always blamed it on the hockey.”

  I raise my brows. Your point?

  “I was in the NHL for one year before I was injured. You really think I have that much sway? I’m nobody, Nova. And it’s fine. I got
all the jobs I got because I work hard and I’m smart. I know that’s hard for you to believe.”

  Kessler is smart but more than that, he can be conniving. Which is a dangerous quality to have when you’re working with someone who may or may not be on your team.

  “You’re smart. I’m secure enough with myself to admit that,” I tell him, raising my chin. “But if you’re going to tell me that you worked hard for all of this, you have another thing coming. I’m the one who grew up in a motel, I—”

  “Yes, I know,” he cuts me off quickly. “You went to college. You did internships. You worked your way up the ranks. Now you’re here and you’re probably still busting your ass trying to get ahead. Has anyone ever told you that maybe you try a little too hard?”

  I reach out and poke him in the chest. His very firm, sculpted chest. “I only try hard because people like you don’t have to try at all.”

  “NHL players?”

  “Men!”

  He rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, here we go, she’s about to go Supernova on us.”

  “Don’t pretend it’s not true, it’ll be 2019 in a month. You could at least acknowledge your privilege as a rich white man.”

  He snorts. “Rich? Oh, you have no idea.”

  “I see those shoes,” I tell him, kicking the tips of them, hoping to scuff that leather.

  “Haven’t you heard of dressing for success?” he says, moving his feet out of the way. “Besides, I may have money but I still have to work, especially now that I have a son in my life. You know, responsibility. Caring for another human being. Or do you still not know anything about that?”

  Oh my god. And he’s just standing there, sweating, waiting for me to tell him that I have a husband or a boyfriend or a child or a fucking pet and I’ve got nothing.

  Five years and I’ve got nothing.

  For a moment I think I’ll just resurrect potato-head Roger from the dead but I think that lie would get the best of me.

  So instead I just say, “Fuck you,” before spinning around on my heel and storming off toward the office.

  “Hey, that’s not a nice way to speak to your boss!” he calls after me.

  I just stick my middle finger up in the air and keep walking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  KESSLER

  IT’S BEEN five days since I started work at Kahuna Hotels corporate office as their new, possibly temporary, Senior VP of Sales, Marketing and Revenue.

  Five days in which I still feel completely clueless as a father (Hunter’s happiness can only be bought with daily presents and the promise of leprechaun eradication).

  Five days in which I don’t have a handle on my new job at all (I made a major blunder when I proposed we change our logo from a pineapple to a banana, since we’re all about going for a younger, sexier audience now).

  And five days in which I’ve barely talked to Nova at all.

  The major problem with that is I need to talk to her. I mean, if I’m being honest with myself, she really should have taken over my job to begin with. I’ll never let her know that because that would be the end of me, but it’s true. She knows everything and I’m floundering, and when I do have the courage to reach out, I have to deal with her through her assistant, Mahina. Otherwise I’m given the cold shoulder which I can feel through the walls.

  Or maybe that’s the AC. The only good thing about this week so far is that I’ve managed to get my sweating under control with the art of blasting the air conditioner to Yukon-esque temperatures and keeping my blazers in the office.

  At the moment I’m sorting out all the pineapple-shaped shit on my desk. I’ve got a pineapple stress-ball and a pineapple pencil-holder and pineapple note papers and a pineapple mouse pad and my whole office looks like a pineapple threw up in here. That’s probably why they didn’t like my banana logo idea, they’re fully committed to the Kahuna Hotels pineapple merch and can’t afford to switch.

  I glance up at the pineapple clock on the wall. It’s almost six-thirty at night and I’m assuming the office is empty by now. I’ve been staying late the last few days, wanting the extra time to keep learning so I can stay on top of things. I feel bad because I should be rushing home right after work to have dinner with Hunter, but Loan has assured me that she’s got it under control. At least that’s the gist of what I’ve got from the few things she says to me.

  I’m staring at the stress-ball, wondering if it would suffice as a present for Hunter (I brought him a pineapple pillow the other day, which he immediately started to color all over) when I hear a strange sound from out in the office, almost like a ravaged cry.

  I get up and open the door, poking my head out. It’s silent.

  I decide I should probably use the bathroom anyway and while I’m heading over there I pass by Nova’s office. Her door is slightly ajar and I can hear her typing.

  I think better of it and then slowly push it open wider.

  She’s got her noise-canceling headphones on and her laser eyes spear me as she looks up over her computer.

  I know she can’t hear me, so I do the annoying thing of gesturing for her to take hers off, which she does so very begrudgingly.

  “What?” she asks sharply.

  “You weren’t just crying, were you?” I ask.

  She frowns. “No. Have you checked in with Teef? Sometimes he does a podcast after work.”

  “Teef has a podcast?” I ask. Teef is a good guy with a strange name. I mean, he has a lot of teeth so maybe that’s it. He’s our IT guy so I’m assuming his podcast is about boring technical stuff.

  “He lives with like ten people, so he says this is the only place he gets any peace and quiet.”

  “And does he normally cry during podcasts?”

  “Not that I know of. But who knows what makes those nerds upset.”

  I smile at her. This feels good, the fact that for once she’s relaxed, just a little, and that gorgeous, sunshiny part of her is coming through. This was the way she used to be, it’s why I was so attracted to her, what made me want to be around her all the time. There’s fun and adventure and this raw sensuality inside her, something real and spirited.

  Except that little glimpse of the old Nova disappears in an instant, like the clouds blocking the sun. She’s changed. The walls she’s put up now seem unsurmountable. She’s still sexy as hell in her pale yellow sleeveless top and I can’t stop staring at her mouth, even when it turns into a sneer, but she might not be the girl I once knew. The girl whose body I knew like the back of my hand.

  “Is that all?” she asks hastily, as if she can read the lust starting to build in my eyes.

  I swallow hard, hating how this whole bitch-hot thing is starting to get me going.

  “You’re working late,” I manage to say, my voice coming out coarse. Dear god, am I getting a fucking hard-on right now?

  She cocks a single brow. “So are you.”

  I nod. “Good talk.”

  “See ya,” she says dismissively, slipping her headphones back on, her attention going back to the computer.

  I back out of her office before she can notice my half-hard cock, and then proceed to head directly to the men’s washroom, passing by Teef’s empty office on the way.

  Seems like Nova and I are the only ones here.

  Which is good because the last thing she’s going to do is walk in on me while I’m taking care of myself.

  Now, I don’t make it a habit to jerk off at work. I do believe some things should be done at home and in private (okay, well I’m willing to share with certain people). But there’s no one here and she’s got me riled up in ways I can’t even explain.

  Maybe because I know how well we fit together. Our bodies spoke their own language when we were in the same bed, she knew exactly what to give me and I knew exactly what to give her.

  Actually, in hindsight, I was a fucking idiot to break it up with her. Had I not grown so scared of committing to her, who knows where my life would have gone? I don’t believe in regre
ts, at all, but if I had stuck it out, I would have gotten to know her on levels I was never able to. Even though we connected in sweaty sex sessions, she still kept herself tucked away.

  But none of that matters in a fantasy, and the one I have right now needs to be addressed.

  I march right into the bathroom, head for the first stall and bring my cock out of my pants, immediately stroking it from balls to tip.

  My fantasy leaps right into high gear.

  There’s no time for foreplay, no time to stretch it out.

  It’s just Nova.

  On her desk, on all fours, her skirt hiked up to her waist, leaving her round and luscious ass out and open and begging for me.

  I’ve missed your cock, she says to me, biting her lip. I’ve needed it, so bad. Fuck me, Kessler. Fuck my tight little hole with your big fat dick.

  Jesus.

  I’m stroking faster now, the precum sliding down the rigid length of my shaft, the tension building deep inside my balls, begging for release.

  I imagine grabbing Nova by her tiny waist, my big rough hands encompassing her soft skin as I yank her back into my cock, right into her ass. I’ve fucked her up the ass once before and as much as she pretended it was dirty, she fucking loved it. I conjure up all the ways she cried out and called my name, her breathy little moans as she arched her back and pushed herself back into me, my cock sliding into the hilt, the way I reached down and found her cunt all wet and gushing for me and…

  I’m so close to coming now.

  Everything tightens.

  My grip gets harder.

  My stance firmer.

  My pants slip down to my ankles.

  I…

  Have the strangest feeling I’m being watched.

  Just before I’m about to blow my load, I glance up to my left.

  And meet a pair of round yellow eyes.

  It’s a motherfucking chicken.

  I open my mouth to scream when the rooster leaps off the top of the stall and flies at me, wings flapping, beak open, letting loose a battle cry which was what I’d probably heard earlier, only ten-fold as it’s coming to peck my eyes out.