The Messenger (Professionals Book 3)

by Jessica Gadziala

  But there were some stoic ones, the ones who listened to Quin as he detailed exactly how their lives were going to change, who didn't bemoan their fate, who simply accepted things as they came.

  I never anticipated my life would turn on its head, of course. I was too careful. Too regimented.

  But you couldn't help but have your mind wander sometimes. Lying in bed at night waiting for sleep to claim you, imagining yourself in odd, crazy situations you knew logically you would never land in, but pretend to navigate your way through it anyway, thought about what you would say or do, about how you would handle it. Somehow develop badass self-defense skills despite never having taken a class, spout an elegant diatribe despite the fact that you were the sort to choke on your own tongue and spit in tense situations.

  I always saw myself as someone who would lift her chin, square her shoulders, and take the hit. Figuratively.

  I wish reality lived up to my imaginings.

  Because there was nothing noble about crying through your makeup on the floor of your closet in your wedding dress.

  On your wedding day.

  The day that was supposed to be the happiest of your life, full of joyful tears, kind words, kissing, dancing, cake eating. I was supposed to tell my mom to stop crying, but secretly adore the genuine joy of it. I was supposed to drink too much champagne, take beautiful pictures that would hang on my wall for decades, perfectly posed photos that my little girls would look up at with wonder and awe and hope much like my sister and I had with our parents' and grandparents' wedding day pictures.

  The only tears I should have had were ones of genuine happiness.

  Not these ugly ones.

  These angry, bitter, confused, frustrated ones.

  It all started out right, too.

  I'd kicked Gary out the night before. As was tradition. You never spend the night before your wedding with your soon-to-be life partner. It was supposedly 'bad luck.'

  I'd given him a hopeful kiss before shutting the door, going about two hours' worth of beauty primping with Gemma - face masks, hair masks, split-end trimming, exfoliating, lotioning, just getting everything as perfect as it could be.

  Then I'd gone to bed early after drinking a ton of water, so I would wake up hydrated and not puffy.

  My mom and sister came over early, bringing coffee and sweet breakfast treats - cranberry orange scones, banana crepes, cinnamon swirl muffins. We ate, talked, took it easy.

  Then I started getting ready, showering, doing all the last minute things like shaving, tweezing my eyebrows, painting my nails.

  My mom helped me arrange my hair, sticking in a small, delicate pearl clip she had worn on her own wedding day.

  Borrowed.

  I clasped on my cross from my grandmother.

  Old.

  I slipped on the pretty pearl earrings Gemma had gotten me.

  New.

  And then Miller had showed up with a Tiffany blue thong, giving me a smile and eyebrow wiggle.

  And then I had my blue.

  We made our way to the venue then where we had white wine while I did my makeup, then finally slipped into my dress.

  I won't deny it.

  As my family left to go find their seats, greet guests, I sat down in the room.

  And I nearly sweat through my dress.

  Nerves.

  Just nerves.

  Surely.

  Just normal.

  Everyone had nerves on their wedding day.

  You were promising your future to someone, all your ups and downs, all your hopes and dreams.

  That was a big deal.

  If you weren't nervous, you likely weren't taking it seriously enough.

  And me, well, I took it very seriously.

  I looked at things all very logically.

  Right down to choosing my partner.

  I had a list.

  I mean, I had lists for everything.

  I had a list for acceptable nail color shades.

  So of course I had a list of qualities I wanted in a partner. From the superficial - tall, fit but not too muscular, wore suits comfortably, had great hygiene - to the more serious. I wanted someone driven career-wise, someone who understood the demands of my job because their own was demanding as well. He had to be well-spoken, mature, a good driver, only a social drinker.

  I even had a section for things I didn't want - manwhores, mama's boys, former or current drug users, gamblers, or binge drinkers, men who played video games, cursed too much, used potty humor, or, well, scratched himself when others could see.

  I mean, really.

  That one went without saying.

  Like guys were the only ones who had itches in inappropriate places. That didn't mean you could scratch or readjust in front of other people.

  But judging by the sheer number of men I saw doing such things in public situations, it did need to be said.

  The list was long, a front and a back of a college-ruled piece of paper, an ongoing thing I had started - and edited on and off as things changed - when I was eighteen, understanding that the first step to getting what you want was knowing what you want.

  I mean, after all, that was how I got the job I wanted, making the money I made, having the power I had.

  I wrote it down.

  Then refused to settle for anything less.

  So why couldn't I do that with a partner?

  Then there was Gary.

  He checked almost every single box, only missing a few inconsequential ones about food preferences and family background.

  That really didn't sound romantic, I guess.

  And maybe it wasn't.

  If I were perfectly honest about the whole situation, it wasn't exactly the whirlwind love story it looked like from the outside.

  We seemed like we rushed into it, like we went from casually dating to mostly living together to engaged to almost married in such a short period of time.

  What other explanation could there be except some unstoppable force of passion?

  And, well, there was heat.

  There had to be heat, y'know?

  But it wasn't a wildfire of passion, love, that had us unable to spend another moment not joined in matrimony.

  It was more like... I don't know... the right progression of things.

  You dated to get to know someone, to see if you would work long-term.

  Once you established that, you took steps toward that long-term situation.

  That was what we had done.

  Step by step until we were supposed to take those big ones. The ones down an aisle. The most important walk of your life.

  Romeo and Juliet or Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy we were not, but that didn't mean it wasn't a good relationship, a great match, a couple to aspire to be.

  And because so much thought had gone into the day, because I took it more seriously than I took anything - save for my work and personal finances - it made sense that I felt queasy and shaky and sweaty while I sat there waiting for it to be time.

  "Do you need something?" Miller had asked, brows drawn down because, well, she knew something was up, that I was usually nothing other than completely composed. And I certainly looked anything but that right then.

  So I gave her a little nothing question to ask Gary, just so I could have a moment completely alone to pull myself back together.

  I never imagined - not in a million years - that she would come back with ashen skin, panic in her deep eyes, and tell me in her somewhat signature blunt fashion that she couldn't find Gary.

  That he was gone.

  His room empty.

  His car picked up.

  Gone gone.

  I'd called him.

  Of course I did.

  Because I understood if he was feeling a bit like I was, if maybe he went for a drive, went to grab some of those gross 5-Hour caffeine drinks he liked so much to try to calm himself down before coming back, and going through with everything.

  It wasn't until the fi
fteenth call - and the tenth unanswered text - that I started to freak out.

  Miller went to check his room again in case he had come back.

  And me, well, I left.

  And as I yanked the skirt of my wedding dress up, so I could slide into my driver's seat, there was no mistaking the churning in my stomach.

  Not just nerves anymore.

  Something else.

  Something more devious.

  Something like a gut instinct.

  Something that said things had just gone very wrong.

  Not simply because he had gotten cold feet.

  I could forgive that, move past it.

  But because something inside of me said there was something very wrong.

  About Gary.

  I flew into my apartment building, calling out his name frantically, voice getting more and more hysterical by the moment.

  Don't ask me what made me do it.

  Turn into my guest room.

  The room that acted as that as well as my office because I hated having electronics out where anyone could see them.

  Butted up against the wall under a window that had a nice view of a park that was always packed on weekends with Little League games or families out for some fun, even lovers having picnics, or people walking their dogs, was my long, low, light pink writing desk - a silly, girly impulse purchase one night that I never regretted.

  My computer was on top of it.

  And, well, it was another situation where I was glad for my job.

  Because the IT guy that Quin hired had told me how to turn my internal camera on my desktop or laptop into a security camera triggered by motion.

  I had set it up because of a slight bit of paranoia about someone from work - since there were plenty of slimy characters in and out of the place - finding his way into my place. At least with the security camera, I would have a way of knowing that it happened if it ever did. And then I would have proof.

  I usually only checked it if I was having a particularly bad bout of paranoia, when some client genuinely rubbed me the wrong way.

  But then, gut clenched in a vice grip, determination making my heels sound like they would burst through the hardwood floor, I checked it for a whole new reason.

  Because I never thought to look into Gary.

  Not that way anyway.

  And that, well, that was suddenly starting to feel like a giant, epic mistake.

  One that could have horrible repercussions.

  I moved toward the computer, sitting down in the chair, taking deep breath as I turned it on, and went in search of the saved camera feed.

  And there was Gary.

  In ten different files for ten different days, all time-coded when I would not have been home, when he really had no reason to be in my apartment seeing as he was supposed to be at work as well.

  He looked good in all of them, too.

  Of course he did.

  He was one of those people who looked good with bedhead, who looked good when he was on the second day of the flu, who looked good doing tasks that no one would find someone looking good while doing - trimming their toenails, flossing their teeth.

  He'd just been blessed genetically with unfairly flawless skin, great lips, green eyes, blonde hair that was somehow neither dirty nor white, but somewhere in the perfect middle, with a jaw meant for cutting glass, great brows, and a well-proportioned nose.

  So his stupidly good-looking face was right there in a bunch of files. On my computer. Looking oddly determined.

  My gaze moved downward to one in particular. One where his lovely green eyes were hidden behind black-rimmed glasses.

  Glasses.

  Gary didn't wear glasses.

  But this Gary - computer Gary - Gary who wasn't supposed to be on my computer Gary - he wore glasses.

  I sat there, heartbeat slamming against my ribs, making me queasy, moving through the videos, watching, listening to the click of the mouse, the tap of the keys, before the camera feed turned off, only being programmed to run for two minutes.

  It was the final one when he finally spoke.

  And the words sent a shiver down my spine.

  Got you, bitch.

  Why did I automatically think that bitch was me? I wasn't sure. But I knew. I knew like I knew I would get a headache if I wore my hair too tight that he was talking about me. About getting me.

  And that video was dated just an hour before, still wearing the suit I had picked out for him for the ceremony, tie pulled loose.

  He got me.

  I have no idea what made me sure of it, what made my hands move to the search history, sure of what I would find, not even feeling a sinking feeling when it was confirmed.

  My bank's website.

  Taking a deep breath, I typed in my login information with numb fingers, and hit the enter button on a sharp exhale.

  And it was gone.

  Every last hard-earned penny.

  Every penny that represented an early morning, a late night, an achy back, sore feet, headaches, sleepless nights, frazzled nerves.

  Years.

  Years of carefully saving for security, for my future.

  All gone.

  I felt the sting in my eyes even as I went to the transactions, sure there was no way he could get the money out. Not without me.

  Maybe a part of me was naively hoping that there was simply some banking glitch, some screw up that would explain it all away. Maybe all the transactions were gone, were in some server somewhere, not lost, just momentarily misplaced.

  But they were all there.

  Right up to the last one.

  The one that transferred every bit of my pennies to some unknown account somewhere.

  I didn't even bother to sign out as I pushed away from the computer, tears starting to stream.

  What was the point in signing out, being safe, when there was nothing left to take?

  I tore through my apartment, looking for anything of his, finding nothing, infuriatingly nothing, even as my makeup smeared, my dress getting ruined.

  And then I finally found myself in the closet, locating that one box he brought right at the beginning, loaded up with just enough stuff to get him through a long weekend. Before he began hanging things on the racks beside mine.

  It was still there.

  Full of seemingly random things. Clothes, grooming supplies, a few receipts, nothing to go on.

  That was when I was aware I wasn't alone, that someone had snuck up on me.

  Kai had snuck up on me.

  Of course it was Kai.

  Kai with his sweet smile and too-big heart.

  Kai who was maybe the last person I wanted to see me like this.

  A mess.

  I mean, I never wanted to look like a mess in front of anyone.

  But more so with Kai.

  For obvious reasons.

  Because - while it was a while ago - he used to put me on a pedestal; he used to think I was perfect.

  That being said, he was there.

  He was there, and I was losing it.

  And I needed to purge some of it, spew it out onto someone else before it consumed me.

  "He took it all," I told him, cringing when my voice hitched again.

  "Honey, he took what?" he asked, voice doing that soft thing it did when I had a headache, or when I was barely able to keep my eyes open at work. That sweet voice that made my chest feel tight.

  My eyes closed for a long moment before opening, watching those dark eyes of his, finding a bit of strength there. "He took all my money."

  Kai's lips parted slightly as the words sank in, as he tried to find something to say. "How do you know that?"

  "I have a security camera on my laptop. He was on it. Today. He said he got me. And my savings is gone."

  "Can I go look?" he asked, making an odd, insecure part of me well up, thinking he just wanted to get away from my hysterical self.

  I simply nodded, watching as he turned and left, movin
g through an apartment he'd never been in before like he knew all the secrets hidden within.

  And I just sat there, listening to the hum of the air conditioning system running through a cycle, the air blowing into my back from the vent, making goosebumps prickle over my flesh, but I couldn't seem to think to get up, to move away, to grab clothes off the shelf, and get myself out of this lie of a dress.

  So I sat there on my heels, legs going numb, much like the heart in my chest as Kai searched through my computer, seeing the sham of a man who told me he loved me, who had lied to my face, who had taken everything from me.

  My security.

  My future.

  I wasn't sure how long I sat there, but when Kai came back, reaching down toward me to help me back onto my feet - a task that would have been nearly impossible with the long, silky material of my dress - pins and needles pricked with relentless attacks as my heel-clad feet met the floor once again.

  "Shake some life back into them," Kai suggested, reading the situation, or - more likely - reading me like he always seemed able to do. All I could manage was to stomp my heels a few times, sucking in a breath when the pain intensified before going away. "Come on. Let's talk over coffee. Or a drink. I'm sure you could use one or the other."

  Both.

  I could use both.

  But we walked back out of my closet, through my bedroom where my eyes landed on the bed, suddenly realizing I could never sleep there again. On that mattress. Where I had slept with him.

  I wondered a little fleetingly if married couples felt the same way while going through a divorce - that neither wanted the bed, better just to put it in a trash heap. Or donate it. No one would want to sleep there again.

  "Which one, Jules?" Kai asked when we made it to the kitchen, me in a bit of a daze, eyes darting around my home, seeing ghosts of Gary all around - sitting on the couch flicking through things on his phone, stoking the fire, in the kitchen making my coffee. Too strong. He always made it too strong. And only ever put a drop of caramel when I wanted three. Had told him so several times before.

  "Coffee," I decided, pulling out a stool to the island, sitting down, watching Kai as he moved around my kitchen.

  "How did you know..." I started, not being conscious of wanting to ask as I watched him find the coffee on the first try.

  "You have it set up like you do at work," he answered the unfinished question as he slipped a pod into the machine, pushing one of my glass mugs beneath as he went back up into the cabinet for the caramel with one hand and into the fridge for the half-and-half with the other, putting a dab in, then three drops of the caramel.