Abyss (Elements of Rapture Book 4)

8. Kavi

KAVI

The clatter of wheels over metal tracks provides a lulling rhythm as I watch the city float by through droplets of rain on the windows.

It’s quiet inside the subway car tonight, with only a handful of tired commuters, giving me a chance to get my thoughts straight.

There’s a medley of emotions floating around inside my brain, each one outweighing the next—hesitation, unease, excitement . . .

Desire.

It’s that last one that has me the most worried, because it has me fantasizing about things I have absolutely no business doing. Like waking up in the same apartment as Hudson Case, or making breakfast together . . .

And then eating it with him in bed.

The thought is so ridiculous, I find my reflection smiling back at me through the glass before my nose wrinkles.

Like he said, it would just be a mutually beneficial, temporary living situation. And of course that’s what it would be, if I decided to take it.

What the hell were my thoughts doing having gone in that direction, anyway? He might be insane—evident by the fact that he actually came up with the idea—but I’m definitely not.

The elevator doors had pinched shut with his last request, and that damn plea in his eyes, hanging in the air between us. It had kept me rooted to my spot, wondering if I’d imagined the entire exchange well after the elevator ascended with him in it.

Because that had to be the only explanation, right?

Moody, broody bosses, who practically snarled every time they saw you, didn’t go around offering pay raises and asking you to move in with them. It simply didn’t happen.

But it had . . .

And I wasn’t any farther along in my consideration of whether I was going to take it.

I mean, how would it even work? The man couldn’t tolerate me, not that I was much of a fan of him, either. But how could we live together? And what about Madison? What would she think if she found out?

But the money . . .

A paycheck like that, even for a little while, was unfathomable to me.

At least for a little bit, it would be life-changing for my family. At least for a little bit, we could feel like we weren’t all working a million jobs between us, trying to keep the lights on. At least for a little bit, we could all breathe easy.

But did I need the doubled salary for the same work if I was going to live with him? It seems excessive and unnecessary . . .

And what about the promises I’d made to myself—to him—after everything? What about all that talk about not letting someone make me feel shitty ever again?

Was Hudson’s offer worth testing my self-preservation all over again?

As if my mother can tell I need a reprieve from my thoughts, my phone rings inside my purse and I see her name flash on the screen. Except, her words, her voice, higher-pitched than usual, are laced with thick static on the other end when I pick up.

“Mom?” I bring the phone up to my face, making sure I haven’t lost the call. It wouldn’t be surprising since we’re going through an underground tunnel. I press a finger to my other ear, hoping to silence the cacophony of the subway. “You there?”

Her words come out fragmented. “Neil . . . we’re at the . . . taking him into—”

The call ends abruptly, leaving me with a sense of unease and foreboding. It’s not common for Mom to call around this time, but maybe she felt the need to tell me something. But what?

I raise my phone, looking for a signal that’s not there before sending a text to my mom, telling her I couldn’t hear her. While waiting for a response, I remind myself that I’m likely getting worked up over nothing.

The subway comes back above ground, and I call my mom’s phone, not getting an answer, before trying Neil’s. She said something about taking him somewhere. But when he doesn’t answer, I decide to just wait to talk to them when I get home.

Except, an hour later, instead of the coziness of Mom’s living room, I find myself in an uncomfortable chair inside an emergency room waiting area with my arm around my mother’s shoulders while she prays for my brother.

Unknown Number

How is your brother?

My phone vibrateson the countertop just as I’m putting my second contact lens in its case. I squint, trying to read the name on the screen, but quit trying after a few unsuccessful seconds to secure my hair into a ponytail using the black rubber band around my wrist.

We got home twenty minutes ago—half-past one AM—but thank God we all got home, mostly in one piece.

Apparently, after dinner, Neil started complaining about a sharp pain on the right side of his abdomen that he said had gotten progressively worse, to the point where he felt nauseous and unable to walk. Thankfully, Mom made a quick decision to drive him to the ER, where they rushed him in for surgery after a few tests.

Shuffling toward my bed with my phone in hand, I grab my glasses off my nightstand and wiggle them over my eyes. My brows pinch as I read the text a couple of times while my mind tries to make some connection with the number and the text.

I’d received a text from Belinda while I was in the waiting room, informing me she had an appointment in the morning and would be late tomorrow, and it dawned on me that she likely had no idea I’d submitted my resignation.

So, instead of getting into all that with her—though, I’d started trusting her over just a few days of knowing her and knew she’d understand no matter what I decided—I replied, informing her that I wasn’t sure if I was coming in tomorrow since I was still waiting for my brother to be out of his emergency appendectomy and had no idea when I’d be getting home tonight.

She’d immediately called me, asking for details and ensuring I was okay—something I couldn’t express to her at the time, but deeply appreciated.

But looking at the text from the unfamiliar number on my phone now, I can only assume it’s one person. The person she likely notified with my life update.

Perching on the edge of my bed, my heart pounds as I type back.

Me

He’s resting at home but should be back to normal in a couple of weeks. Thank you for asking.

And though I’m sure he won’t reply—and had no real reason to do so, given I was still leaning toward my original decision not to work for him—I stored his number in my contacts.

Why? Because I’d apparently developed a new toxic trait of storing numbers of men who’ve either fired me or threatened to do so at every encounter.

Currently, there was only one person on that list.

I stare at our exchange for a few seconds in silence, wondering if I was leaning toward the right decision. On one hand was my pride—the promises I’d made to stand up for myself—but on the other was my family and their well-being.

Wasn’t one so much more important than the other?

We’d just depleted ninety-nine percent of our savings on Dad’s medical bills and funeral costs, and now, I couldn’t even begin to fathom the slew of medical bills that would rack up after today. Not to mention, Mom would likely have to take time off to be home with Neil until he was well enough to be on his own.

My gut twists with anxiety as a pang of fear pricks the corners of my eyes. Were we ever going to get a break? Could we ever resurface from the undertow we’d been fighting against for the past couple of years after Dad got sick?

The vibration of my phone pulls me out of my thoughts, and I stare back at the relit screen.

Captain CrankyDick

Despite what you think, I’m not the biggest asshole to walk the earth.

I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if I was imagining the hint of vulnerability from my crabby boss.

Me

As long as you believe that, it shouldn’t matter what I think.

A string of three dots immediately jump on the screen as I wait for his message before they disappear altogether.

After staring at the screen for another minute, I put my glasses on my nightstand and turn off my lamp before getting into bed. My thoughts are still jumbled, right along with the pressure inside my chest.

I’m just tossing and turning on my pillow, trying to silence my mind when my phone glows from its place on my nightstand.

Captain CrankyDick:

There’s a package for him sitting on your front porch. No worries if you’re already asleep; you can get it in the morning.

Before my feet have even had a chance to register their placement on our old laminate flooring, I’m rushing out of my room to the front door.

Swinging it open, I practically trip over the large cellophane-covered basket, secured with an orange bow. I note the wireless headset, a digital reader, a handheld game system, and the various snacks and candy inside before my gaze scours the dark street in front of my house.

The rain has let up, and while I can’t see the clouds against the darkened sky, I have no doubt they’re still there.

My gaze falls back on the gift basket.

Did he have his chauffeur deliver this? More than likely, Belinda got it all done—thirty-something-weeks pregnant and all.

I’m just about to retrieve it when my eyes pick up movement across the street. I turn on my porch light, lightly clicking the door shut behind me so as not to wake Mom and Neil, before I step out onto our cold porch, the rough concrete biting into the bottoms of my feet.

But dark skies or not, he’s hard to miss.

All six-foot-something of him, outlined against the night, standing next to his truck.

He shifts as I pad closer, unconcerned with the thin material of my old Christmas T-shirt—the words The Grinch stole my heart and my pants written in cursive over my chest—my short shorts, or my lack of a bra.

Feet on wet pavement, I come to a stop a few inches from him, my eyes falling to the hands he has secured inside the pockets of those ever-present suit pants. My chest rises and falls as I try to steady my heart rate. “If you think this will convince me to stay—”

“It should.” The corners of his lips barely lift, but it’s the delicate cupid’s bow over his top lip that I can’t seem to disconnect my gaze from. It’s perfectly defined, framing the lush fullness of his mouth, as if drawn by an artist’s hand. “Though it’s not why I did it.”

His eyes trail down my form, a flicker, a flare. The slightest fever grazes across my exposed skin, tightening my nipples into painful buds and sending goosebumps soaring.

His voice ripples through the breeze, low and throaty. “What did you mean on the note you left with that slice of cake: Thanks for chasing away the rain?”

I shrug. “You’d given me a job and well,” I look to the side for a moment, “it gave me a chance to breathe. I was . . .”

Drowning.

Suffocating.

Sinking.

I don’t finish my sentence, but he seems to pick up my gist. “Which is why I’m asking you to stay.”

I don’t wrap my arms around my chest, though it would be prudent, and before I can rethink my words, I hear myself speak again. “It would be a bad idea, Hudson.”

His tongue sweeps over his lip, a soft blink that does nothing to take away the heat from his irises. “That’s the only thing I’m sure of.”

I look down the darkened street to my right before facing him again. “Then maybe we shouldn’t.”

He shrugs, his frown betraying his detached stance. “It’s your decision.” He nods toward my house behind me. “I thought it would help . . . with everything—”

I’m about to respond with an irritated reply, letting him know I don’t need his help, when he speaks over me. “And it’s not out of charity or pity. You’d be working for every cent of it. And let me remind you, it would be temporary.”

I bite my lip, mulling over his words as the bills sitting on Mom’s countertop, future bills surely gracing our mailbox, and small numbers displayed in my meager bank account cloud my vision. “Even if it’s temporary, I need to know you won’t be an asshole to me at or outside of work again.”

“Or maybe you could just develop thicker skin.” His lips twitch seeing the tinder lighting up inside my eyes.

My hands fist at my side. “Or maybe you can find someone else to take over Belinda’s job.” I mentally high-five myself for not adding jackass to the end of that. “Figure out what to tell your most strategic client when they ask why they have to work with yet another new person.”

I turn back toward my house in a huff—not for the first time noting the changes in my personality the man seems to bring out—before I speak over my shoulder. “Thank you for the gifts for my brother. See you never, Mr. Case.”

But before I can even take one step forward, a warm hand circles my wrist, pulling me back and turning me to face him in the same movement.

His jaw works in an attempt to hide his smile. “That was a joke, but don’t get used to it. I don’t make them often.”

I wrap my arms around myself. “I won’t be humiliated and spoken to the way you did to me multiple times today, Hudson.”

“I already apologized for those . . . for all of it,” he argues.

“Yes, but I want to make it clear.” My voice wavers with my next words. “I’ve seen too many rich assholes get away with things they shouldn’t, but I’m not as forgiving anymore.”

Silence stretches out between us as he tries to decipher the meaning behind my words, surely wondering if I’ll elaborate. I don’t.

“I’ll try to be . . . nicer.”

Jesus. You’d think he was being held at gunpoint or tortured, with the way those words grit out from between his lips.

Still, I suppose I have to give him some benefit of the doubt for trying. I can’t imagine he does much of it for anyone besides his daughter.

I lean back on my heels, noting I’ll need to wash my feet when I get back inside, before giving him a short nod. “Fine. I’ll be back at work tomorrow, but I don’t need the additional pay. I was perfectly fine with what I was making before.”

He takes a step closer, and it’s all I can do not to lean my head forward and take a whiff of his lavender and pine scent. “That’s not up for negotiation.”

“Hudson, I don’t need your—”

“Like I said, it’s not charity. You’ll be working for every cent of it.”

A beat passes between us while I once again consider what I’m signing up for. The money would be a boon with the way things are right now—a relief for both my mom and my brother—but I don’t love the idea of Hudson paying me more than any other admin, probably even more than what Belinda made.

I bite my lip, my mind and heart warring with my impending decision. “I don’t know . . .”

Disappointment shines in his eyes. He’s not a man who begs, but when the word, “Please,” leaves his lips, I’m all but a puddle on the cold asphalt at my feet.

“Okay,” I whisper, his presence and sincerity pulling my decision out of me.

His shoulders sink with relief while his brows rise in question, unlike his words, which are a statement. “And you’ll move in this weekend.”

A flurry of hesitation rises inside me again, lodging in my throat. Aside from my dad and Neil, I’ve never lived with a man before, and definitely not someone I’m working for.

Definitely not someone I’m clearly attracted to, my mind piles on.

“I . . . I—”

“I’ll have movers here Saturday morning,” he says, not giving me a chance to finish my mumbled musing.

God, this could be a total disaster. “Okay.”

“Great.” He turns, swinging his truck door open right as I start to saunter back toward the house. “Oh, and Kavi?”

I face him, unable to understand why looking at him always seems to make my heart jog. “Yeah?”

He walks over, his dark hair ruffling with the breeze, and pulls out a black card from his wallet. “Take this.”

My brows tangle. “Why?”

“You’ll need it to go shopping tomorrow for a new wardrobe.” His eyes crawl over my bare legs, incinerating me on their climb and halting briefly at my shamelessly protruding nipples. “You won’t have your first paycheck for a few days, and as much as I enjoy your eclectic style, perhaps you could find something more appropriate to meet our clients with me in Portland on Thursday.”

Say what now? Portland? Thursday?

I glance at the card in my hand before speaking to his retreating form, knowing now that I’ve re-accepted the job, I can’t argue much in terms of the requirements. “I have my own credit card. And what’s wrong with my clothes? Maybe it”s your company that needs to loosen up a bit.”

“Kavi.” He takes a breath that feels like it lasts an entire minute. “Use my damn card.”

“Fine,” I concede, knowing he’s got that adamant glint in his eyes. He’s also doing that jaw ticking thing, which really can’t be good for his teeth. “But I’m not giving this back. I might even take it with me when I move.”

He rolls down the window of his truck after getting inside, pinning me with one of his weighty blue-gray stares. “I have a feeling you’ll be taking more than just my money when you move.”

And even as I watch him drive off, his words linger in the air, following me until I’m back inside.