28. Kai
Twenty-Eight
Kai
Permission granted.
Not that I'd have waited for it.
Because if Mary says urgent?
Nothing else matters.
I'm already moving.
I step into the hallway.
And immediately call her.
“Mary?”
My heart is pounding.
A dozen scenarios run through my head.
Car accident.
Flat tire.
Someone followed her home.
Jonas.
Sarkisians.
Kidnapping.
Because apparently dating a schoolteacher has transformed me into a paranoid lunatic.
“Kai? Um... hi.”
I close my eyes.
Relief crashes through me.
She's okay.
That's her normal voice.
She's okay.
“What's wrong? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
“What? Oh my gosh, no. I’m okay,” she says, and now she sounds breathless.
I sag against the wall, closing my eyes tight.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“You definitely should have, and I’m so glad you’re okay. But why was your message marked urgent?”
A pause.
Then she sucks in a breath, like she’s trying for courage she doesn’t necessarily feel.
And now I’m really curious.
“Um, okay. Well, I probably shouldn't have used that word.”
I laugh despite myself.
“Firecracker.”
“I'm sorry.”
“Don't apologize.”
Another pause.
Then she groans.
And that sound?
Holy. Sex.
Now, I'm curious and turned on.
“Mary, talk to me.”
“Father Peter started a rumor.”
I blink.
“What kind of rumor?”
There's a pause.
Then she sighs dramatically.
“Well… he kind of, sort of, maybe announced to the entire staff that we're possibly engaged to be married.”
I stop breathing.
“What?”
“And before you ask, no, I didn't say anything!”
“Wait.”
She keeps going, words tumbling out in that adorable way she does when she's flustered.
“It happened because the new substitute, Mr. Reynolds, was being creepy and Father Peter intervened and then somehow your name came up and then he said fiancé and now everybody thinks we're getting married and, oh my gosh, Kai, are you listening to me?”
No.
Not really.
Because one word has lodged itself in my brain.
Creepy.
“Who the fuck is Mr. Reynolds?”
Silence.
“Mary? Who is he and where can I find him?” I add.
Another beat.
Then she gasps.
“Really, Tough Guy?” she asks.
“Really what?”
“That's what you took from everything I just said?”
“Firecracker, some random asshole was bothering you.”
“He just made a gross innuendo and asked me out—”
“What?”
“And he touched my arm.”
My vision goes red.
“He fucking what now?”
“Kai, it wasn’t a big deal.”
“No seriously. Where is this guy?”
She groans.
Actually groans.
“You’re crazy.”
“Crazy about you, maybe. But seriously, I want you to be careful at work. Don’t walk into any empty rooms or any place he might be until I have a chance to straighten him out.”
“Oh my God, Kai. That’s not—I mean, normal people don’t react that way.”
“And yet you're telling me about Mr. Creepy instead of the police.”
“Maybe I’m telling you because the police don't make me laugh when I'm panicking.”
That knocks some of the anger out of me.
Just enough.
“Besides,” she continues, “Father Peter handled it.”
“Handled it how?”
“He basically threatened the poor man with you.”
I bark out a laugh.
“Smart priest.”
“He told him my fiancé was the jealous type with a reputation for punching men who didn’t respect my boundaries.”
“Also accurate.”
“KAI!”
I can't help it.
I'm laughing now.
Hard.
Because somewhere in the middle of all this insanity, it seems Father Peter apparently decided to unleash me on the unsuspecting male population of Verona.
“God, you make me laugh, Firecracker,” I wheeze.
“Kai!” Mary whines, and that’s cute, too.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I say, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to be sorry for.
“I thought you’d be angry, horrified, pissed at me!”
“But I’m not angry or horrified, Baby. And I’m definitely not pissed at you.”
“You aren't?”
“No.”
A pause.
Then she asks quietly,
“Why not?”
Because I started this whole damn thing.
Well, damn.
I should probably tell her.
“Remember when you were so upset about the article in the paper and I went to talk to Father Peter?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, I may have given him the idea that you and I were caught kissing like that because we were, uh, celebrating.”
“Celebrating? Celebrating what?”
“Yeah, we were celebrating you accepting my proposal.”
“You what?”
“Look, he assumed, I just didn’t correct him.”
Dead silence.
Complete silence.
Then—she screeches and I have to move the phone away from my ear or risk losing my auditory processing abilities.
“Kai, you did WHAT?!”
I grin.
“Relax, Firecracker.”
“Relax?! Kai Montego, you let a Catholic priest think we're engaged?”
“Technically, I let him think we're eventually engaged.”
“What does that even mean? OH MY GOD, KAI!”
“He seemed really happy.”
“You are unbelievable. What will people say when we don’t get married?”
I don’t answer her question.
“You know, you’re adorable when you're worked up.”
“I am not adorable!”
“Baby, right now you're talking a mile a minute and threatening spontaneous combustion. You're cute as hell.”
I hear her huff.
“You know, for a confirmed bachelor who should be horrified by engagement rumors, you're awfully calm about this.”
I smile.
Because that's the thing.
I'm not calm.
I'm happy.
Terrifyingly happy.
The thought of marrying Mary Donahue doesn't make me run.
It doesn't make me sweat.
It doesn't make me panic.
It feels right.
Like breathing.
Like coming home.
And Christ, I am absolutely not telling her any of that yet.
“Firecracker?”
“What?”
“Everything is gonna be okay. Believe me?”
“You know what? For some dumb reason, I do. Oh, and if Father Peter starts ordering flowers, I'll let you know.”
I laugh.
Then she laughs too.
Finally.
The sound hits me right in the chest.
“Goodnight, Kai.”
“Goodnight, Baby.”
Neither of us hangs up.
Then, she whispers into the phone.
“Hey, Kai?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
Now, I’m whispering too.
My heart is galloping inside of my chest.
Shit, I think I love this woman.
No, I know I do.
“For caring more about the creepy substitute than the engagement rumor.”
I smile.
Because she still doesn't get it. And that’s okay. She will soon enough.
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you wearing?”
“KAI!”
God, I love making her flustered.
She giggles, and I listen to the sounds of pillows being fluffed, the blanket sliding over the sheet—Mary getting comfortable in bed.
“Everyone's going to keep talking about this, you know,” she whispers.
“Good. Let them.”
“But Kai—”
“What do you mean good, let them?”
“Mary, it’s fine. Perfect even.”
She's humming now—not really believing me but too sleepy to argue.
Completely, utterly adorable.
And my chest squeezes tight because I wish I was there with her instead of here in a boardroom in Volkov Towers with all the big bosses.
Very revealing thought.
One I keep entirely to myself.
Eventually she sighs.
“I'm never living this down.”
“Nope.”
“Oh my God.”
“Could be worse.”
“How?” Mary whispers, voice getting softer with sleep.
“They could think we're having twins.”
The gasp she lets out nearly kills me.
The silence on the other end turns soft.
Tender.
“Go to bed, Firecracker. You got school in the morning.”
“Mmm. I miss you.”
“Miss you, too, Baby.”
Fuck.
This is killing me.
“Goodnight, Tough Guy.”
And just like that, I'm smiling again.
Completely gone over this woman.
And not one damn bit sorry about it.
“I love, um, I love talking to you, Firecracker. Now get some rest.”
“G’night,” she whispers softly and hangs up.
I stare at my phone.
Still smiling.
Then I walk back into the conference room.
“Everything okay?” Adrik asks.
“Yeah.”
“What was urgent?”
I sit down.
“Uh, well, the whole school thinks I'm engaged.”
Noel falls out of his chair.
Ego starts laughing.
Jack closes his eyes.
Less grins.
The rest of the powerful men gathered in the room—the married ones—they all just grunt and nod approvingly.
And somewhere deep inside, I realize something.
The idea doesn't sound half bad.
Maybe I should tell her in the morning.
“Okay, let’s make a plan,” Remy Falco says, and my focus is back on the task at hand.
The quicker I get Jonas and his shithead scheme squared away and solve the fundraising issue, the happier Mary will be.
And then maybe we can talk about us.
Unfortunately, I don't see Mary the next morning.
Or the next day.
Or the day after that.
Because for the last seventy-two hours, I've been sitting in an unmarked SUV three blocks behind Arben Sarkisian.
Surveillance only.
No contact.
No confrontation.
No punching.
Which honestly feels unfair.
Of course, I’ve been in contact with Mary.
Calls. Texts. Video conferencing.
But it’s not the same.
Right then, my phone buzzes.
Firecracker/Mary
Good morning.
Me
Morning, Baby. You at work yet?
Firecracker/Mary
Yeah, I just got in. Forgot breakfast though.
Me
I’m sorry I wasn’t there to bring it.
Firecracker/Mary
Don’t be ridiculous. I can feed myself.
Me
But I want to be the one who feeds you.
Fuck.
Now I have a semi-boner, and my thoughts have taken a decidedly southern turn.
Firecracker/Mary
Yeah? Well maybe next time I see you, we can eat together.
Holy innuendo, Batman!
I grin.
Me
Damn straight we will. Gotta go, but I’ll see you later. Guaranteed.
I put away my phone, then I settle deeper into my seat.
Eyes on the target.
Phone in my pocket.
Because even if I can't be with her right now—I'm still thinking about her.
Still thinking about her texts.
We’re so close to nailing this prick Jonas—and once we do, I can get back to her.
If anybody thinks a little thing like organized crime is going to stop me from seeing my girl?
They're about to be very disappointed.