Tell Me: The Prelude (Tell Me Series Book 1)

Chapter 1

Khenji

[Ken-jee]

Apparently, I’m a jerk.

That’s what the last woman who walked away from me said as she looked at me with disgust. Why am I a jerk? Because, like the four other women who came strutting over here smiling in my face tonight, I didn’t give her the time of day. If that makes me a jerk, so be it.

I don’t want to be here, anyway. Why shouldn’t my demeanor reflect that? My brother, well, good friend, Delton, is why I’m in attendance at this nonsense. I wouldn’t have shown up here at Brentwood on my own. Social settings put me in a bad headspace, and this one is the mother of all functions. There are a bunch of professionals dressed to impress while roaming around this place like this is the Met Gala for the Los Angeles business community. Delton knows I’m an introvert at heart, so he dared me to get out, socialize and meet people as if my social awkwardness would miraculously take a back seat tonight, and a newfound social prowess would take over and have me working the room like everyone else is doing. I, too, should be passing out business cards. Shaking hands and fist bumping. Making new connections.

But that’s not happening, and it’s not going to happen.

I thoroughly know who I am, and a social butterfly ain’t it. So, I stand here and play the wall, wishing time would pass a lot quicker. I’ve been posted here for well over an hour. Maybe if I stand still, no one would notice me for the rest of the night. But the women – they keep coming. I’m the honey. They’re the flies. I keep avoiding them until they leave me be, but it’s so many, and they find me irresistible.

After the most recent woman left, a guy walks over to me and wants me to represent him. He knows who I am – knows I’m a hedge fund manager – but I turn him down immediately. My clientele is a very niche group of millionaires who I carefully vet and approve of individually through my own private process. Most fail, and I’ve been doing this long enough to spot the failures before any processes begin, so I don’t bother wasting my time or theirs. Besides, I cannot fathom taking on another client right now, nor do I have the time to do an extensive background check.

Just like I don’t have time to be here…

I sigh heavily. I’ll have some choice words for Delton when I leave here.

Time is a lot more valuable than money because life is always shorter than a person’s net worth. Billions of dollars will mean nothing to you when you reach ninety and have one foot in the grave and the other one fighting not to join it. That’s why I use my time wisely. I focus on myself. My goals. My life. I focus on bettering myself and keeping my mental health in check, though that’s an ongoing battle. I concentrate on becoming a perfectionist in my craft and staying in my own lane. It has gotten me this far. Coming here tonight adds no value to my life and I’m dying to tell Delton that.

I sigh and remove my pocket watch from the right pocket of my pants to check the time. It’s only nine. Most would say that’s early. To me, it’s late because I’m accustomed to being in the luxuriousness of my home. That’s where I should be right now. It’s where I’m safe to be myself. There’s no one there to judge me. Or bother me, for that matter. It’s where I feel the biggest security, and where I spend most of my time. I’ve spent hundreds of thousands of dollars making my home a haven. Everything I need is there and if it’s not, at a snap of a finger, it would be.

I pick up my stemless champagne flute and take a sip of the same drink I’ve been nursing since I got here two hours ago. I’m not much of a drinker unless you count the few sips I have with clients at my office on the seventeenth floor of Encino Plaza, and even then, it’s an ongoing struggle to shoot the breeze with them and actually talk.

Communication has never been one of my strongest skills. I only want to work uninterrupted – it’s what I do best. What I’m good at. I enjoy analyzing large amounts of data, calculating percentages, deductions, and financial reporting. My attention to detail is top-tier. It’s what made me a billionaire. I wasn’t trying to make all this money. It just happened because my work is accurate—almost perfect. No one can tell me I’m wrong or coach me to do my job better because I’m just that good. Before I found my calling in finance, I was never good at anything unless you count failing as an option.

I take another sip while I scan the room. This particular time, my eyes catch sight of a woman wearing a fire-red, backless dress. Her skin looks like a glazed donut when the ‘Hot’ light is on, and her lively smile is the kind that stays with you long after you’ve looked away. I know because I immediately looked away, and yet, I can still see her smile imprinted on my mind. And then there was the way her long black hair fell into her face as she worked the crowd.

I frown and make myself steer clear of her. A woman has never captured my attention, and I don’t plan on having one seizing it tonight.

I don’t date, I’ve never been on a date, and never thought about doing such a thing. How could a man as socially inept as myself have the boldness to talk to a woman? This is one of the reasons I’ve steered clear. Plus, I’m not marriage material. Not boyfriend material. I’m not fit to be anyone’s anything. But that doesn’t stop them from trying. And I know why they try. Supposedly, I’m a catch. I’m handsome, I’ve been told. I dress well, I got plenty of money and I’m blacker than a Lindt ninety percent cocoa chocolate bar. From my experience, women like that.

All of them.

What they don’t know is, I’m broken. That’s something these ten-thousand-dollar suits I wear hide very well. I don’t come from wealth. Don’t come from a happy family or anything that resembles happiness. I didn’t have a good upbringing, so how would I know how to make a good life for someone else? How can I love a woman unconditionally when I didn’t see my mother being loved unconditionally? How will I raise children who require constant nurturing, love and support when I wasn’t nurtured or supported? I can’t, can I? I decided long ago not to do that to myself or bring an innocent, unsuspecting woman into my mess of a life.

And I haven’t.

It’s been working for me just fine.

I think I’m wired differently, anyway. I don’t have desires. I don’t need a physical connection. I don’t long for closeness, nor do I have urges. My satisfaction comes from performing my job well and living a life most people dream of. And it’s a fulfilling life. I take solo trips anywhere I want at the drop of a dime. Last month, I was in Saint-Tropez. A few months before that, I stayed in Mykonos, Greece for a week. I’ve been all over the world – alone – and I love it that way. When it’s just me, I’m the only person I can disappoint. I can’t fathom being responsible for someone else’s feelings. That’s a heavy weight to carry. And you know what else I can’t imagine? I can’t imagine ever loving someone so much that I’d make them my personal punching bag. That’s what my father did to my mother, and I have the man’s blood. That means, his destructive, abusive behavior is embedded inside of me.

That’s one of the main reasons I decided not to involve myself with anyone. I fear I would be just like him – an abuser. I could never figure out how a man who claimed to love a woman from the mountains high to the valley low dislocates her nose, breaks her jaw and leave her with two black eyes. And that was on a good day.

So, no. Love, if that’s what you call it, was never and will never be for me. I numbed my body to that by staying busy and hitting my home gym every chance I got. That’s why I don’t understand how everything in me wants to find the woman in the red dress again. Why am I even giving her a second thought?

I casually take a sip of my room-temperature champagne while my eyes seek her. When I find her this time, I don’t look away. I observe her. I watch her talk, laugh and interact with the same group of women she was talking to when I first saw her. I instantly decide that I like her, but I don’t know why.

I’ve never liked anyone.

As if gawking will help me figure it out, that’s what I do. I set my eyes on her and don’t look away until I can make myself shake her off like all the others. Until then, I study her features. Her black hair is parted down the middle. Her strands flow down to her breasts. Her skin tone shimmers beneath the lights. She’s about five-seven or eight. She has on a pair of gold heels that make her appear taller, and that dress hugs her body like it was made just for her.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I’m forcing the usual numbness to kick back in, but it’s not working. What the heck?

“Hey, man. I’m Parker. I heard you were the hedge fund guy to talk to.”

I snap out of my trance with red dress when I realize this guy is talking to me. I don’t care to talk to him, but I could use a distraction right about now, and he’s it.

I say, “Yes, that’s what I do. What line of business are you in?”

“I’m an engineer. My company designs rollercoasters.”

“Is that right?” I ask, completely uninterested as my eyes follow the red dress to a group of three men. Their eyes feast on her like she’s the only woman in this ballroom of two hundred people. She must know them because she looks comfortable as she effortlessly engages in conversation.

I’m still trying to numb myself. Still trying to avoid her.

It’s not working.

“I’m working on one at Disney as we speak,” Parker, or whatever his name says.

I tear my eyes away from red dress and say, “That’s nice,” hoping he realizes my disinterest and walks away from me.

He does.

Now, I can return my attention to ridding myself of this woman’s pull. How I’m supposed to do that by staring at her is beyond me, but I don’t know what else to do at this point.

So, I stare.

She’s walking toward the bar now, and I have a full view of her back. It’s smooth, even-toned, well-moisturized and sculpted to perfection. Everything about her is perfect, and I have no idea who this woman is.

I inconspicuously move closer to where she’s standing so I can hear her voice. She tells the bartender she wants ice water. Even her voice is sweet – pleasing to my ears.

The bartender hands her a small whiskey glass full of ice and water. She turns around and takes a sip. I watch her red lips touch the rim of the glass. Then she rolls her left wrist to glance at her watch. After checking the time, she looks up and her pretty black eyes slam directly into mine. The collision makes my body shudder. A force field of energy instantly forms between us. Maybe that’s just on my end. I’m the weird one. She looks…normal.

I want to look away from her stare, but I can’t. I’m locked in. I’m completely at her mercy.

She pulls a smile and then she does something that nearly makes my heart go into overdrive. She walks toward me. All I can do is stand motionless and watch her hips sway from side to side as she closes in on me. My eyes can move, but my body dares not to. My breathing is labored. I’m having full-on palpitations now, but I still stand here like nothing’s amiss. She’d never know that I feel like I’m about to pass out.

She stops walking when she’s standing directly in front of me. The whole time she traversed the floor, our eyes never lost contact.

“Hi,” she says, flashing a killer white smile that draws my eyes to her mouth.

I don’t say anything. I study her face up close. Her full, plump lips. Her almond-shaped eyes. I take in her eyebrows, her eyelids that are dusted with glitter eyeshadow and her long lashes. My eyes trace her hairline. I take in the shape of her ears, her chin, her neck, and her collarbone. Everything about her I’ve committed to memory in a matter of sixty seconds.

That’s not good. Not good at all.

Get it together, Khenji. What are you doing?

She raises her brows – probably because I haven’t said a word to her. I don’t want to say anything for fear I’d end up saying something stupid. But I could introduce myself, couldn’t I? Honestly, I don’t want to do that either.

She says, “I’m Livia without the ‘O’.”

“I’m…uh…I’m Khenji. Without the ‘O’.”

I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped.

She laughs. Her entire face brightens. She was already beautiful, but when she smiles, she’s a goddess. A light. A spark. She’s a force that infiltrates my mind and jolts my heart.

In all of my thirty-seven years of living THIS HAS NEVER HAPPENED TO ME. I’ve never been enamored by a woman. I’ve avoided them. I see them and I don’t. I can’t, however, not see Livia without the ‘O’. She’s here, in my face, and surprisingly enough, I like her being here. My mind likes her being here, and so does my heart. Her face, her voice, her mere presence reminds me I actually have one.

Smiling, she asks “Has anyone ever told you that you look like the actor from The Diplomat? His name is David Gyashi.”

Has anyone ever told you that you look like you could be my wife?

A storm sweeps over my features at my thoughts and her question. I leave it unanswered when my common sense kicks in finally, telling me I have no business engaging with this woman. I ease out a breath, stuff my hands into my pockets, and look away from her with disinterest, like I did the others. The problem is, she doesn’t walk away. She stands ten toes down, looking at me like I owe her this conversation and she’s going to get what she’s owed. She asks, “Does Khenji have a last name?”

My eyes land on her again while goosebumps slide up the back of my neck. I have to admit, I admire her persistence, though I hate the discomfort I feel right now. I reward her by answering, “Halifax.”

“Augustus. That’s mine.”

“Why are you talking to me?” I query, tight-jawed.

My question should be taken offensively, but she doesn’t take it that way. She sips her water and responds, “Because this is a mixer and we’re supposed to be mixing. Plus, you’ve been watching me for a hot minute, so I figured I’d make the first move and introduce myself, Khenji.”

She knows I’ve been watching her…

My heart is still ramming in my chest, but it goes into overdrive when I hear her say my name again. It’s like honey on her tongue that oozes into my mouth and entices me to need more. What the heck is wrong with me right now? I’m clueless. Helpless. I’m trapped inside of my body, waiting, wishing and hoping this is a fluke, and these libidinous feelings will subside as quickly as they came.

However, it’s not showing any signs of fading, and Livia’s still sipping water, looking at me. Staring at me. I imagine she’s already created a profile of me in her mind. I can tell she’s a woman of intelligence. I also know she’s not one who gives up easily, but I have to get away from her. The scent of her strawberry lotion or whatever she’s wearing is wreaking havoc on my senses.

I tell her, “I hate to disappoint you, but I don’t mix well. I didn’t come here to talk to people.”

Her brows raise. “No?”

“No. My friend made me come here.”

She chuckles and sloshes ice around in her glass.

“Why is that funny?” I inquire.

“Because I don’t think it’s true. No one can make you do anything.” She looks me up and down and continues, “You look like a grown, capable man. You’re dressed in this nice three-piece black suit, black tie, leather shoes – you’re the best-dressed man in this place. If you wanted to be home lying on the sofa watching John Wick in your boxers—” she leans forward for emphasis, “—that’s what you would’ve been doing.”

She has a point.

I say, “I could have stayed home, but seeing as though my friend is the only person left on earth who means something to me, I yielded to his request.”

“And here you are.”

“Yeah,” I say offhandedly. “Here I am.”

I take a sip of champagne. I’ve been trying to get my breathing back to normal, but I’ve failed.

It’s her fault.

I’m a second away from my escape. I need to be outside getting the fresh air I desperately need.

Just when I’m ready to walk—no, run—away from her, she asks, “So, what do you do besides go to events that you don’t like and avoid people?”

Of course she’s leading the conversation and I like her sarcasm, but the fact still remains that I can’t breathe right now. And, I have no idea what to say to her. What exactly do you say to an angel?

I glance at her lips, then back up at her mesmerizing eyes. Words can’t find their way to my mouth. I’m sure they’re hung up at the same place where my breath is because I can’t seem to find it either.

“I’m going to make you talk to me,” she voices.

“Are you?”

“I am. See. It’s working already.”

There goes that sublime smile again. And now, she’s studying my face the same way I’ve studied hers. Payback. I find an emergency pathway of air and use it to push out a question.

“What do you do for work?”

Still holding the glass, she waves her index finger back and forth, saying, “Uh-uh. I asked you first, Khenji.”

“And I’m asking you now, so answer it. You wanted me to talk—I’m talking. Now, you talk.”

She giggles. “Why do you sound like you’re mad?”

“Because I am.”

“We’re just talking.”

“Yeah—just talking.”

She contains a smile and answers, “I work in therapeutics. I help young adults with emotional and behavioral disorders.”

“Help them how?”

“I develop personalized plans to help them get out of their heads and live their lives. You’ll be amazed at how many people are walking around here stuck inside of themselves because they’re afraid to let go and live.”

I’m not surprised. I’m one of the people she speaks of. I could’ve used someone like her when I was growing up. That’s for sure. Now, it’s too late. I am what I am. Stuck and emotionally wrecked.

“Okay, your turn,” she states.

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me what you do for work and stop frowning.”

I didn’t realize I was frowning until she said something. I fix my face, then respond, “I’m a hedge fund manager.”

“Ha! So, you’re the guy everybody has been talking about tonight! A quarter of the people here came specifically to see you in the flesh—well, the rich folk, that is. You’re like a celebrity.”

I glance away from her again, noting where the exits are.

She says, “That’s impressive. What made you go into that field?”

I shrug.

“You don’t know?”

Oh, I know…I don’t answer her. Instead, I stare in awe that she’s still talking to me. She finds me interesting. And I find her – intensely beautiful. It’s not just the outer version, either. It’s her entire being. How on earth can this woman be so fascinating to the point where she’s snatched the breath right out of me? In the few minutes we’ve been talking, I’ve felt body parts I’ve never used awaken with a force that threatens to send me into cardiac arrest. What’s happening to me?

A woman walks over and whispers in her ear. Livia tells her, “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

She returns her attention to me and says, “I have to go mix, but if you find yourself staring at me again, don’t hesitate to come over and talk to me, Khenji.”

She extends her hand, wanting to shake mine. I’m already in a bad way with this girl. If I touch her, I’d probably die right here on the spot. But I need to touch her. This will confirm whether what I’m feeling is real. So, I reach to connect my left hand to her right and that same force I felt when I stared into her eyes electrifies me. Her soft hand melts into mine and sends a wild, euphoric sensation throughout my body. I don’t know what an orgasm feels like, but I think I just experienced something similar. This can’t be real. How is this even possible?

My body jolts. The chatter in the ballroom turns into a bunch of muffled sounds. For the moment, time stands still. I bend forward. I almost fold over. I feel like a cramp just punched me in the abdomen, and I’m helpless to fix it.

“Are you okay?” she asks, releasing my hand.

Now, I can breathe. I pull in air, but it’s not enough. I force myself to say, “Yes. I’m—I’m fine. I think I just—I need some air.”

I walk away slightly embarrassed, hoping she doesn’t realize what just happened to me. I don’t even know what happened to me, so I doubt if she does. At any rate, I can’t concern myself with that. I find the nearest exit and step outside, pulling in massive breaths of air like I’ve been underwater and just emerged to fill my lungs with life. I’m in unfamiliar territory here. I feel things.

I never should’ve come here.

I should’ve been at home.

In my boxers.

On the sofa with my legs kicked up on the table.

Watching John Wick.

I decide it’s best to stay away from her for the rest of the evening, so that’s what I do. One more hour to go and I will have successfully fulfilled Delton’s wish for me, so I don’t have to hear his mouth. I don’t want to hear no more nagging about how I don’t get out and meet people. It’s done. I can finally tell him to let me be. I’m on the home stretch.

I make myself a fruit bowl and carry it back outside where I can breathe. Where I’m safely away from her. I stare down the long row of stairs before deciding to sit halfway down. Only a few people are mingling outside, so it’s much safer out here. I’m not expected to talk to passersby. I just sit here, mind my business and eat fruit.

I pull out my stopwatch to check the time. Time is moving slower than our president. It’s funny how it drags along at times you want to speed it up. I just have to ride it out. I toss a grape into my mouth and as I do, I smell the strawberry scent of the woman who had made me malfunction. I figure it must be the strawberries in my fruit salad, but shortly after, I feel her presence. I turn my head to glance behind me and sure enough, she’s coming down the stairs.

Crap!

At least I’m outside this time where there’s plenty of oxygen.

“There you are,” she says, sitting on the step right beside me.

I glance at her and quickly look away. I toss a grape into my mouth and say, “Your words imply you were looking for me.”

“I was.”

“Why?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were okay. Plus, I want to mix with you.”

“I’m fine and I told you I don’t mix well.”

“What exactly does that mean?” she asks, helping herself to a strawberry from my bowl and biting it.

“It means I don’t do this. I told you that.”

“But you’re here. You may as well take advantage of it, right?”

She eats the rest of the strawberry and rests her hand on my thigh. I jerk my leg away and say, “Don’t touch me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. I—you know what?” She stands up and smooths out her dress. “I’m going to go. It was interesting meeting you, Khenji.”

A feeling of loss strikes me hard at the thought of her leaving. What if I never see her again? I’m not sure if I can handle that. I can’t handle her staying or leaving. I’m one messed up individual.

“You’re leaving?” I ask.

“Yep. I’ve had enough socializing for one night. Plus, the person I want to talk to keeps giving me the cold shoulder. That person is you, in case you didn’t know.”

I take out my pocket watch, check the time, then ask, “May I come with you?”

She raises a brow. “You want to come with me?”

“Yes,” I reply, standing.

“Why?” she asks, taking two steps down and walking away from me. “You obviously don’t like me.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you. It’s just the fact that I don’t do this.”

She stops, turns around, and asks, “Do what?”

“Talk to people—women, especially. I avoid women.”

“Why?”

“Because I just do. Why do you ask so many questions?” I snap, rubbing the tension in my neck to relieve the pressure of conversation. Then I say, “I’m awkward, okay? I don’t know how to talk to people. I—I don’t know how to talk to you.”

“So, how is coming with me right now going to help you with that?”

“I don’t know,” I say, flustered and frustrated, “But I would like to find out.”

She smirks a little. “There’s this little coffee shop by my house that stays open twenty-four hours. Do you want to go?”

No, I don’t want to go. I shouldn’t want anything right now but to be alone at home and in peace without having to worry about whether I have what it takes to hold a conversation with a stranger. But I need to find out why she was able to do something no woman has ever done to me – make me feel something.

“Yes,” I answer. “I want to go.”

Following her toward her Kia Telluride, I slide into the passenger seat, completely out of my element. I don’t know what to expect from this, but I’m in the thick of it now. With a tightness in my chest and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I’m bracing myself to spend the most time I’ve ever spent with a woman.

I imagine this is not going to go well.