Chapter 6
Khenji
Once a month, I coach a group of five up-and-coming hedge fund managers as a way of giving back. It’s only one, four-hour session, but it’s intense. These men are professionals. They come hungry for knowledge and since this is where I excel, I don’t mind giving it to them.
Two hours in, we break for lunch. As they file out of my office, I sit at my desk. I pull the top drawer open, remove Livia’s lotion, and take a long whiff of it. A smirk comes to my face. I can’t wait to see her again, but in the meantime, this lotion will keep me sane.
I check my messages. I see a missed call from Livia so that means all other calls must wait. I dial her back immediately.
“Hey, Khenji.”
A low groan settles deep in my throat. Her voice…
I close my eyes and let it encompass me. If I was an addict, I presume this is what a hit would feel like.
“Hello?”
I clear my throat and try to talk as normal as possible. “Hi, Livia. I’m here. I missed your call.”
“I left you a message. Did you get it?”
“No. I saw the missed call and dialed you right back. How can I help you?”
Really, Khenji? How can I help you?? This isn’t business. This is her. Why are you talking like this to her?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I—I’m at work, so I’m in work mode.”
“It’s okay. I know you’re busy, so I’ll make it quick.”
“I am busy, but I’m never too busy for you, Livia.”
“Aw…that’s sweet of you to say. I appreciate you saying that. Um—so, anyway, I wanted to see if you could come over for dinner tonight.”
No. That’s the response on the tip of my tongue because I have no time to plan for this. It’s spur-of-the-moment which leaves me no time to prepare to be in her presence. But I won’t turn her down. I need to see her.
I respond, “Yes. What time?”
“Is six good?”
“Yes. That’ll work.”
“I don’t have a driver to pick you up, so you’ll have to drive over here.”
I grin and say, “I have four cars, but even if I had to walk, I’ll get to you.”
Somehow I know she’s smiling even though I cannot see her face.
She says, “And you don’t have to bring anything.”
“I’ll bring a bottle of wine,” I tell her. I can’t show up empty-handed. I have to bring something.
She giggles. “Okay, Khenji. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay. Bye for now.”
I end the call, place my phone on the desk and smile. I don’t smile often. It’s a different feeling – a feeling I need to learn how to embrace because of her. It’s going to take some getting used to, especially since I usually have nothing to smile about.
I leave work with a feeling of elation controlling my psyche. On the way home, I swing by a fine jewelry store and pick up that platinum necklace I wanted to get her. Then I go home, shower and get dressed in a pair of black slacks and a black polo. I take a bottle of Bordeaux from the wine cellar and with her gift in my pocket, I’m out the door.
On the drive, I listen to RB. I usually listen to podcasts, but I’m feeling peaceful and at ease tonight, and the music is helping to relax me even more. Livia is always telling me to be myself, so that’s what I’m striving to do – relax and show her the real me. I want to open up to her. I want her to know that I’m in this for the long haul. This isn’t just a fly-by-night kind of situation. This is a novel experience for me and it’s one I endeavor to embrace.
I park out front of her apartment building, then walk across the courtyard before taking the stairs to the second level. I walk to her door and knock a few times.
She opens the door quickly and smiles, showing those pretty white teeth and candy-apple red lips.
Crap!
My heart punches me in the chest over and over again. Her beauty strikes me every time I see her, but another thing that catches me off guard is how happy she is to see me. No one is necessarily happy to see me, well except for my clients and that’s because I’m making them a boatload of money. Money isn’t involved here. It’s more personal. It’s just the simple fact that she likes me and somehow, she enjoys my company.
And I’m having palpitations…
This has got to stop happening if there’s any hope of us being an us. She’s not going to put up with my questionable behavior too much longer.
“Hey, Khenji with the ‘O’. You okay?”
“Uh…yes. I’m fine.”
“Come in.”
“Thank you,” I say as I step inside.
She closes the door and says, “Look at you. I don’t know if I like your outfit that much, or if I’m just impressed by the fact that you’re not wearing a suit.”
I look down at myself like I forgot what I put on. I’m wearing jeans, a blue button-down, a short-sleeve shirt and a pair of Berluti loafers. I can’t remember the last time I wore a pair of jeans. I’d forgotten I had a few pairs in my closet.
I tell her, “I thought you liked my suits.”
“I do,” she says, returning to the kitchen, pulling a casserole from the oven. “I just think you’re all business when you wear them. They don’t help you unwind and relax.”
I grin quietly. Little does she know my inability to relax has nothing to do with my choice of clothing.
I set the bottle of wine on the counter and ask, “What are you cooking?”
“A chicken, cheese and rice casserole. I added some broccoli, too.”
“Do you need me to help with anything?”
“Nope. I got it.”
“Okay.”
I pull out a chair at the dinette and watch her work. Her hair is in a ponytail that hangs down her back. She has on a red blouse and blue jeans that conform to her beautiful figure. She’s not wearing an apron. I suppose it’s not her style. She’s not wearing socks or house slippers. She’s just walking around and working with bare feet. I admire how comfortable she is in her skin.
“You must’ve got off work early today,” I say.
“I left a little early to make sure I had time to cook this chicken.”
She plates the food, adds rolls and mashed potatoes to the plates and brings them over to the table.
My mouth waters as the steam rises to my nose.
“Let me grab some wine glasses,” she says, walking back near the stove where she opens a cabinet and removes two glasses. Then she sits down and gets comfortable in her chair, looking across the table at me as she does so.
“So,” she says, picking up the roll, breaking it and dipping it into the gravy on top of the chicken and sliding it into her mouth. “How was your day?”
After I blink away from her mouth, I say, “Good.” I pick up a fork and try the chicken first. It’s fall-off-the-bone tender so I know it’s going to be good. I was right. It’s amazing. I can taste the spices – the paprika, chili powder, pepper and rosemary. “This is superb. It’s been decades since I had a homecooked meal that I didn’t cook.”
I go for more, add broccoli this time and gather some mashed potatoes on the fork, too. It’s even better than the first bite. I take the roll and dip it in the gravy like she did. This is comfort food at its finest.
“Nothing interesting happened at work today?” she says, but it comes across more like a question for me.
I clear my throat and dab my mouth with a napkin before responding, “I had a mentoring section.”
“Doing what?”
“Mentoring a group of people who want to become hedge fund managers. Once a month, I have a four-hour session with them.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s awesome of you to do that, especially with your demanding schedule.”
“Yeah. It’s my little way of giving back.”
I eat more mashed potatoes, hoping she has more of everything because one plate won’t be enough. I look up at her and ask, “How was your day, Livia?”
She smiles.
I have no idea why.
I ask, “What?”
“I was waiting for you to ask me how my day was and you did. Look at you being comfortable around me.”
I grin. “I think it’s the food.”
“Oh, so that’s all I have to do to get you to talk to me—cook a good meal.”
“Yes. Keep that in mind.”
She chuckles and then says, “My day was okay. It was better when you confirmed you could come over. I was so looking forward to this.”
“Me, too,” I say, standing.
“Where are you going?” she asks.
“To get more of this good food.”
“You’re my guest. Gimmie that plate.” She stands and takes the plate out of my hand. “I’ll get it for you.”
I sit back down while she walks over to the stove. She returns quickly with the plate filled just like it was before.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, flashing a smile as she returns to her seat. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”
I shrug. “Workout.”
She laughs. “Nobody works out for fun.”
“I do. It helps me focus and has become one of the best parts of my day because of the clarity it gives me.”
“Okay, so outside of that, what else?”
I shrug again.
She says, “For context, I like to hang out with my sister. We do brunches, try different restaurants, hike, rollerblade…stuff like that.”
“You rollerblade?”
“Yes. You look surprised.”
“I am. I never would’ve guessed.”
“Why?”
“You don’t seem like the type to put on some death traps on purpose.”
She cackles. “Death traps, Khenji?”
I crack a smile at how tickled she is.
She says, “I’m good at it. I mastered it a long time ago and never stopped.”
“Do you protect yourself?”
“Yes, of course. I wear a helmet.”
“You should be wearing everything a hockey player wears.”
She giggles. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I don’t fall anymore. I’m a master at it. I’ll teach you one day.”
We resume eating. I figure now is a good time to jump in and tell her more about myself, so I say, “I like to travel.”
“Okay. That’s fun. What’s the last place you visited?”
“Ibiza.”
“Where’s that?”
I sop up another roll in the gravy and reply, “Spain,” right before taking a bite. I assume she’s not well-traveled if she doesn’t know where Ibiza is. Or, perhaps she doesn’t travel at all. To stay on this topic, I ask, “What about you? What’s the last place you’ve visited?”
“The Hamptons and that’s only because my parents have a vacation home there.”
“When were you last there?”
“Oh my goodness. It must’ve been like three or four years ago. It would be nice to go again. The house is lovely.”
I eat a little more and internally reel over how good this food is. I could go for another plate, but I’m not trying to leave her with a bad impression of me.
I wipe my mouth, look up at her and ask, “What’s your biggest fear?”
She frowns. “Dang. You’re getting deep, I see. Okay.”
“No, I don’t mean to. I’m just trying to—you know—talk.”
“I appreciate that, Khenji. And don’t worry—I can handle it. Let’s see…what’s my biggest fear? Um…I’d say my biggest fear is dying without ever knowing what true love feels like. I know that’s probably too much, but—”
“No, if it’s the way you feel, it’s valid,” I tell her, but I find it hard to believe that she’s a woman who doesn’t know what true love feels like. That emboldens my determination to give her that feeling.
“Let me ask you a question, Khenji.”
She pauses as if she’s waiting for me to give her the go-ahead.
“Ask,” I tell her.
“What do you want the most out of life?”
“Why would you ask me something like that?”
“I’m sorry, Khenji. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended.”
“Oh…looks like you were glaring at me.”
It’s not a glare. It’s a stare. It’s what I’ve been doing all night. Admiring you.
“I was just curious as to why you were asking me that.”
“Well, because you seem like a man who has everything or the ability to have everything, so what’s left for you to conquer?”
You.
I don’t say it, but I’m sure my eyes do.
She shies away from my gaze and eats a piece of broccoli.
“Why do you think I have everything?”
“Because you do.”
“You looked me up?”
“No, I didn’t. I don’t have to. I see it in the way you carry yourself. You gave me a one-hundred-dollar bill to pay for two cups of coffee. You took me to an expensive restaurant for dinner and you sent your driver to pick me up in a half-a-million-dollar car.”
A grin touches my lips. “Right.”
I take a napkin, wipe my mouth, push the plate away and give her my full attention when I say, “In answer to your question, what I want the most out of life is…you.”
Her cheeks turn a shade of red. “Me?”
“Yes. You.”
“Khenji, I know you like me. You don’t have to—”
“I’m not trying to gas you, Livia. Before I met you, I truly felt like I had no life. You’ve brought me happiness I never knew existed. Happiness I didn’t think I deserved. I found my smile again. Before we met, I can’t remember the last time I smiled.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
I shrug.
She says, “You do that a lot. Don’t shrug. Talk.”
“There’s nothing that needs to be said further about it.”
“You sure?” she asks, staring into my eyes with a pair of anticipatory eyes that threaten my sanity.
“I’m sure.” I flash a smile to allay her interrogation. I take the black, rectangular box out of my pocket and place it on the table in front of her.
She glances at it briefly, then looks up at me and asks, “What’s this?”
“A gift. Open it.”
I study her face as she opens the box to get her first true, honest reaction.
She gasps, then frowns, smiles and then frowns again when she looks up at me. “Khenji?”
“Do you like it?”
“I—”
“You don’t like it,” I say.
“I love it, Khenji, but there’s no way I can’t accept this.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Well, for one, it costs ten thousand dollars. Two, I haven’t known you long enough for you to give me something like this.”
“You have, and I don’t care how much it costs. I picked it out because I thought it would look good around your neck.”
I get up to walk to her side of the table. Standing behind her, I remove the fourteen-carat white gold diamond necklace from the box and clasp it around her neck. As I do so, my fingers graze her back and send a current through me. I snatch my hand back, grateful she didn’t witness me doing so.
She turns around and stares up at me. She stands and says, “Khenji, I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just let it—let it be a reminder of me.” I take a breath, still reeling from the slight touch of her back.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you frowning?”
“Oh…uh, no reason,” I respond. I didn’t realize I was frowning. I guess that was her current still running through my body. Making me…feel. I have to get out of here. Now!
“Um, we both have to work in the morning, so I should leave. Let me help you clean up.” I reach for my plate, but she intercepts my hand and holds it.
“I got it,” she says, staring into my eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Thank you for the necklace. It’s beautiful. It will always remind me of you.”
She doesn’t let go of my hand. She holds it and folds her lips while smiling like she’s trying to muffle a laugh. Is it my nerves that have her amused? Probably. She’s an intelligent woman. She knows my quirks already, but what she doesn’t know is how badly I want to wrap my hand around her neck and suck and slurp her tongue like I’m eating Korean noodles.
She takes my other hand, standing immediately in front of me. I do everything in my power to avoid her eyes.
“Khenji,” she says.
I don’t want to, but I look at her. “Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re frowning again,” she observes.
I open my mouth to respond, but I have no clue what to say.
She rises to her tiptoes and moves closer to me. She’s squeezing my hands. I don’t think she realizes how tightly she has them in her grasp. She leans closer, staring into my eyes, then her focus shifts to my lips.
My frown deepens. I pull back away from her. I can’t handle a kiss. When she moves a bit closer, I jerk away from her and shake my hands free of hers. “I gotta go.”
“Khenji—”
“I have to go.”
“Khenji, you don’t need to run away from me.”
I leave so fast, I don’t even look at her for a reaction. I just get out of there so I can breathe. Once I’m safely in the confines of my car, I sit there with a racing heart and twitchy hands, thinking about how our lips touching would be a gateway to other things I cannot control. The bottom line is, she’s not my woman. I have no claim to her and so giving her this much of myself would be damaging if, in the end, I’m not who she really wants. For a man who’s never dated, never loved, never done anything, I need to be committed to her before anything happens between us. Just having a little of her will send me into another dimension. Once I visit, there’s no leaving. And the twisted thing about all of this is, I can’t imagine a woman as wonderful as Livia Augustus being stuck with a soulless man like me. I care for her. Don’t ask me how you care for someone in such a short timeframe, but I do. I care for her so much, I want the best for her. The very best.
Unfortunately, that’s not me.
I wouldn’t even know how to kiss her, let alone how to be in a committed relationship. It’s all foreign to me since it’s something I never desired. Now, I can’t stop thinking about it. Can’t stop thinking about her.
I start the car and drive away from her apartment, trying to figure out my next move, only I don’t know what that should be.