When Fates Collide

by Isabelle Richards

  “Is there a note that came with it?”

  He shoves the clipboard in my face and holds out a pen. “No ma’am, this is all we have. Sign here and here, please.”

  I sign, and they leave. I call Gavin again, trying all his numbers, but to no avail.

  I’ve just sent another email that I’m sure will just bounce back when I get a call that some books I’d ordered at Politics and Prose have come in. I’d forgotten all about them, and would rather just ignore them for the moment, but I prepaid. Needing some time to think, I opt to run over.

  It hadn’t occurred to me to check the weather. It’s freezing out, but the cold is good for me. When it feels as though your toes are about to break off, there really isn’t any energy left to think about other unpleasant subjects. Like why my boyfriend sends me furniture and then disappears.

  You don’t send furniture to a girl you are about to break up with, right? That’s not a break up gift. Way too personal and intimate. And freaking expensive! But he did send it before the fight. I replay our last few exchanges in my mind as I run, and I remember how hurt he’d been. How unfair I was. This excessive radio silence must mean one thing: It must be over.

  I arrive at Politics and Prose with all my fingers and toes intact, but now feeling heartbroken as well as frozen, I decide I’ll catch a cab home. I grab a cup of tea first and try to thaw a little. While warming up, I whip out my laptop and lazily scroll through Google news only to find a picture of Gavin under one of the headlines: British Bad Boy on the Prowl Again.

  Please, no, not this.

  I click the link and am faced with pictures of Gavin in the company of half a dozen different women, all supposedly taken in the last two weeks. One woman in particular appears with him a number of times at several different events. There’s a picture of them lounging in their bathing suits looking very chummy. She’s strikingly beautiful and looks just as good in a bathing suit as he does. I hate her.

  I can’t bear to look, but at the same time, I can’t stop myself. Gavin once said that the people they show in the tabloids aren’t real people, but characters in the fictionalized drama created by the media. I so badly want to believe that right now, but I look at the pictures and it’s him I see. His gorgeous eyes. His amazing smile. His washboard abs being groped by some skank in a bikini. It isn’t fiction. It’s reality.

  My initial pangs of heart-wrenching agony shift. I go from sad to livid in less than sixty seconds. So mad I can’t see straight. I need to get out of here. I slam my laptop shut, almost hoping I’ve shattered it so I can send him back the pieces. I bolt to the door and smack into Charlie as I try to head out.

  “Whoa, where’s the fire? And where have you been? The place isn’t quite the same without you!” He beams at me.

  “Charlie, I’ve got to go. Something’s happened, and I just need to get out of here,” I say through gritted teeth. I’m angry, have no patience, and just want to be alone. It takes all I have to be civil.

  He touches my shoulder, nudging me back toward a table. “Why don’t we sit down and talk about it?”

  I sidestep him and move out of his reach. “Charlie, don’t take this the wrong way, but I need to be alone right now.”

  Screw the cab, I need out of here now! I rush past him out the door and take off down the street. I hear him calling after me, which only makes me run faster.

  Despite the freezing cold, the need to clear my head is more pressing, so I end up running all over the city. I’m careful to stay in high traffic places, especially down by the Mall and the monuments. I desperately try to organize my thoughts, but I’m a jumble of anger and heartache. Have I really read him so wrong? Is Gavin just another lying, cheating jackass? If he is, I need to swear off men because I never saw this coming.

  But I had seen it coming. I was just dumb enough to ignore it. How could he possibly be committed to me? We went through something tragic together, and guilt and loneliness got mistaken for love. In the back of my mind, I’d known it was just a passing thing, until he’d convinced me it was real. The second things become complicated, he fucks everything that crosses his path? Bastard.

  I can’t feel my fingers or toes, but I keep running. Every time I slow down, I want to curl up in a ball and never get up again. But that’s not an option, so I keep pushing.

  Freezing, tired, and heartbroken, I return to the condo. My legs are so tired that I barely make it home. When I open the door, I’m hit by the overwhelming smell of flowers. I walk in to see Max eating at the center island surrounded by vase after vase of arrangements of purple flowers. Hydrangeas, lilacs, tulips, roses, orchids, lisianthus, and a bunch I don’t know the names of—all in my favorite color. I notice a lot of hyacinths sprinkled throughout, the apology flower. Every inch of kitchen counter is covered, and six more vases sit on the floor.

  “You’re lucky I was here. I stopped in to change before my meeting and a florist exploded in the hallway. I’m guessing all this means Gavin has been in touch?” He waves his finger around, pointing at the flowers.

  I walk from vase to vase, smelling the flowers. “Not a word,” I reply. “Are you sure they’re from Gavin? Was there a card?”

  “They’re from G,” he responds. He counts off his talking points on his fingers. “A. Who else has this much cash to spend on flowers? This all costs some serious cheese. B. Who else is going to send you flowers? And C. Some guy named Marcus was here with the florist deliveryman. Apparently, Gavin recruited him to orchestrate this craziness. There was supposed to be a note, but it didn’t come through on the fax or something.”

  “Did he say anything else? Like where Gavin may be?” I ask.

  “Nope, he had to run. Maybe he had to flower-bomb someone else. I’m guessing this is about what I saw in the scandal rags today.”

  The sweet smell of the flowers had momentarily made me forget the reason they’re probably here.

  “You saw it too?” I growl. “I’m so mad and so freaking confused. I don’t hear from him for two weeks. This morning, I wake up and get a call that I have a package that’s been stuck in customs. They deliver it, and it’s a desk. From him. No note or anything. Did you see it?”

  He takes a bite of his sandwich and nods.

  “It’s perfect, and I love it. Then, an hour later, I open Google news, and my heart’s shattered. Then I come home to this. What the hell’s going on?”

  “There is no way any of the crap in the tabloids is true. You have to remember, I spend every day of my life reading people, and I’m never wrong. Gavin’s a good person. He’d never step out on you, even when you’re whatever it is that you two are. Plus, at least three of those pictures are of him just standing next to a woman. They aren’t posing or anything. He could be standing next to her in line at a bar for Christ’s sake,” he points out.

  He takes a long sip of his beer. “Gavin’s a media target, and I’m sure it’s hard for you. You’ll have to decide if you can hang with it because it’s part of his package. If you can’t, that tells you something.” I’m about to respond when he laughs so hard he spits out his beer mid-sip. “You two make quite the pair. He is being chased by paparazzi, and you’re being chased by the Mexicans. Match made in heaven.”

  I throw a dish towel at him. “That was not beer-spitting funny.” I pull out my laptop to show him the pictures. “Look, I hear what you’re saying, but what about the black-haired chick in the gorgeous gown with the crazy toned arms? His arms are around her in that one.”

  He points at another picture of Gavin with her. “Do you see the ‘picture smile’? They’re posing. Gavin doesn’t pose for paparazzi.” He pulls me by the elbow to the bathroom and positions us in front of the mirror. “How would we stand if we were taking a picture?” He pulls me close, mimicking exactly how we’d stand if someone said, “Say cheese.”

  Not wanting to acknowledge his logic, I leave the bathroom, and he trails after me. “Posing or not, it doesn’t mean he’s not screwing around. I mean, what
do we really know about Gavin? He could have a girlfriend in London, and we wouldn’t have a clue. He could’ve been sleeping with half of Europe for all I know.”

  Max glares at me. “Not all men cheat, Lily.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “Maybe this one does.” I shout at him.

  “I’d bet my badge on it. Gavin isn’t the type. I know, firsthand, how much he cares about you. Do you know how many times he and I have talked about you?”

  I sit down on the mats of our makeshift gym. “No. I didn’t know you talked about me at all.”

  “He’s always calling me to check in on you. To find out about the case. If you’re safe. Men that are sleeping around don’t do that. I can hear it in his voice, Lil. I know this crap isn’t true.”

  “Have you heard from him in the last two weeks?”

  He stares at me blankly.

  “I didn’t think so. We have no idea what’s going on with him.”

  He walks to the office and leans through the door, presumably checking out my new desk. “You know he made that, right?” he says, walking back into the living room.

  I rub my still-frozen feet. “What?”

  “Yeah, it’s his hobby. He makes furniture. It’s perfect for you because he made it for you.”

  I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the contradictions around me. So he makes this for me and then goes radio silent? I’m so confused I feel as though my head will explode. I can’t take it!

  Max sits next to me and takes over my foot rub. “Snooty Smythe finally told me today that, ‘Mr. Edwards is experiencing technical difficulties,’” Max says in a perfect Smythe impression. “So maybe he can’t communicate versus doesn’t want to. When is he due home?”

  “Sometime this week. I’m not exactly sure.”

  “Let’s hold off on panicking until then. Deal? Okay, let’s hug it out.”

  He tackles me and pins me to the mat. “Careful, Lil, if someone took a picture of that, they could say all sorts of things. Maybe we’re having an affair. If we are, you’d better start putting out.”

  “In your dreams, Max.” I laugh.

  He cups my face. “Ah, there’s my girl’s smile. It only took threatening you with sex. I’ll try not to be offended.”

  I hug him and kiss him on his cheek. “I won’t put out, but I’m sleeping with you tonight. I don’t want to go anywhere near that bed. You raise some good points though. Maybe this is all explainable, but I’m not there yet.”

  He whispers seductively in my ear. “I snore. And sweat. And kick. It’ll be the night of your life.”

  Ugh. Maybe I will rethink my “Everything Gavin” embargo.

  After ordering me to think positive and stay off the internet, Max leaves for his meeting. With all this conflicting information, I need something more concrete to help me understand. Looking at all of the flowers, I’m reminded that Marcus had a hand in this massive display of affection. He may be the only one who has actually spoken to Gavin. I call him just to see.

  “Marcus, this is Lily Clark. Thank you so much for your deliveries today. I’ve never seen more beautiful arrangements.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Clark,” he replies. “The very least I can do. I’m sorry that Mr. Edwards’ note didn’t come through. He wrote something for you, but I think he may have faxed it the wrong side down. Only blank pages came through.”

  “Orchestrating the deliveries was above and beyond the call of duty. I can’t thank you enough. Do you by chance know where Gavin is? I can’t get ahold of him, and I would like to thank him personally.”

  “Yes, I do. Sounds like he is having quite the hard time. Something about his mobile not working. He sounded very displeased when I spoke to him. He reached out to me because he couldn’t get a hold of you himself. You can find him at the Ritz Carlton in Dubai.”

  “Marcus, one day I will explain this all to you, but until then, know that I’m more grateful than words can express.” I say as I Google the hotel number. Overcome with excitement, I dial immediately after hanging up with Marcus. Once the line starts ringing though, I hang up. What am I going to say? Do I really want to hear what he has to say? Am I ready to hear that it’s over? What if he tries to string me along?

  Deciding I would rather know than not, I take a shot of tequila and call back.

  I’m surprised that the front desk clerk speaks English and connects me. After about the twelfth ring, a breathless, Marilyn Monroe-sounding female voice answers. “Mr. Edwards’ room. Ms. Philips speaking.”

  Trying very hard to keep my cool, I ask, “Is Gavin available?”

  “Whom, may I ask, is speaking?”

  I want to reach through the phone and scratch this snobby British chick’s eyes out. Something about her rubs me the wrong way. “Could you please tell him it’s Lily.”

  Her prim and proper tone changes to annoyed and intolerant. “Oh, it’s just you.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  I hear muffled sounds and incoherent shouting in the background.

  “Lily, Mr. Edwards is very busy. I know you want his attention, but he needs to focus on work. He doesn’t need to be distracted by his latest hero project. That’s all you are—a project. You understand this, I hope. You American girls just fall part, and then he needs to run to save you. You’re something to keep him occupied until something better comes along. Stop ringing his office. Stop leaving your pathetic messages. It’s time you accept that this long-distance storybook romance is over. Do we have an understanding? Yes? Good. Okay, then. Ta-ta.” There’s a click, and the line goes dead.

  I put the phone down, feeling as though I’ve just been sucked into a cyclone and spit back out. After taking a second to process what’s just happened, my blood boils. “Oh, hell no! I am done playing games,” I say to my empty condo.

  Too angry to think about how much these calls are costing, I dial Dubai again.

  “Hi, I just called a few minutes ago and asked for Mr. Edwards’ room. I got his assistant instead. Is there a direct room line for him?”

  “I’m sorry,” the desk clerk says. “I’ve been directed to filter all calls through Ms. Philips’ room.”

  “Did Ms. Philips give you that request?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say, ma’am”

  “Of course. Let me guess, she’s stunning, black hair, looks great in a bikini?”

  “Um—”

  “Never mind,” I say. “First, could you please take down my name and number and give it to Mr. Edwards personally? Please tell him it’s urgent.” I give him my info and then add, “Could you please connect me with Ms. Philips again? Thank you.”

  “Mr. Edwards’ room.”

  “Listen, you British skank. I have no idea what your deal is. Maybe you have a thing for him, or maybe you’re just a secretary with serious control issues. Maybe you’re screwing him. Don’t know. Don’t care. Your pitiful attempt to intimidate me reeks of desperation. If Gavin were done with me, as you say, he’d tell me his own damn self. He wouldn’t delegate it to staff. Gavin’s not one for games, but you seem to be. I’d think long and hard about how this is going to end for you, Ms. Philips. Sounds like career suicide to me.”

  She tries to speak, but I cut her off. “Oh, and for the record, I don’t need him to save me. I don’t want him to save me. I can do that all on my own. There is only one of us that’s pathetic on this phone line, and it isn’t me. Good day.”

  Infuriated, I spend an hour or so pummeling the heavy bag that Max installed recently despite my misgivings. Now, I’m very glad he did. I don’t want to believe the tabloids. What Max says makes sense, and I pray it’s true. Plus, I can smell that stink of trouble radiating from that assistant of his even from the other side of the globe. I’m not sure what the story is, but I know there is a story. I punch and punch until I don’t have any fight left, and then I sit out on the balcony to cool down. It’s below freezing out tonight, but the sting of the cold air feels good.


  I’m so damn tired. Not only from the hell I’ve just put my body through, but from the hell I call my life. Even if Gavin is completely innocent of the tabloids’ claims, he’s still brought all of this crap into my life. Well, not all of it... Ash is to blame for his share. But to live with the paparazzi and the distance. It’s too much. I’m not sure how much more I can take. Why can’t I find someone that’s normal? Boring even? Someone that works nine to five as an accountant or a pharmacist. I’m over the drama.

  Growls from my stomach snap me back to reality. Between all the exercise and the emotional hysterics, I must have burned a million calories today. A cheesesteak and onion rings with a chocolate shake and carrot cake for dessert sounds like the perfect meal. I call in an order at Bub and Pop’s for delivery. The second I hang up, I remember Bub’s doesn’t take credit, and I have no cash. No choice but to run to the ATM down the block. Just what I need—more exercise.

  On my way home, I see Charlie sitting on the steps to my building. What the hell is he doing here? I’ve been very careful not to tell him where I live. In fact, I haven’t seen him since before I moved, except for when I ran into him earlier today. Did he follow me home?

  He catches sight of me before I can think what to do. “Hey there,” he shouts as he jogs my way. “I was worried about you. I thought I’d see if I could catch you.” His hands are red and raw, as though he’s been sitting in this blustery cold wind for quite some time.

  I’m not comfortable with this situation at all. Maybe I’m being paranoid. After all, Charlie’s been nothing but kind. Annoying and kind of creepy, but kind. But that still doesn’t explain how he knew where to find me.

  “I’m okay,” I reply with a fake smile. “Just having a bad day. It was… thoughtful of you to want to check on me.”

  He looks over my shoulder at my building. “It’s sure chilly out here,” he says. I’m trying not to be paranoid, but I’m not going to do something stupid to prove it. There’s no way in hell I’m inviting him in.

  “Sure is…” I say looking around, hoping he’ll decide to be on his way. I look down at my watch. “I should really get back in. Have a few things going on.”