by Virna DePaul
Why can’t I get him out of my head—and my heart?
As the day unwinds, I go to the back to get a moment of privacy. Being so close to Caleb was more painful than I had expected. I press my forehead to the wall, inhaling deeply. It’s almost over, I tell myself. After this, you’ll never have to see him again.
“You sick or something?”
I turn to see Caleb standing right behind me. He looks me up and down.
“What? No. I’m fine.” I move to walk past him, but he won’t let me.
“So you’re just going to avoid me from now on?”
I refuse to look at him. If I look at him, I’ll just give in. “I think that’s the best idea for the both of us.”
“Bullshit.”
I wince. Looking up at him, I ask softly, “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to tell me the reason you ran out on me that morning. And none of this shit about how you have to choose your career over a relationship. We both know that’s just some lame excuse.”
I bristle. “Just because you think you’re some sex god doesn’t mean that every woman wants to be with you. Now let me go. I don’t have anything else to say to you.”
I can feel the tension radiating from his body, and when he kisses me, I’m not even surprised. He kisses me hard, almost bruising my mouth, and I just kiss him back. I can’t help it. I’ve missed him, and I’ve missed him doing this. But I also know that this is just about him being pissed that I didn’t jump into his arms. He has something to prove, and knowing that, my heart cracks even more than it already had.
“Try to act like what we have is nothing,” he growls. “Like you didn’t want me to kiss you the second I walked into your store today.”
“And tell me that you want to kiss me because you care about me.” I shake my head, stepping away. “You don’t, Caleb. This is about you winning some kind of twisted game. You’re pissed that I told you no. Well, I’m saying it again: no. I’m not doing this because I know it won’t work. Please leave me alone from now on.”
His lip curls, and he seems like he’s going to say something else. But he just turns away in disgust, muttering underneath his breath.
My shoulders sag. So that’s it then. It’s over. I leave the backroom and force myself to act like nothing happened, but it’s a struggle. I know Tanya senses something is up, and it doesn’t help that Caleb comes back into the store acting like a riled lion.
It’s a miracle that I manage to finish the shoot without bursting into tears. By the time I arrive home later that evening, I don’t even get to my door before I start crying in earnest.
* * *
That weekend, I wander around my place in a daze. McQueen meows at me plaintively, sensing that something is wrong. I pick him up and he purrs, which only makes me cry harder. By Saturday evening, I’ve cried so much I wonder if I have any tears left.
“I’m so pathetic,” I tell McQueen that evening, drinking my second glass of wine and staring at my computer screen. I planned to watch something on Netflix, but I can’t pay attention to anything. It’s like no matter how hard I try, I see Caleb: in a toothpaste commercial, a billboard near my place off the highway, in every fashion magazine I pass at the store. It’s unbearable.
I begin paging through various fashion blogs like I do normally, mostly because I want to try to stay focused. I can’t fall out of the loop because I’m heartbroken.
“Let’s see what’s happening over at Fabulous Fashionista.” I click on my favorite blog, slowly scrolling through each of the posts. I drink in the images of runway shows and photo shoots, hoping the beauty of it all will calm me down. I start reading one post about next year’s trends, and I make mental notes to do more research on all of them.
I’m about to close my laptop and get some sleep when my gaze catches on an article just published about the designer Fiona Taylor. I’ve never worked with her, but I’ve heard plenty of stories. Apparently she’s rather crazy and tends to backstab, even more than other people in this industry. Fiona’s also designed some memorable pieces and collections, and for that, she’ll always have her foot in the door.
I click on the link to take me to the full article, when my breath stops at the slideshow at the top of the page. Reeling, I begin to page through each image, trying to figure out what I’m seeing. I glance at the headline below the images: Sneak Preview of Fiona Taylor’s New Spring Line.
They’re just sketches at this point, although one is an actual gown that’s still unfinished. When I see that gown, I almost drop my glass of wine on McQueen’s head. I quickly place it on the side table and move my cat off of my lap, needing a closer look at this gown.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that Fiona Taylor stole my designs. Looking at this gown, I’m certain that she did exactly that.
The gown is a different color from mine—green instead of red—but the overall design is unmistakable: long sleeves, beading down the torso, bias cut, a mix of chiffon and satin. There are smaller details that resemble the gown that I created that I know it’s not just coincidence.
I go through the rest of the images, and I pick out three others that are just like mine.
Closing my laptop, I sit back, staring out into my living room.
How could Fiona Taylor of all people steal my designs?
I snap my laptop back open, searching for anything online that would provide an answer. The first thing that pops up is a photo of Fiona, and my heart stops when I see it.
It’s the woman who came into my store. Since I’ve never met Fiona, I had no idea what she looked like, besides the fact that most everyone in this industry has so much plastic surgery that they have a tendency to all look alike. Gazing at the photo, I try to put the pieces together.
I remember, then, how I saw Fiona reaching over my counter at the store. Did she find my designs there? I shake my head. I was fairly certain I left my portfolio in my office. Besides, how would Fiona have known to look for my designs in the first place? I’m a nobody in the grand scheme of things. Why would she come to my store at all?
When the pieces finally come together, I feel like I’m suffocating.
Caleb. It has to be Caleb.
He’s the only one—besides Tanya—who I showed my designs to. I remember how he paged through the portfolio, how he complimented me on the sketches. Then, I thought he was just being kind. But had he had an ulterior motive?
I begin searching for Fiona Taylor and Caleb Johnson, hoping against hope that they’ve never even met. When I find a blog post from over a year ago that includes a photo of Fiona and Caleb with the headline—The next hot couple?—I can only see red.
It’s not that I expected him to tell me about every woman he’s ever slept with, but the fact that they dated and are connected proves that he had to have some hand in Fiona finding my designs and then using them for herself. There’s no way Fiona would’ve found out about them otherwise.
I feel like I’m going to be sick. I close my laptop for good, picking up my glass of wine and draining it in one gulp. McQueen gets back onto my lap, kneading my thighs with his claws as he purrs, completely unaware of the turmoil swirling in my gut.
I told myself getting involved with Caleb Johnson was a bad idea, and look where it landed me. Another designer has stolen my designs and Caleb is more than likely how she managed to do it.
I’m so angry at this point that it takes every bit of self-control within me not to storm out of my house and go straight to Caleb, demanding to know what the hell is wrong with him. Instead, I force myself to consider all of the facts and not to do anything hasty. That doesn’t stop me from trembling with rage, though, and I end up petting McQueen so hard that he hops off of my lap in a huff, giving me a disgusted look.
“Sorry, McQueen. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”
The cat just gives me a look that says humans are very stupid and begins grooming his coat.
I don’t sleep a wink that night.
I toss and turn, trying to understand why Caleb would do this.
It’s when I get a text from him early the next morning, like he’s done nothing wrong, that I’m all out of self-control. Gathering my things, I storm out of the house and head straight to his place to confront him.
Chapter Eighteen
Caleb
I shouldn’t have texted her. I know I should leave her alone. But I can’t—not anymore. I send her a quick good morning text, but I hear nothing back. This doesn’t surprise me. I know Heather’s put up her walls, and it’s going to take a lot of effort on my part to get her to knock them down.
I’m about to pour myself a cup of coffee when there’s a knock on my door. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if it’s Fiona come to torment me for a third time, but to my surprise, it’s Heather herself.
My initial reaction is to kiss her, but one look at her expression tells me I’d be gutted for trying. A storm cloud is hovering over her, and she looks fit to be tied.
“Want to come in?” I open the door wide.
She practically stomps inside, and I follow behind her as she goes into the living room.
“Want some coffee?” I don’t hear anything in reply, but I need some caffeine to deal with whatever this is. I pour myself a cup and bring her one for good measure. Maybe she just needs some caffeine, too.
I hand her the steaming mug, but she just looks at it like I’ve given her a mug of poison.
“Okay, what is going on?” I watch as her bottom lip trembles. Did someone hurt her? At that thought, rage fills my vision. I’ll kill anyone who’s tried to hurt her.
“You really have no idea?” she counters, her tone scathing. She sits down on the couch, setting the coffee on the table in front of her.
I sit down next to her, although I don’t push my luck by trying to touch her. “I have many skills, sweetheart, but mind-reading isn’t one of them.” Sarcasm practically drips from my voice, and it makes Heather’s eyes narrow.
“Then I’ll give you a clue: Fiona Taylor; my designs. Ring a bell?”
“What the hell does Fiona have to do with your designs?” I’m completely at a loss. As far as I know, Fiona hadn’t ever heard of Heather until I’d told her I’d photographed her collection. Beyond that, I doubt Fiona’s remotely interested in Heather’s existence.
“She has everything to do with them. You see, last night I was online, and imagine my surprise when I saw some of Fiona’s upcoming designs that are almost exact copies of mine. The designs you saw.” She reaches inside her purse and pulls out her phone. Handing me the phone with the website in question, I look through the photos.
I recognize the designs instantly. My eyebrows rising, I stupidly say, “So you’re pissed at me because Fiona is a backstabbing bitch? Not sure I understand your logic here, sweetheart.”
I can practically hear her growling. “Stop acting like you have no idea what happened. You’re the only person who’s seen those designs. You’re the only person who could then have told Fiona about them, or even leaked them to her.”
I stare at her. And then I burst into laughter, because that’s the only reaction that comes to mind right this second. The thought of me trying to screw over Heather for someone like Fiona is ludicrous.
“So you think I not only found your designs, but somehow sent them to Fiona so she could use them? Are you out of your damn mind?”
Heather’s cheeks flush, and she’s trembling with anger. “What else could it be? We both know that you were pissed that I told you no. Giving your former girlfriend my designs would be the perfect revenge.”
I can’t listen to this anymore. Standing, I rake my hands through my hair. I’m this close to shaking Heather until her teeth rattle, but I ball my hands into fists and take a deep breath.
“You really think I would do something like that?” I ask in a low voice. I catch her gaze and won’t let her look away. “You really think I would sink that low?”
She bites her lip, but I can see the steel in her spine. “There’s no other explanation. What else could it be?”
“There could be many different explanations!” I practically yell. “It could be anyone who provided Fiona with those designs. How do you know one of your employees isn’t doing it? Huh? Did you ask all of them if they had anything to do with it?”
Heather stands. “My employees are loyal. They would never do something like that to me.”
“But I would. Because you know that I’m such a lowlife—despite everything that’s happened between us so far—to hand over your designs to someone else. To someone, I might add, who has never and will never be my girlfriend.”
“You two had a relationship, though. You can’t deny that. I found that online, too.”
“We slept together once! After that, I discovered how much Fiona was a nutjob and I stayed far away from her.”
“My point exactly.”
I shake my head, because I can’t listen to this. “If I’d known that you were as crazy as Fiona, I would’ve avoided you, too,” I say before I can rethink the words.
Heather blushes, and I can see tears in her eyes. “I’m not crazy,” she chokes. “I didn’t want to believe it. How can you think that I’d want to think that of you? But you’re the most likely suspect. Even you can see that.”
I yank her into my arms, which makes her gasp. “Yes, I might be the one with the most obvious motive,” I growl, “assuming that I’m some piece of shit who forces a woman to be with him. That I would avenge myself on any woman who turned me down.” I grip her by the elbows, trying to make her see sense. “Except that’s the story you’ve made up, haven’t you? Because you’d rather reject what we have out of fear and make up some flimsy reason that it’s the best decision, when we both know you’re just a coward.”
“How dare you.” She pulls backward, but I won’t let her loose. “I am not a coward. You’re the coward for lying to me!”
“I’ve never lied to you!” I shout. “Jesus Christ, Heather, I love you!”
We both stare at each other after my confession. I’d never thought the words in my head, but when now that they’ve fallen from my lips, I know instantly that they’re true. That I’d fallen in love with this insane, beautiful, frustrating woman the moment I’d first met her. That I wanted more than just a fling with her. That I’d never hurt her like she thinks I would.
“I love you,” I say again, pressing closer. “I love you, even though you drive me crazy. Even though you think the worst of me. Even though you believe that I’d betray you to someone like Fiona Taylor, who more than likely found out about your designs using one of her spies, or even to stab me in the back for turning her down.” I cup the back of Heather’s head, my fingers in her hair. “There are so many other explanations, and yet you’d rather not see them. It’s easier for you that way, isn’t it?”
She inhales, her breasts rising and falling, and the flush on her cheeks renders her so beautiful that I can’t help myself: I lean down to kiss her. I capture her mouth and kiss her until she moans that moan I love so much. Holding her in my arms so tightly that I imagine we’re one body, I show her without words how much I love her.
But the kiss ends far too quickly. She pushes away from me and whirls away, panting. I’m hard as iron already.
“You can’t just kiss me to make me forget what you’ve done,” she whispers.
“What you think I’ve done,” I correct. “There’s a big difference there.”
“I’m not doing this. You have nothing to show that you didn’t do it, other than your word. And we both know that’s never been all that trustworthy, considering you refused to tell me your identity when we first met and forced me into a humiliating situation afterward.”
“That wasn’t intentional! How many times do I have to tell you that? I wasn’t thinking.” I want to reach out and touch her, but I know she won’t let me now. She’s closed those walls around herself already.
“So you keep saying. But maybe
next time, you’ll think before you mess with people’s lives like this.” Tears fall from her eyes, and it takes everything in me not to brush them away. “Those were my designs, Caleb. Designs that I’ve worked on so hard, that I was going to show Rebecca after the shoot. But now how can I? How can I go against someone like Fiona Taylor? No one will believe that she stole from me. They’ll say it was the other way around. And it’s not like I dated my designs or anything. I hadn’t scanned them into Photoshop yet, so there’s no electronic trail, either.”
I’m at a loss as well. I wish I could find Fiona right now and grab her by her scrawny neck, choking the life out of her. How dare she take this from Heather? I know in my gut that Fiona did this to screw me over just as much as to mess with Heather. Fiona’s way too aware of her own power in this industry, and I’m sure she thought that no one in their right mind would call her out on this.
Too bad she’s wrong. Because I’m going to get to the bottom of this, and prove to Heather that I had nothing to do with it.
“I love you, Heather,” I say again. She flinches. “Does that count for nothing?”
“You’re just saying that,” she mumbles.
“I have never in my entire life told a woman I loved her. Because it’s never happened before. But you—you were different. Are different. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. That’s not something I would just throw out in casual conversation.” I close my eyes, trying to find some kind of balance. I feel like I’m on a sinking ship, watching as the water climbs higher and higher. “But you refuse to give me a chance.”
Tears flow freely down her face now. “The last time a man told me he loved me, he then held that love over my head like a weapon. And now that you’ve betrayed me to Fiona Taylor, why would I let you do the same to me? I’m not going to lose myself because a man told me he loved me.” She wipes the tears from her face, but they keep falling. “I’m not going to be stupid again. It’s over, Caleb. It’s completely over. Don’t contact me again.”