Page 6 of The Fate Factor

I turn to Kate. “I think someone put something in my drink.” It has to be some sort of hallucination.

Colin is eyeing Jamie with murder in his eyes. People’s heads swivel toward us.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jamie hisses. “I got it from the bar ten feet away. You watched me!”

I don’t know what to say because I did watch him. I’m grasping at straws and now I’ve just accused him of a crime. I need to go.

“Did you see something else?” he begs.

I shake my head vigorously, bile burning the back of my throat. “I didn’t see anything.”

“Well, something has you freaked.”

That’s putting it mildly. I’m shaking, fear climbing up my throat. I slip out of his grip and grab my jacket from the back of the couch, shrugging it on.

“Noel,” Jamie says, but Colin steps between us, arms crossed.

“The game’s over, man.”

Jamie heeds the warning and doesn’t come any closer, but his expression pierces my soul. I’m stuck between this weird sense of responsibility and the urge to get the hell out of here. I don’t even know this guy. I don’t owe him anything. And This. Isn’t. Real.

Still…

Overcome by human empathy for the shitty thing I’ve just witnessed, I push past Colin and reach for Jamie’s face, squeezing his cheeks in my hands. “Listen to me. I’m sorry, but your girlfriend over there, she’s sleeping with someone else. I don’t know who it is. Blond hair, tan? It wasn’t you, either way. And like I said, don’t take the job. You’re waiting on cash. You’ll get it. That’s… all I saw.”

There’s no way in hell I’m telling him the rest. If he wants to believe in this, fine, but I’m out. As far as I’m concerned, thisis the first and last night Jamie Bishop and I are acquainted, cosmically or otherwise.

one

Two Years Later

Noel

Violet: Let’s take today’s meeting out of the office, yeah?

I power down my laptop and shoot her a quickSounds good!in reply. Not that she was expecting me to counter. Vi, my boss, likes to phrase her questions in a way that makes you feel like you’ve already agreed. She does it with her edits too.Green would be a bolder choice, yes?The font’s a little understated for this client, wouldn’t you agree?

It’s quirky in a pretentious way but I like it. I like that the answer that will please her is served up on a silver platter. Knowing how to please Violet has earned me a coveted permalance designer position at Brickstone Graphics. Last year, she even submitted one of my projects—a branding overhaul for a non-profit counseling center—for a feature inDesign Strides Magazine. “Noel Kasey possesses a keen eye for the emotion of color,” they’d said.

Ironic, a little voice whispers in my ear as I kick off my leggings and pull a dress over my head,since you can’t feel much of anything at all these days.

Vi sends me the name of a coffee shop downtown that I can walk to, and I confirm with a thumbs up emoji. This meeting was a last-minute calendar request, and I have no idea what she wants to discuss. I shove both my laptop and drawing pad into a messenger bag, and lock the door behind me, happy for the sun that hits my face immediately.

I’m a little desperate for human interaction if I’m honest. My condo has been obnoxiously silent since Mom left. This latest idea of hers—heading cross country to tour the West Coast in a converted Sienna with a man she met online—is her most chaotic to date. Being roommate-less is great for remote work, even more so when the work takes me into the evening because I can’t seem to find inspiration. But it’s not so great for the other hours, when the hollowness of empty rooms reminds me a little too much of myself at the moment.

The place Vi picked is small enough that when I walk in, she hears the bell over the door, turning from her spot at the counter. She waves before accepting two mugs from the barista, hers with a string hanging from the side, mine with a dollop of whipped cream melting on top.

“Sit, sit,” she says, tilting her chin toward one of a handful of mismatched tables where I recognize her coat on the back of a chair.

I make myself comfortable, stealing a glance at her while she finishes paying. Stilettos, palazzo pants wider than a four-lane freeway and the color of fresh pomegranate seeds. She’s choosing a chocolate croissant while wearing a stark white blouse because she is fearless.

I tug self-consciously at the hem of my floral skater skirt. I don’t see Vi in person all that often, but every time I do, I find myself intimidated all over again. Where I’m watercolors and script font, Violet Divine is jewel tones and slab serif. She’s hard where I’m inherently soft. The modern, artsy Brickstone office in downtown South Norwalk, Connecticut is designed to invoke a seascape—aqua textiles and white couches—and I’ve always pictured Vi as an iron anchor in the center of it.

Vi finishes with the barista and joins me, handing me my mug of gourmet hot chocolate. “Thank you.” I dip my head in a nod.

She waves this off and takes the seat across from me, her face as neutral as the architecture firm’s logo I was working on when I got her text.

It’s odd, I realize—the lack of expression. I hadn’t thought to be nervous about this mid-day meeting until right now.

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