The Fate Date (Glengarry Curse #1)

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Sabrina

S abrina worried the small crystal discreetly in her hand as she waited for Marie to show up to their Monday intention-setting meeting. She’d chosen fluorite to promote rational clarity, because she desperately needed to manifest some of that in her life right now.

The wood chime above the door announced her colleague’s entrance—the chime was chosen for its soothing tones, though right now it ratcheted up her irritation. Sabrina had a very fluid relationship with time, but Marie was an hour and a half late. Sabrina had done some purchasing work for the shop, so it wasn’t a huge inconvenience. It was more the swipe to her confidence that hurt the most.

“Marie, hi,” she said, with a forced cheerfulness.

Marie still had time to put a full face of makeup on, the sparkly teal eyeshadow creasing into her fine lines. Her bangles jingled as she blew kisses on either side of Sabrina’s face. The slight rush of air from the billowing sleeves of her dress assaulted Sabrina with the smell of rose oil.

“Sabrina, ma chère. Désolée. Shall we get started?” The apology held no trace of sincerity. Marie’s lateness, which had never been a problem when Sabrina’s mother ran the shop, was more of a predictable habit than an unlikely occurrence. Sabrina knew she should say something. But every time she thought about discussing Marie’s performance, her body started to shut down, preferring to bury the tension deep inside than put her demands on anyone else. Sabrina would simply lead by example, and Marie would catch on. She had prepared for their meeting differently this time—she had an agenda. She looked at item number one: Grounding.

“Marie, I thought we could start our meeting today with a little guided meditation—”

“Sorry, Sabrina, I was hoping we could talk about the schedule for next Sunday. I need to exchange shifts with you.”

“Oh, actually, Marie,” Sabrina held up the paper, the glitter ink sparkling in the candle she’d lit earlier, “that’s item number four.”

Her colleague frowned.

“But we can talk about it right now, I guess.” There was no sense in being too rigid with the agenda. She wasn’t Gavin Glengarry. The thought made her smile for some reason.

She hadn’t texted Gavin since she left his car Friday. She had no intention of doing so. In fact, she’d wondered on multiple occasions this weekend what had possessed her to give out her real number.

After sorting out the scheduling conflict and abandoning the meditation, Sabrina tried to move on to item number three (store improvements) before Marie cut her off again.

“How was your party on Friday? Was it the ‘networking success’ you hoped for?”

“It was a lovely evening,” Sabrina answered stiffly.

“Oh, so you made some good business connections?”

Marie’s expression dripped with skepticism, which made the truth of Sabrina’s failure even more frustrating. She wanted to declare to the heavens that she’d finally done something right instead of confirming all of Marie’s low expectations.

“I met a business coach,” she said.

Marie gave a barking laugh. “A business coach.”

Sabrina channelled the spirit of Gavin Glengarry with a scowl.

“Do you have something in your eye, dear?”

Damnit .

“He’s a director at a tech company, and he’s offered to help us out with our business plan.” As soon as the words flew out, she wanted to slap her hand across her mouth. What was she saying? She hadn’t, and had no intention of agreeing to Gavin’s bargain.

“And what, he’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart?” It was a fair question, and one she wouldn’t answer fully.

“It’s Gladys’s eldest son. Gavin is very kind and helpful.” She tried not to choke on the words.

Marie gave her a patronizing tap of her hand. “Sabrina, you’re so concerned about the business. Eugenia always said that the universe would take care of it. Fluctuations in sales are a normal part of the experience.”

“Marie, we haven’t been having fluctuations. We’ve taken a nosedive.” The anxiety, which was never far away, crept up her spine.

“We’re spiritual guides, Sabrina. We can’t reduce our mysticism to a capitalist business plan.” She shook her head. “This isn’t what Eugenia would have wanted.”

The familiar helplessness flooded over her. She felt like the blindfolded woman depicted in the Two of Swords tarot card: plagued with indecision, but knowing that inaction wasn’t an option. They had to find a way to move forward, even if the path wasn’t clear. “I’ll make it a priority to find a balance between both, Marie. Give me until Halloween. We’ll be open to trying new things for the next month, and then we’ll re-evaluate.”

If she was going to do this, she needed Marie on board. She’d prefer to have cooperation than compliance.

Marie gave an overloud sigh. “One month of business coaching then.”

“Great. Just, great.” The dread she’d been feeling was nothing compared to the way her palms were sweating all over the poor fluorite crystal in her hands, load of good it had done her. She pocketed it and exchanged it for her phone. With fumbling fingers, she opened her messaging app, unsure if it was a sentence or serendipity when she saw the text on her screen.

***

G avin arrived at the office at 7:15am, as usual. He sat at his preferred workstation, as usual. Today, he didn’t move Manny, the office monstera plant, to the chair next to him. He was turning over a new leaf.

Thankfully, Gavin had not heard from Sabrina since Friday night. In fact, he hoped never to hear, see, or have a whiff of her delightful scent ever again. He buried his face in his hands, already missing the privacy of the plant. The embarrassing flashbacks to the scene in the car were becoming less frequent at least. His mind kept latching on to the image of her, clutching her carpet bag, her hazel eyes staring up at him from behind long lashes. The moonlight highlighting her delicate features, like her bowed lips, open slightly. In horror.

God, what if she told his mom?

He’d made the proposal on impulse, but he still hadn’t quite worked out why he’d pursued it. At the time he’d reasoned that the board would be so enamoured with her, she’d pave the way to his CFO success. But sleep and nursing several glasses of scotch for his wounded ego had confirmed the plan was nonsense. It was riddled with risk, harried with holes. There was absolutely no way they could pull something like this off.

He just needed to show that he was a “team player”. He’d been practicing saying the phrase without cringing. He could take constructive feedback as well as the next person, and God knew that he dished it out by the spoonful. It didn’t matter that socializing at work had nothing to do with his job, actively detracted from his productivity, and eroded all work/personal boundaries. He would take the feedback, paste a fake smile on his face, and apply it. They could pay him to waste company time and drink their burnt coffee.

Having accomplished his most important tasks, Gavin decided to put “Operation Don’t-Be-a-Jackass” into effect. He trudged slowly towards the irritating cacophony of laughter coming from the breakroom. He stopped as the smell of microwaved fish accosted him. Who ate fish at ten in the morning?

He heard Alfred’s voice from inside, and hovered outside the frosted-glass door. What if Alfred asked about his “girlfriend”?

He needn’t have wondered. There was no “if” about it. Even from outside the door, he overheard Alfred’s booming voice broadcast the information to what seemed to be half the office. “Gavin said he’s bringing a date to the corporate retreat.”

Fuck.

“Go Gavin go,” he heard a female voice say. Was her name Sarah? Or Serena? She was on a different team, so the information until now had been irrelevant.

“My poor heart!” he heard Yves, Ian’s secretary, say.

“I told you he was straight,” another female said.

“I wonder what she’s like?” The voices were coming fast now, talking over each other.

“I bet she’s tall like him.”

“Do you think he smiles at her?”

“What do you think he’s like in bed?”

“I bet he’s really boring and only does missionary.”

“Definitely a Stern Brunch Daddy.”

Raucous laughter sounded at that comment. What did that even mean? Gavin didn’t like brunch; it was a confused lunch for people who made poor life choices the night before .

Gavin had the impulse to walk into that breakroom. Heads would turn, laughter snuffed out mid-chuckle. They’d avoid his gaze, faces flushed as they realized he’d heard them. He’d savour their discomfort.

He made to open the door when he heard Alfred say, “I bet she doesn’t exist.”

Gavin froze. The voices stopped.

“I thought you said he was bringing a girlfriend.”

“He said he was. But I don’t buy it. I think he panicked,” Alfred replied.

“Gavin? Panic? It’s not in his emotional repertoire.”

“He was acting jittery because I’m going to get promoted over him. God, I can’t wait to be his boss,” Alfred said.

“I can’t wait for you to be his boss either,” Julia chimed in. Gavin recognized her voice, as she was on one of his teams. “Promise me there will be a restructuring? It’s not fair that your teams get to do all the fun stuff while we slowly lose the will to live staring at reports.”

“I’m telling you, Juls, he doesn’t have a date. The board hates him, his staff hate him, I bet most women hate him. He won’t get the job, darling.”

Rage mixed with embarrassment coursed through Gavin. He needed to calm down. This was exactly the kind of out-of-control frenzy that had landed him in this shitstorm. If he walked into the breakroom right now, he’d probably end up with an imaginary fiancé or maybe wife. Why not invent three fake children while he was at it?

Gavin, wisely, turned in the direction of the elevator. He would take a walk around the business park, get some air, and clear his head. But before he could move, he heard Yves coming to his defense. “ Non , I don’t think Gavin would lie. Granted, I have terrible taste in men, but he doesn’t strike me as a liar.”

It was the height of irony .

There was a pause before Alfred said, “I’ll bet you $500 that he comes to the retreat stag.”

Whistles sounded from the breakroom.

“You’re on,” Yves agreed.

Like. Hell. Gavin would watch Gilbert perform his one-man show on repeat before Alfred won that $500. It was never going to happen.

Gavin spun on his heel and marched back to his workstation, seething at the hypocrisy. At least he had the courtesy to say things to people’s faces. No, he didn’t sugarcoat it, and he had high, if not impossible, standards. But he didn’t stand around the breakroom gossiping about his colleagues’ sex lives.

He moved Manny the monstera back to where it belonged beside him, then opened his laptop, hoping that work would provide its usual comforting distraction. That’s when he noticed the chat box.

Ian: Hey, man! Melanie was wondering if you and your s.o. were free next Tuesday evening for dinner with Alfred and Effie?

Gavin barely restrained himself from smashing his laptop onto the floor. He’d spent years exceeding expectations on all his performance reviews, but apparently all people cared about was his relationship status?

Gavin: She doesn’t usually go out on weeknights.

Or at all. Considering she was fictional.

Ian: Melanie pointed out that it would be a lot less overwhelming for your partner at the retreat if she knew a few friendly faces ahead of time.

Gavin shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, fighting the urge to pull it all out. He didn’t want to do it. But it was the last and only option to save himself from financial ruin and corporate embarrassment. He took out his phone and sent the most pathetically awkward text of his life.

hey, just following up on our agreement from the other night. You in?

Three little dots popped up almost immediately and then disappeared.

His leg bounced in anticipation.

The dots popped up and disappeared again.

He felt like he was dying. They would find his body drowned in a puddle of his own sweat. Death by mortification.

It happened once more.

Should he send another text?

Then the magic word danced across his screen.

yes

He wanted to kiss the phone. He briefly wondered if that violated their no sex pact?

Awesome. One slight favour.

my boss would like to host us and the other internal candidate for supper next week

think of it as an exhibition game vs playoffs

yeah…I don’t sport.

but it sounds like you’re changing the terms of our agreement.

tit-for-tat, Gavin. My time is very valuable.

His desktop chat opened again.

Ian: ???

Gavin typed furiously into his phone, not even pausing to spell check.

I will clean your house

not interested.

I will organize the files on your computer

no.

dear lord we have our work cut out for us

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ian was shifting in his seat, trying to peek out at him. Gavin ducked lower behind Manny, disgusted with himself.

look, if I get this job I’ll get a signing bonus. I’ll give you 10%

how much? And I think you meant 50%

$5000

and 20% is my final offer

$2000 for me and you have a deal

Gavin had been counting on that bonus for the deposit for the roofers. He looked up and noticed Ian was no longer being subtle. He was standing, craning his neck, waving his arms to get Gavin’s attention and pointing obviously at his laptop.

fine.

dinner next Tuesday work for you?

I’ll clear my very busy and important schedule. No allergies or restrictions.

He messaged Ian back quickly. A fizzing sensation gathered in his chest – frenzied, familiar and dangerous. He shouldn't be excited about this? But before he could rationalize his bodily reaction, another text popped up.

see, I’m a quick study, Gavin

the business student becomes the negotiating master

She sent a gif of baby Yoda.

He laughed then. The first time all day. The first time in a while.

She wasn’t wrong though about them having their work cut out for them. He really knew nothing about her. And if he was going to make good on his end of the bargain, which he would, it meant the business coaching started now.

you free Wednesday evening for your first lesson?

I’ll bring dinner

ah, you’ve identified my weakness.

my place 7pm?

great.

It’s a fake date.