Page 10 of Collide

They met at work when their secretaries accidentally booked the same meeting room. Hell of a meet-cute.

I figure if I’d ended up staying with my father, I probably would’ve become a corporate drone too, with a position in his company, one I likely didn’t earn. Dating someone my father approved of, who would be of an advantage to him and his empire. With a trust fund, of course.

Though technically, I too, am the beneficiary of an unwanted, sizeable trust fund. It remains untouched. I cringe at the thought.

In my hotel-suite-like room, I settle in, unpacking and playing music low through my phone.

I check my messages: two from Riley, my best friend, sending photos and chaotic tales from her adventures in Peru; one from my manager; and a few appointments dropped into my calendar.

I quickly draft an email to my stepdad, letting him know I’m safe.

Emailing feels so ancient, but Jack still refuses to get a mobile phone. We lived in a part of the world where cell service barely existed anyway, so I couldn’t convince him to get one, no matter how hard I tried.

I sigh, thinking of home—the ocean, the warm, balmy afternoons in Jervis Bay. Walking Bundy, our family dog, along the sand. Partying with friends and singing in grungy pubs that reeked of beer and sweat.

And mostly…

Mom.

I’m about to finish stuffing the last pair of jeans into the bottom dresser drawer when I hear a soft knock at the door.

It’s Philippa. “Hey, Mark’s here,” she announces, peeking her head through the door.

Mark Shepherd is my manager, keeper of my calendar, steering the ship of my career—sharp, reliable and knows how to get shit done.

Getting up from the floor, I make my way to the door. Mark is in the foyer, fiddling with his phone, dressed in a crisp suit, clean-shaven, his salt-and-pepper hair styled to perfection. He’s quite good-looking, but I would never mix business with pleasure. Not that I know whatthatkind of pleasure is. I’ve never been in love before, much less physically intimate with a man.

“Hey, Elena.” He looks up from his phone, acknowledging me with a nod.

“Hey, what’s up?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

“Chloe,” he calls. A small blonde-haired woman standing beside him, dressed in an equally crisp suit, scuttles toward me with a huge floral arrangement—white orchids, white peonies, and freesias. It smells divine. She places the flowers on the small table beside me and hands me a wicker gift basket wrapped in clear cellophane with a big pink ribbon. The tag says, “Welcome.”

My eyes widen as I skim through its contents. A tablet. Workout clothes. Membership key cards for a gym and yoga studio. Jewelry. Skincare products. A bunch of other luxury items. I’m speechless.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to,” I murmur, still in awe, holding up the basket to inspect it further.

“The flowers are from me,” Mark says with a smile. “The basket’s from the label and your endorsers down under.”

He turns to the girl, still smiling. “Chloe, this is Elena, my newest and most promising artist.” His voice swells with pride. My heart swells, too. Mark really is the best.

Chloe shyly smiles. “Hi,” she mumbles. I can’t help but wonder if she’s his girlfriend. She looks young—possibly younger than me.

Definitely younger than me.

“Chloe’s my daughter,” Mark smiles, draping an arm around her shoulder. “She’s interning with me for the summer.”

“Nice to meet you. And thanks for bringing this stuff in.” I smile, trying to ease the tension from my earlier, inappropriate thoughts.

We quickly discuss our schedules and exchange dates for our upcoming engagements. As Mark and Chloe are about to leave, he turns to me at the threshold.

“Here.” He hands me a small white envelope. “It’s an invitation to a small gathering for a fellow artist. It’s on Friday night. I’ve scheduled a stylist, hair, and makeup crew to come to you if you’re up for it.”

A party.

“Absolutely! Can I bring a plus one?”

“Yes, of course.” He nods, then takes his leave.