Mr Destiny (15 page)

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I guess I am.”

Was she mistaken?

Or did he seem a little disappointed?

Get in the taxi!

Now!

“I'd better get going,” Kate said, reaching for the door handle.

He beat her to it and opened the car door.

“I can't thank you enough for coming,” he said.

“Glad I could help,” Kate told him.

Get. In. The. Damn. Taxi!

The last thing she needed was to end up in another one of those long soul-searching staring matches like the one back in the
bridal shop dressing room.

I'd never survive it.

Too late.

He took her hand, pulling her closer.

Gulp.

They were standing only inches apart.

Oh, God!

His head came forward.

His hot mouth pressed against hers.

Zoom. Bam. Bop. Knock-you-right-out.

“I couldn't resist being the first one to kiss the bride,” he said when their lips broke apart. “Have a happy life, Kate.”

“You, too,” was all Kate could manage.

Tell him! Tell him you aren't getting married!

She couldn't.

Kate slid onto the taxi's backseat, shaken.

Tony closed the door and stepped away from the car.

Kate said, “Go! Now,” and the taxi driver placed his piece of pizza back in the to-go box on the seat beside him and sped
away.

She willed herself not to look back, but she did.

Tony was standing on the sidewalk, staring after her.

F
or once, Kate was relieved that Mr. Womack wasn't waiting to perform his doorman services. Pretending to be chipper, when
chipper was the last thing she was feeling at the moment, wasn't at the top of her list of things to do.

She let herself in the building with a sigh, wondering how it was possible that her life had turned to crap in such a short
time. She didn't want to be the wrong blonde, dammit! She'd realized that the second the grandmother didn't have a clue who
she was.

The big letdown had stunned her.

Tony's blistering kiss hadn't helped matters, either.

Still, she'd done the right thing not telling Tony the truth. Kate assured herself of that fact as she put her key into the
lock to her apartment. Tony was a really nice guy. It wouldn't be fair to send him mixed messages when she still had unfinished
business with Harold.

The afteraffect of her calling off the wedding wasn't going to be pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. She was going
to be the bad guy, regardless, and Kate knew it.

Worse yet, she also knew she deserved the title.

Sure, maybe it had taken Harold's stupid don't ask, don't tell comment to snap her back to reality. It didn't matter. She
never should have accepted Harold's proposal in the first place.

She'd known it the second she'd said “yes.” She just hadn't been brave enough to turn Harold down with her grandmother and
his mother looking on, big smiles on their faces and huge tears of joy in their eyes.

Gram.

As much as she looked forward to her grandmother returning from Paris in the morning, the dread of having to tell Grace she
was calling off the wedding washed over Kate like an ice-cold rain.

No doubt about it, she was going to be the bad guy.

Harold would possibly make an ugly scene when he returned because he wasn't getting his way. Her grandmother and Margaret
Wellington were going to be devastated at the news they'd broken up. Any way you looked at the situation, she was going to
be the villain.

She thought about Tony's kiss again.

And about the last thing he'd said to her.

Have a happy life, Kate.

Kate sighed.

Life for her was going to be anything
but
happy when she thought about how her grandmother was going to react to her calling off the wedding. Grace would not take
her breakup with Harold lightly.

There was bound to be tension between them.

As much as she knew Grace loved her, she also knew her grandmother had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop, so
to speak. Worried that eventually Kate was going to exhibit some of her mother's throw-caution-to-the-winds traits, that according
to Grace had ruined her son's life, and sent poor Rob Anderson straight down the path to destruction.

So, maybe her mother was a little flighty when you compared her to someone as polished and adept as Grace. Maybe “Mystery”
wasn't a name most women would choose for themselves, either. But her mother had decided to call herself “Mystery” because
she said it was a mystery to her why her parents would name her “Gertrude” and not expect her to change such a horrible name.

Her parents marched to a different drummer, that's all.

Still, Kate loved them.

Burning incense and chanting all day—that was a different story.

But Kate did often wonder whether she might have been more assertive if she hadn't spent her formative years in a commune
devoted to spreading peace and harmony throughout the world. The need to “please” and avoid any undue confrontation wasn't
always the best trait to have.

Sometimes you had to go
against
the flow.

Like the confrontation she'd encountered with Grace after college, when Grace insisted she come back home to live with her,
but Kate wanted her independence. Had it not been for Alex pushing her to develop a little backbone, she'd probably be thirty
and still living at home with Grace now.

Chutzpah.

Did she have enough chutzpah to stand up to Grace and Harold over her calling off the wedding?

She thought about Tony's kiss again and decided that she did. She'd finally experienced that immediate knock-you-out connection
she'd always assumed was just a myth. At last, that I-want-you-like-crazy feeling was real to her.

And, oh, how I do want Tony Petrocelli like crazy.

Just not right now.

Right now, my life is too complicated.

The first thing on her agenda had to be tying up loose ends with Harold. Then and only then would she be free to get on with
her life.

And if Tony isn't available then?

Kate wouldn't let herself think about that.

That was one matter she
would
have to leave to destiny.

Feeling rather pleased with herself for analyzing the situation and, for once, coming to a mature conclusion about what she
needed to do, Kate's mood unfortunately took another nosedive when she entered her apartment and found the place as silent
as a tomb. No TV blaring as usual. No Alex ordering Eve around. No Eve scurrying around to do Alex's bidding.

Wait a minute.

No Eve?

Fearing something was wrong, Kate hurried down the hallway to Eve's bedroom. Her hand was poised, ready to knock on the closed
door, until she heard Eve giggle. Shamelessly, Kate leaned forward and put her ear to the door.

Another giggle.

“Well, let's just say no one would pick me to be a runway model,” she heard Eve say. “I'm what my friend Alex calls vertically
challenged.”

Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

“Really, George? You're not just saying that? You really do prefer petite women?”

Kate smiled and tiptoed back down the hallway.

Good for Eve. Just because her own life was headed straight down the crapper didn't mean she wasn't thrilled to hear Eve sound
so happy for a change. If anyone deserved a new start in life, it was Eve. The poor thing had more than paid her dues, and
then some.

Kate headed for the kitchen, thinking that Alex evidently wasn't having any problem patching things up with John, either.
She knew my-way-or-the-highway Alex all too well. Had John not given in and agreed to Alex's terms about postponing a family,
Alex would have already beaten her back to the apartment.

Opening the refrigerator, Kate stood there for a moment, surveying her choices.

Frack.

If food kept serving as a replacement for her sex life, it wouldn't be long until she couldn't even get into her own pants.

She ignored the leftover Moo Goo, poured herself a glass of Pinot Grigio, and headed back to the living room to drown her
sorrows alone. She'd no sooner settled herself on the sofa when the ring tone on her cell phone sounded loud and clear from
her purse on the table by the door.

Kate glanced at her watch.

Nine o'clock sharp.

As usual, Harold was right on schedule, calling at the precise time he said he would call her on Friday night.

Kate took a leisurely sip from her wineglass.

She made no effort to answer her cell phone.

If she talked to Harold again, she'd do it in person.

She was so over Harold and
his
five-minute quickies.

Harold refused to leave a message on Kate's voice mail. Let her save face by holding out and not talking to him tonight. Fine
with him. He wasn't completely over his irritation with her, either.

That didn't mean he wouldn't turn the charm back on when he called her again in a day or two. He'd give her the rest of the
weekend to calm down. Then he'd call. When he did call, he had no doubt Kate would be so relieved finally to hear from him,
she'd be more than happy to put a stop to her Alex-induced behavior and beg him to forgive her for suggesting something so
stupid as calling off their wedding.

She'd been smart enough to cancel the absurd trip to Queens, hadn't she? He'd ignore her not accepting his peace-offering
roses. Roses were a bit too clichéd. But Kate was a bright woman. There was no way she was going to risk losing the perks
and the prestige that went along with becoming Mrs. Harold Trent Wellington.

He was offering Kate the world on a string.

Once they were married, she'd never want for anything again as long as she lived. Just as his mother had never wanted for
anything since the day she married his father.

However, being a man who prided himself on always having a backup plan, Harold decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to touch
base with Kate's grandmother. If anyone was in his corner, it was Grace. He intended to keep it that way.

He glanced at his watch, calculating the time difference. If he stayed up until midnight, it would be morning Paris time.
He would give Grace a quick call at her hotel before she left for the airport.

He'd pretend he was calling to wish her a safe flight home, then casually mention he was worried about Kate. They'd had a
little spat, he'd say. Nothing serious. But with his being away in Chicago on business, he'd appreciate Grace doing what she
could to help calm Kate's prewedding jitters.

A pep talk from Grace when Kate met her at the airport tomorrow would get his insolent fiancée back on track soon enough.

Harold was still smiling to himself over his own cleverness when a soft knock jerked his head toward the door of his hotel
suite.

He frowned.

Dammit.

He'd given explicit instructions that he wouldn't tolerate being disturbed by housekeeping under any circumstances. Someone
was falling down on the job. He'd make sure that person regretted it, deeply.

He walked to the door, ready to give the incompetent maid a lecture she wouldn't soon forget. Then he'd call the hotel manager
and put the fear of God in him, too. A quick peek through the security hole in the door, however, shocked Harold to the core.

He jumped back from the door, astounded.

It just wasn't possible.

He'd always been so careful. He'd never carried any identification with him. Never once given anyone even the slightest clue
about his identity.

The second knock was a little more forceful.

Harold ignored it.

Then the pounding started.

That's when he jerked the door open.

She walked into the room like she owned the hotel, and tonight she was dressed as if she had the money to buy the place. At
least anyone passing her in the lobby would have assumed she was some top fashion super-model. She certainly looked the part.
Classic little black strapless dress, the stiletto pumps, the clutch purse—all of it Garavani. He could pick out top fashion
designers at a single glance.