Dr. Lee nodded, slowly and noncommittally, not giving Violet any indication of what he was thinking. Of whether he was on her side or not.
His next question didn’t clear her confusion any. “Do you think that’s enough of a reason to disobey your parents? To feel like someone gets you?”
Violet frowned. There was more to her connection with them than that, wasn’t there? She owed them, she supposed, for saving her life. She understood them, sort of. And she was comfortable there. But was that really enough to say she belonged there? “Can I ask you a question?” Violet crumpled the tissue into a ball, wadding it tightly as her eyes met his. “Who do you work for? I mean, I never filled out any paperwork and you never asked for my parents’ insurance cards or anything. I know you see most of us on the team, for one reason or another, so does that mean you work for Sara? Do you tell them what I tell you? And if you do work for her, shouldn’t you be trying to talk me into staying with the team?”
Dr. Lee smiled. It was the most composed smile Violet had ever seen. More so even than her dad’s, and that was saying something. He handed her another tissue, and Violet took it, wiping her nose. “This might be hard for you to believe, Violet, but just because you want something doesn’t always mean it’s the best decision.”
Violet sat there quietly, considering Dr. Lee’s words. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself—and the team—and wanting her to remain part of their group. Or if he was talking about her threats to defy her parents.
Somehow, she felt like he meant both.
After a long moment, she spoke again, her voice faint. “You didn’t answer my question.”
His patient smile never faltered. “Which question was that, Violet?”
“Who do you work for?”
Dr. Lee exhaled. “I work for the same people you work for. The people who run the Center.”
Melancholy
HE SAT IN THE RESTAURANT, WATCHING THE girl. The corner booth that gave him the advantage of a full view while keeping him mostly hidden from view. It was a good place to be. A good place to watch.
Last night had been good for him. Seeing his mother after all these years. Facing his fears. Confronting childhood demons. Confronting her.
He felt stronger. Surer of himself and who he’d become.
Even when she’d berated him, even after they’d gone back to his place and she’d criticized his housekeeping, his décor, his taste in wine, he’d simply tuned her out, ignored her forked tongue. Ignored her blistering words and her venomous rants.
She could never appreciate the kind of man he was. She wasn’t the kind of woman who could understand a gentle soul like his.
It didn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t be seeing her again. After last night, he’d decided he was done with her.
Sitting back, he tried to erase the memories of his mother from his mind. He didn’t want to think about her right now, not while he was here. Watching her.
He studied the girl as she moved from table to table. She smiled and laughed, joking with those she spoke to. She was confident in ways that none of his other girlfriends ever had been.
Maybe that had been his problem. Maybe that was the reason none of his other relationships had worked out. He’d been choosing the wrong kind of girls.
Maybe now he had the opportunity to change all that.
So what was wrong with him, then? Why couldn’t he concentrate? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about the other girl, the young one?
The one who’d needed him.
He was just tired, he told himself. Two nights without sleep . . . two long nights without someone he could come to, someone to soothe him and make him feel . . . better. It was starting to wear on him.
That was why he didn’t see her approaching, why she’d caught him unawares.
“Refill?” she asked, her big brown eyes watching him with vibrant intensity. The very same eyes that had brought him back here in the first place. And then he saw a spark of awareness. “You were here last night, weren’t you? With an older woman.” She reached across the table to fill his cup, leaning just a little too low and revealing a glimpse into the opening at the top of her blouse. “Your mother?”
It took only a moment to recover, to find his voice again. “Good memory.” His face slipped into the perfect mask of appreciation. “I couldn’t stay away, I guess.”
She paused, timing every move brilliantly. Her tongue flicked over her lips just before she dazzled him with a smile that, on anyone else, would’ve stolen their very breath. But not him. He knew the moment she’d become the aggressor, the moment she’d started calculating her moves that she wasn’t the one. She was different today than the night before . . . bolder, more aggressive. Wrong.
They were never supposed to seek him out.
He was the man in this relationship.
“Well, let me know if I can bring you anything else.” She smiled suggestively. And when he smiled back at her, an intentionally bland smile, she shrugged. “Enjoy your meal.”
He watched her short black skirt swish from side to side as she moved to the next table. It was better to know now, he silently assured himself, already erasing images of the waitress from his mind. Better that he hadn’t let himself get attached.
It didn’t matter anyway. There were plenty of other girls out there. Girls that would die to have a man like him. A true gentleman.
He waited until he was sure no one was looking and he reached into his front pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He scrolled through the photos he’d taken, ones he’d looked at a thousand times already. Ones he’d practically memorized.