“I think that would be smart.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Montgomery.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
PRESTON
I’M AN ASSHOLE. A compete and utter asshole. When I held her, everything felt so right. Nothing has felt this right in years, not since Sloane. I didn’t want to let her go and I didn’t want to pull away. But I had to. I can’t be close to her. I shouldn’t feel the way I do. I’m her therapist and I’m not worthy of her time, her friendship, and I’m certainly not worthy of my title. Doctor of Fucking Psychology, my ass. I should be sanctioned. I should lose my license for the shit I just pulled.
But there is something about this girl. The moment she’s around I lose all reason. I can’t see anything but her. I feel like I’m going mad. Trying not to watch her, trying not to kiss her. The only thing I can do is keep my guard up, but I swear trying to do that is driving me . . . mad.
I won’t be able to help her if I continue to blur the lines, and I need to help her. I couldn’t help Sloane and I won’t make that mistake again, no matter how hard it is.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EVE
MY EYES HURT. They burn. Jumping up, I head to the bathroom and peer into the mirror. They’re swollen.
I’ll never be prepared for my meeting today.
My pulse races. Adrenaline courses through my body.
I’m going to be sick.
I need a moment to collect myself. Great. Just when I think I’m getting back into the swing of things, everything goes to shit again. I thought I was done losing it in the office, but here I am, pacing the bathroom and I’m a fucking mess.
There’s no way I can do this. I can’t possibly pitch this company. Every part of my body is screaming to push the door open and sprint down the hallway until I reach the exit. No. I have to do this.
With a large audible sigh, I head back into the office and look over my notes on my computer. Then I grab my presentation papers. They feel heavy in my hands.
I cannot do this. Not without Richard. I can’t even remember my proposal. All the words I’ve practiced and recited these last few months are gone. It’s as though my mind is completely blank. With each step I take, my heart rate accelerates.
Think.
Think.
Think.
I pull out my phone and look for the email Dr. Montgomery sent me a few weeks ago.
Visualization techniques.
Visualize.
Breathe.
Breathe. One. Two. Three.
Visualize a better time, when you knew what you were supposed to do. Breathe—one, two, three . . .
“Okay, from the top. Try to pitch me again.” Richard’s words ring through my ears. The distant memory breaks apart any of the strength I was able to maintain. Tears well in my eyes. I’m lost. So fucking lost without him. I knew the path. It was clear. Now there’s nothing. Visualize!
Richard is standing across from me. He holds the folder with my notes. “Start from the beginning. Clear and precise. Believe in yourself. If you do, no one will doubt you.”
My pulse starts to regulate. With an inhale, I re-adjust my skirt, fix my top, and then make my way out the door.
IT’S two hours later and I nailed it. Not only did I land the client, but I’m already back at my desk starting research on the next project. As I browse the Internet for fresh ideas, I feel a presence hovering behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I see Barry standing over me. My initial instinct is to recoil. Scared of confrontation. But I’m not scared. Not anymore.
I won’t allow myself to let the fear win. I know exactly why he’s standing beside me and I know exactly what he’s going to ask me, so why not answer? Why not end this annoyance now? I have been avoiding his question for weeks but I do know who the new owner is and I know he has nothing to fear for his job, so why am I hiding? I’m not. And I won’t.
“Barry, the answer to the question I’m sure you’re about to ask me is my mom. My mom is the owner of this company. Your job is not at stake. You will not be fired.” There I said it. Now he can stop bothering me. Now he can go back to being the office creep, who ignores me. “I have work to do. So now, if you can please stop badgering me for answers, I’d appreciate it. Nothing bad will happen.”
I turn my attention back to my computer and continue to type. But he’s still there hovering. My back gets stiff.
“Yes?” I say turning back to him. His mouth hangs open. His eyes really stare at me, maybe for the first time ever. This is a different side of Barry and I don’t know what he wants. I lift my hands off the keyboard and pivot my whole body to face him. “Is there something else?”
“I was—” He nibbles a little more on his lip. “I was wondering if you would have time to go over some of my ideas I have for the Femmes Fetale campaign. I pitched them and landed them . . . but I think I’m a bit out of my element.”
My mouth drops. I’m completely taken aback.
“What?”
“Brainstorm,” he clarifies, still uneasy and biting his lip. “Can you help me?”
“I don’t understand. I thought you hated me. You’re always so rude. Why would you want my help?” I feel as if I’m living in a parallel universe and I just can’t understand what’s happening. This man doesn’t speak to anyone. He’s like a one-man island.
“I don’t hate you.”
“But you’ve been harassing me for weeks.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” I pull at my hair. “I’m really confused right now.”
“I guess I was just nervous and didn’t know how to approach you. I don’t really get along with people. They don’t understand me, so I tend to just work alone.”
My eyebrow lifts. Is that it? Was I reading him wrong this whole time?
I have a moment of clarity and then I get it. Barry wasn’t creepy. He was only like me. Unsure of himself. Scared. Yes, that was it, and I get it. I understand how hard it is to believe in yourself. To not feel comfortable in your own skin, and how that fear can manifest into something you have no control over. For me it’s panic. For him it’s social awkwardness. Either way it’s the same. It’s still two sides of the same coin.
I smile up at him. To let him know I understand that putting himself out there must have been hard.
“Okay. I’d love to help.”
“Thank you.” He pauses. “We can meet during lunch one day,” he stutters out and with that, I let my smile turn up even more.
“I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”
WITH A LITTLE LESS THAN five minutes to spare, I make it to Preston’s high-rise office building. By the time the elevator reaches his floor, my whole body is trembling uncontrollably from the nerves of having to see him after the clusterfuck at his house.
Just thinking of Preston and our nearing session has me in knots. I’m so confused by his behavior, but I need to continue seeing him because I’m still not able to sleep. Last night was horrible, and even the cocktail I had before bed didn’t do the trick. I finally did fall asleep, but it was a rough night. When I woke, my heart was thundering, a scream was tearing through my throat, and my hair was soaked from the night terror. I need to talk to Dr. Montgomery about the nightmares.
The fear from last night still consumes and claws at me.
I feel lost and emotionally drained.
In a complete daze, I find myself sitting in the waiting room. It’s as if my feet carried me here, but my mind resides elsewhere.
My gaze sweeps across the vacant room. I like the quiet. It allows me peace for a minute, and helps to shut off the distractions from everyday life.
I let out a yawn. God, today was a long day.
“Hi. Need some coffee?” I look up to find Preston looking down at me. I’m not sure how I missed him entering the room.
“God, yes,” I press out. Every word feels pained today.
“Well, then, let me get you a cup.” He gives me a small smile and it feels sli
ghtly awkward. As though he doesn’t know how to act with me anymore. That makes two of us, because I’m so uncomfortable right now. I feel as if I might pass out from nerves. Being at his apartment made me feel close to him, but now it’s weird being here. “I just made a pot. Go have a seat in my office and I’ll bring some right away.”
I walk into his office and take a seat in the center of the couch. A few minutes later, Preston sits across from me, placing two steaming hot mugs on the coffee table that separates us. He sits back and pulls out my file that’s on the table beside him.
He scans the file before he returns it and takes a sip of his coffee. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.
“You seem off today.” Preston asks.
“I am.”
“Is it work?”
“No, I’m just . . . I don’t know . . . ” I can’t speak.
“Is this about what happened the other night?”
“Yes.”
He lifts his gaze to the ceiling and blows out his cheeks. The muscles in my stomach tighten into knots. I feel ill. When he finally meets my eyes, I notice a line has appeared between his brows.
“I know we talked briefly on the phone about this, but when you came over we never touched upon it again. I do think we should talk about what happened in more detail.”
“Can’t we just pretend it didn’t happen?” I groan and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s not just that. The lines have been blurred for a long time. I shouldn’t have invited you to my apartment.”