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She didn’t offer to make more. He wasn’t surprised or offended. Elle didn’t make coffee for men on principal.
He went to the cupboard to get a glass and filled it with water from the sink. “Why didn’t you wake me up? You know I didn’t plan on sleeping here.”
She barely glanced over. “I’m not your mother.”
He sipped his water, evaluating her. Her blond hair was neatly tucked into a bun, her lips pursed as she typed away on her laptop. Dr. Elle McCray was a cool fortress of impenetrability ninety-nine percent of the time. Her patients and colleagues called her the Bitch, sometimes behind her back, much of the time to her face. But you had to have an ego of steel to work in the rehab wing, and Elle did. Handling pampered celebrities detoxing from drugs was like working in a daycare half the time and a war zone the other half. Addiction had an insidious way of bringing out the worst in people and smothering the good. And Elle was like the priest in The Exorcist, helping patients tackle the demons for what they were and fighting hard for the soul choking for air beneath. You couldn’t go into that fight without a lot of armor, and Elle was armed to the teeth.
But he was beginning to wonder why Ms. Cool Customer had let him sleep over the last few times. That wasn’t what this relationship was. They both knew it.
He needed to stop drinking when he came over here. Elle had grown up in Napa and had a penchant for a good, strong cabernet, but the stuff was too easy to drink. He couldn’t let these lines get fuzzy. “Me sleeping here isn’t a good idea.”
Her jaw tightened. “You called me. You drank too much. It’s not my fault you fell asleep. I didn’t hold you down and make you stay.”
No, he was usually the one doing the holding down. That’s where they connected, despite barely being able to tolerate each other at work. Elle liked her sex like he did—unsentimental and without strings. Hate-fucking. They were good at it. They served a purpose for each other—two workaholics letting off steam. At least that’s what it was supposed to be.
“Well, I’ve got to get going. Suri is hunting me down this morning.”
Elle smirked. “Oh, poor Donovan.”
“Don’t mock. She loves you.” He dumped his glass out and set it in the sink. “Must be nice.”
She sent him an angelic smile. “I know how to play the game and follow protocol. You should learn it sometime.”
“I’ll take that into consideration, Dr. McCray.” He strolled past her and grabbed his keys off the counter. They didn’t kiss or hug. He’d tried that after their first night together, feeling like it was the right thing to do even if he hadn’t been overly inspired to do it, but she’d shrugged him off. I don’t need empty gestures, Donovan, she’d told him. Just sex.
Fine by him.
They exchanged a nod of good-bye, and he headed outside. He’d walked over to her place because it’d been a nice night, but now he regretted it. His house was on the other side of the expansive compound and making it across campus in his wrinkled clothes without being seen would be a challenge. He just had to hope that most of his co-workers were in sessions by now or at least in their offices.
The last thing he needed was Doc Suri finding out he was sleeping with a colleague. She already considered him the problem child since he liked doing things his way and couldn’t keep staff for long on his floor. He’d probably already be gone if it were solely up to her. But he was good at what he did, well-known from getting a few national TV spots when his female arousal research went viral, and the elite clientele here asked for him because of it. The Orgasm Whisperer. That’s the ridiculous name the media had given him. But it worked. The board of directors wanted him here because it brought in high-paying clients, and it let him get away with a few transgressions more than Dr. Suri would normally tolerate. But she had her limits, and he was close to pushing over them.
Donovan slipped around the north edge of the pond and avoided the tai chi class going on nearby. The ground was spongy from an overnight rain, and his dress shoes sank into the earth, making obscene sucking sounds as he skirted the edges of the surrounding trees. By the time he reached the main parking lot, his favorite shoes were a loss. Fantastic. Between his ruined shirt and muddy shoes, he was starting to resemble a hobo. But at least he was making good time and no one had seen him. The administrative building of the institute loomed in the distance, but this parking lot was quiet since this was the visitors zone and visiting hours didn’t start until ten.
He was almost home free. His house was only a few hundred yards on the other side of the trees. But when he hurried around a large pickup truck to turn onto the walking path, someone ran smack into him.
He let out an oof and automatically put up his hands to block whoever or whatever it was, but when he did so, the person who’d run into him lost her balance and went sailing backward onto her ass. Papers flew in the air. A curse flew from her.
The wet sound of her butt hitting the earth alongside the path made Donovan cringe. Only then did he take in the sight. A woman in a business suit. Short dark hair. Horrified expression. He went to her side. “Shit. Are you okay?”
Ignoring him, she peered around at the scattered papers and the mud that had splashed onto her legs and skirt. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
He reached out his hand. “Here. Let me help you up.”
She glanced up then, annoyance in every corner of her expression, but when her gaze met his, she froze. Her lips parted for one long second and she blinked rapidly.
Donovan stilled, his hand extended, and a little jolt of awareness went through him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about her seemed familiar. He frowned, trying to place her. A former client, maybe? “Are you okay, miss?”
She broke the eye contact and took his offered hand. “I’ll be fine.”
He helped her to her feet, and then they both gathered her things. She pulled a tissue out of her purse and did her best to clean off some of the mud.
“Do you need me to get you anything? Paper towels?”
“It’s okay.” She glanced at him again, her gaze briefly tracking over his state, and only then did he remember how he must look. His shirt was hanging open with lipstick all over it, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Of course she didn’t want help from him. She probably knew not to trust strangers wandering the grounds of a psychiatric institution.
“Are you here for an appointment?” he asked.
She tucked the tissue in her purse and gripped her stack of papers tightly. “Yes. And I need to get going or I’m going to be late. The guard already held me up forever at the main entrance.”
He ran a hand over the back of his head, still trying to place her. She had that Demi Moore vibe, Ghost era, with her pixie cut and those big hazel eyes. Maybe that’s what was poking at his brain. Or maybe she was some B-list actress that he’d seen in a movie. Lord knows there were enough of them who came here for treatment. But she didn’t have that emaciated body that so many of the wannabe stars strived for. There were soft curves and gentle lines. His fingers flexed. “I’m really sorry about bumping into you.”
“My fault. I was looking at my phone instead of up. I—” She pressed her lips together and shifted her gaze toward the main building. Nervous. “I’ve got to go.”
“Need me to point you toward any place in particular?”
She had already started walking, her heels click, click, clicking on the pavement. She called back over her shoulder. “Nope. Thanks. I’m good.”
She had a smear of mud on the back of her skirt from the fall, but she held her head high as she walked like it didn’t bother her. Only the stiff set of her shoulders told him she was strung up tight. Huh. Maybe that’s what she was coming in for—anxiety. At least it would mean she wouldn’t be one of his clients. Thank God. Talk about awkward. Hello, doctor. Oh yes, you were the one doing the walk of shame this morning. Nice to meet you. Now I will confess my deepest, darkest secrets and trust you with my mental health.
Talk about breaking any semblance of professional credibility before even getting started.
Donovan jogged the rest of his way to his place and thanked the universe he hadn’t run into anyone he knew. Now he just needed to make sure he was at his desk before Dr. Suri tracked him down again. Small miracles. He’d take what he could get.
7 (#ulink_77a5b260-969c-57ea-9a1a-06d1ee7ad76c)
The place used to be an asylum. Considering how crazy Marin felt for even taking this interview after what had happened in the parking lot, it seemed fitting. When she’d looked up and found Donovan West holding his hand out to her, she’d tumbled back in time for a second. Everything in her had fluttered like she was still some eighteen-year-old girl with a crush.
But when he hadn’t recognized her, she’d slammed right back into reality. She was here for an interview, sitting in the mud, and the man she’d lost her virginity to didn’t even know her name. She didn’t blame him for not recognizing her. It’d been nine years. There was little left to resemble the girl she’d been. Her contacts were in, she’d chopped off her hair a few years ago, and she’d gained at least fifteen pounds since then. He looked different, too. Older. Broader. More of a man now, with his morning scruff and the faint lines of life around his eyes. And she wasn’t going to think about the bare chest beneath his shirt or the dark hair that had curled down a body he obviously took very good care of. She would not think about that at all. Especially considering the very obvious pink lipstick that had been all over his ruined shirt. Someone had apparently not lost his penchant for hookups.
That wasn’t a surprise. Perversely, she’d followed Donovan’s career for a few years after they’d slept together. It’d been her secret, masochistic indulgence. Everything had been so chaotic then. She’d had to drop out of school for almost a year, had to fight for custody of Nate, had to figure out how to support a household on her own. Looking up Donovan had given her a brief escape.
She’d watched his research get published. She’d seen the buzz that had made it all the way into the mainstream media. And she’d seen him do interviews on the talk shows. She’d been happy for him, but after a while, seeing his success had begun to sting more than comfort. The sweet, sexy guy she’d gotten to know that spring break week had changed. She could see the shift in the interviews. The limelight had made him smug. Cocky. Soon, there were rumors that he was dating actresses and Hollywood elite. The media gave him a ridiculous nickname. Marin had stopped looking.
So she had no idea why the hell he was in nowhere Louisiana now. She would’ve assumed he was still riding his sliver of fame with some private practice in L.A. But nope, he was here. Half-dressed and helping her to her feet.
Maybe he was a client here. Ha. She wouldn’t be so lucky. She should walk straight back to the rental car and get the hell out of here. She’d already ruined her outfit anyway. She was going to walk in looking ridiculous.
But she’d come this far, and she didn’t have any other options that would give her a chance at the pay she needed. She needed this. Nate needed this. She took a few more steps forward.
The chalk-white building loomed in front of her, intimidating and grand with its three-story-high Greek columns and a grove of ancient oak trees surrounding it. Gnarled branches with snaking Spanish moss seemed to hold the historic structure in their grasp. Breathtaking, really. But a pervasive sense of dread filled her. She imagined the people who were committed here back when it was an asylum had found no comfort in it either. Beauty with bite. This place seemed too grand, too ancient, too everything. She felt like an intruder at the gates.
“Need help finding something?” someone asked from off to her left.
She turned to find a tall, dark-skinned woman in a white coat sending her a polite smile. “I—”
Her smile fell when she took in Marin’s state. “Oh, Lord. What happened to you?”
Marin looked down at the splashes of mud on her skirt and her soggy papers. “I got in a fight with the lawn and lost.”
The woman gave her a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, no. That bayou mud will get you after a rainstorm. I can show you where the bathrooms are if you want to wash out your skirt and can get you some scrubs to put on in the meantime.”
“Thanks. I would, but I’m here for an interview with Dr. Suri, and I don’t want to be late.”
She cringed. “Oh, wow, yeah. Being late would be a bad idea. She’s kind of stickler for time. Just tell her what happened with the fall. Why does that kind of thing only happen on job interviews? I got a flat tire when I came for mine.”
“Guess you got the job anyway.”
“That’s because I’m so good.” The woman brushed imaginary dust from her shoulder with playful confidence. “Two years and running. Hey, maybe bad luck before the interview is a good omen.”
After the parking lot, Marin was thinking not. But she smiled anyway. “Maybe.”
The woman stepped closer, her brown eyes flashing golden in the dappled sunlight that streamed through the branches of the surrounding oak trees. She stuck out her hand. “Oriana Wallace. Addiction wing.”
She shook her hand. “Marin Rush. Interviewing for the sex therapy program.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Wow, the X-wing, huh? Interesting stuff.”
“The X-wing?”
She shrugged. “It’s what we call it around here. You know, rated X? All the departments end up with their own code names. My area is referred to as the R and R.”
“Rest and relaxation?”
“No, rinse and repeat. My clients are the ones most likely to make repeat performances. Nature of the addiction beast, unfortunately. Come on, I’ll lead you into the gauntlet and show you the quickest way to Suri’s office. It’s easy to get lost. They had to retrofit a lot of the offices and it can make you feel like a rat in a maze. I have yet to find cheese, though.”
Marin smiled, thankful for the help and a friendly face. “That’d be great.”
Oriana led Marin up the front stairs and into the building, which had been beautifully restored to period details of the nineteenth century with its wide baseboards and Greek Revival architecture, but there was a poshness to it that she doubted had been present back when it was an asylum. Expensive-looking artwork, a lobby area with fine antique furniture, and a chandelier that sent sparkling light over the marble floors. It was a lobby meant to impress. But when they went through the double doors to get to the offices, Marin understood what Oriana had been talking about. Signs pointing every which way demarcated the offices, but it was a twisting tangle of hallways and doors. She half-expected that little kid from The Shining to roll up on his Big Wheel.
They took the elevator to the top floor and Oriana dropped her off there. She put her hand out to keep the elevator door from closing. “Dr. Suri’s office is the one at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks so much,” Marin said, her nerves bubbling up again and making her voice shake.
“No problem. Good luck with the interview. Just remember that if you managed to get an interview here, you’re already great at what you do. She only talks to the best, so be confident.”
“Ha. Sure, no problem. I’m just going to walk in with my muddy clothes and wet resume and wow her right out of her chair.”
She laughed. “How about I be confident on your behalf? When not if you get the job, you owe me a cup of coffee for being your tour guide.”
“Deal.”
She tapped the side of the elevator. “Go get ’em, doctor. Lord knows the X-wing could use some estrogen.”
“Oh?”
She smirked. “See ya.”
The elevator doors shut, leaving Marin in the hallway alone. She took a deep breath and headed toward the office, the sound of her heels echoing off the floors with an ominous reverberation. She tried not to think about how little experience she had in clinical work. She tried to forget that the man she’d tried so hard to block out of her mind was somehow tied to this place. She tried to remember why she was doing this.
This was insane.
She walked into the office and gave the secretary her name.
The woman smiled. “You can go on in, Dr. Rush. She’s waiting for you.”
Welcome to the asylum, we’re all crazy here.
8 (#ulink_74093b43-ff84-5b86-a68a-d400cb4b97d5)
“Do you think once a cheater, always a cheater? I mean, how am I supposed to trust him when he screwed that skinny bitch behind my back?”
Donovan hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair, trying not to cringe at his client’s shrill tone. He should’ve had more coffee and extra aspirin before this first appointment. “I think each situation is different. Rarely are things always or never.”
Claire Daniels swept her long bangs away from her face with a huff, but tears glistened in her eyes. “This is such bullshit. I did the cover of Maxim last month. Men all over the world want me. And my jackass boyfriend fucked a wannabe catalog model.” She leaned over and yanked something out of her purse. She held up a computer printout of a redhead in a bikini. “Look at her. She looks like a boy. Who would you rather sleep with?”
Donovan frowned. The truth was he had no interest in sleeping with either. He’d rather go celibate than hook up with another actress. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. But he wasn’t going to answer that type of question in a session anyway. “Is that really what you want to know?”
Her gaze dropped down to her hands. “No.”
“What would you like to ask, then?”
She closed her eyes, and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. The reviews of her latest movie had called her a pretty crier. Donovan hadn’t thought there was such a thing, but Claire did seem to make it look tragically elegant. She shook her head. “Am I that broken, doc? Would he rather be with someone like that because I’m just not worth the trouble?”
There it was. The real question. He was proud of her for being brave enough to voice it. In their early sessions, Claire had maintained a cool facade of the untouchable actress and had been combative when Donovan had tried to get her to open up. Finally, she was showing some trust in him. “I think we’re all broken in some way, Claire. But no, I don’t think you’re unworthy or that you deserved to be cheated on. And blaming yourself for someone else’s actions isn’t going to help. Benny strayed. You’re not responsible for his behavior.”
“But if I was giving him what he needed, if I wasn’t so fucked up …” She looked up and swiped at her tears. “What kind of woman can’t enjoy sex?”
“Lots,” he said, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs. “Especially ones who went through what you did as a teenager. Give yourself a break and some time. You’re here and working on this. That’s more than most can say. And I don’t know exactly why Benny cheated without talking to him. People stray for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes it’s a lack of impulse control, other times it’s some kind of internal issue—insecurity, fear of aging, depression. Sometimes it’s impaired judgment from drugs or alcohol. It could be a lot of different reasons.”
She looked out the window at the sprawling oak trees that stood like sentries throughout The Grove. “Because the other person is sexier?”
Donovan let out a breath. This was one of Claire’s issues. The people who watched her in movies and smiling on magazine covers would never suspect how deeply insecure she was, that she’d grown up hearing that she was ugly and dumb. It was one of the reasons she was attracted to shitty guys and jumped from relationship to relationship. She needed empty compliments filling the ever-draining well. “I think if you want to work through this with Benny, he’s going to have to come in for a few sessions with you. You two need to decide whether or not this is a deal breaker.”
She chewed her lip and looked away. “I’m not ready to leave him. I know you probably think I’m stupid. The press definitely does.”
He glanced down at his steno pad and made a note. “I think decisions in life aren’t as cut and dried as they appear from the outside looking in.”
“Have you ever been cheated on?”
Donovan’s gaze jumped back to her, his pen pressing hard into the paper.
She gave him a sheepish look and an apologetic shrug. “I heard you dated Selena St. Pierre. And she got together with Ryan Vickers right after that.”
He held back the grimace that tried to surface. He hated that clients could so easily dig into his personal life. He was supposed to be this blank slate, a sounding board, a trained ear. But people could find dirt on him if they wanted it because he’d been stupid enough to date a TV actress. He’d been stupid in general. Luckily, the only thing that had made it to press had been the breakup and the rumored infidelity, not the … aftermath.
“Claire, my personal life has no bearing on yours. And every situation is going to be different.”
“But is that why you two broke up?”
