by Nancy Warren
He cut a glance her way, sharp but impassive. “This true?”
“He didn’t tell me his plans. I would have warned Chloe.”
“How do you know it was him?” he asked, looking between the two women.
“Stephanie told me he’d been harassing her, sending her flowers and cards and phoning and emailing her. She thought the tone was getting nastier the longer she refused to see him.”
Stephanie said, “Then last night when I got home there was another card. Basically blaming Chloe for breaking us up.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rafe demanded, turning to her, his eyes hot.
She returned his look with one she hoped was cool. “How would I have done that?”
“Damn it, Stephanie…” But he didn’t finish. What could he say? They’d slept together once and he’d made good and sure it didn’t happen again. He hadn’t even given her his phone number.
If Matthew was surprised by the outburst, he didn’t show it. He seemed to be in a fair bit of pain. She felt guilty all over the place. She was working for this nice woman and her bad luck was following her here, affecting Chloe and her hot neighbor. It wasn’t right.
“You told him where you work?” Matthew asked.
“He followed me here.” She looked down at the floor. “A couple of times.”
“What kind of car does he drive?” Matthew asked.
“A gray Honda Accord.”
“Know his license plate number, by any chance?”
She rattled it off. Both men looked at her, surprised, but Chloe announced with pride, “Stephanie has a photographic memory.”
“You made the car?” Rafe asked Matt.
“I’m pretty sure it’s the same. I didn’t get the whole plate, but two of the numbers are right.”
Chloe smiled at him. “That’s all right, darling. We can’t all have photographic memories.”
Matt rolled his eyes, but the glance he and Chloe exchanged seemed surprisingly intimate for people who didn’t seem to have slept together. As opposed to she and Rafe, who had slept together and didn’t seem able to communicate at all.
There was silence in the room. Everyone seemed to defer to Rafe, as the working cop. Finally he said, “Did something happen to make him snap?”
“Yes. He told me he loved me.”
“What did you say?”
She was staring at her coffee, wishing she were about a million miles away in another solar system. “I told him it was over.” She glanced up. “He’s been bugging me every day. I’d had it. So I lied, and told him I’m seeing someone else.”
Her gaze locked with Rafe’s. Fire and ice warred between them, leaving her hot, cold and confused.
“That must be why he started throwing rocks,” Matt said after another silence.
“Yeah.”
“He certainly snapped,” Chloe said, drawing the attention back to herself, for which Stephanie was grateful. “He called me and said I was nothing but a troublemaker and I’d better close up my business. I told him I’d do nothing of the kind, and then he said I’d be sorry. Naturally, I wasn’t going to get into it with such a pathetic miscreant, so I politely said good-bye and rang off.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Imagine my shock when he attacked this house.”
“You make it sound like he came at you with a rocket launcher,” Matthew said. He shook his head and turned to Rafe. “Stupid fuck threw a rock at her window, not even hard enough to break the glass.”
As if things weren’t bad enough, her ex was now an object of contempt. She couldn’t even pick a guy who was a competent criminal.
“What’s the guy’s address?”
She shrugged. “I can’t remember.”
“You have a photographic memory. Think harder.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
“We don’t have enough to press charges. But he doesn’t know that. I’m going to get my partner and we’re going to go scare the shit out of this guy. I don’t think he’ll bother you again.”
She glanced at Chloe for guidance. The other woman nodded. “I think it’s for the best, Stephanie. He’s caused you trouble for weeks. Let the police handle it.”
Reluctantly she nodded, and reeled off her ex’s address and phone number.
“I sure can pick ’em,” she said, as they watched Rafe ease Matthew into the backseat of Chloe’s car.
Matthew cursed as he maneuvered himself into place.
“You and I both,” Chloe replied.
Chapter 18
To Deborah’s surprise, Rafael Escobar kept his second appointment. Deb found that she was pleased to see him. She could usually tell when somebody wasn’t coming back and she’d have guessed he would be one who would find opening up simply too difficult.
He didn’t look any happier to be here, however, than he had the first time.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
He glanced at her in surprise and said, “Yeah, hi.” And all at once she felt pretentious for her formal greeting. What was she, Emily Post? She was supposed to be fixing his problems, not acting as though she were serving him afternoon tea.
Maybe because he’d rattled her a bit, she decided to do the same to him. “I’d have bet you weren’t coming back,” she said.
He glanced up and then sent her a half grin. “I wouldn’t spend a lot of time in Vegas if I were you.”
“I see you’ve got my book.”
He had it on the table in front of him. “Yeah. I— Do you really believe all this stuff you write?”
“Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have written it. What is it that you find so hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. It feels like you’re giving people rules all the time. Whatever happened to good old chemistry?”
She bridled a little at that. Was he suggesting she didn’t have any chemistry? Of course, with her and Jordan lately the chemistry was more like mixing two nonexplosive substances. Like tap water with tap water.
Maybe she wasn’t the last of the red-hot tango girls, but she and Jordan used to have fun in bed. It suddenly struck her that they hadn’t in a while. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time they’d made love in any but the most perfunctory way.
The silence was lengthening and she realized Rafe had asked a question that she had yet to answer. “Chemistry. Yes. Of course it’s important. But attraction isn’t always enough, is it?”
“No.”
“And, as I hope you have discovered from reading my book, we are often attracted to the very people who are the worst for us.”
“Like me with the wounded doves.”
She wouldn’t agree with him, of course, because therapy was about getting the patient to discover their path for themselves. Instead she leaned forward. “Rafe, I’d like you to try something for me.”
“What?”
“I want you to find a woman you consider attractive and ask her out on a date. But she must be someone completely confident and successful. Break your pattern and see what happens.”
He looked at her steadily for a moment, so she had to force herself not to evade that dark, dark gaze. There was the oddest expression on his face, as though he was about to perform a distasteful duty. Finally he said, “How about you, doc? Will you go out with me?”
She felt shocked. Physically, as though she’d stuck her finger in a live socket. Zapped.
“I—I—well, I’m flattered, of course.” She usually saw the patient-falling-for-therapist attachment coming from miles away. She hadn’t had a clue with Rafe. “But you must know I couldn’t have a personal relationship with a patient. It wouldn’t be ethical.”
He leaned back. He didn’t look crushed or put out, merely curious, she thought. “Okay. Let’s say I stopped being your patient and we bumped into each other somewhere. If I asked you out then, would you go?”
“Why do you think you’re having these feelings?”
“Why are you answering a question with a question?”
She sighed. “No. I would not go out with you.”
“Why? Because there’s no chemistry?”
She thought he was pretty much a full chemistry set all on his own, sitting there across from her. Every explosive, corrosive, big-bang compound on the periodic table in one dog-eared but nevertheless sexy package. Was it her? Was there a chemical anywhere that would turn into fireworks when mixed with plain old tap water?
“I am already in a steady relationship,” she said.
“Okay.” He grinned at her. “At least I tried. Right?”
She couldn’t help herself. He might be scruffy, belligerent, and have some issues with women, but he was a charmer. “Yes, you did. And I am flattered.”
He rose. “Well, thanks anyway.”
“Where are you going?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think this is going to work.”
“But you haven’t even given counseling a try.”
He glanced back at her, enigmatic. The heels on those boots were so worn down that she was tempted to give him the name of an excellent shoe repair service she used. He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You’re a nice lady. This just isn’t right.”
What on earth was the man talking about? “Fine,” she snapped. “Go, then. I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”
He left.
She slapped a hand over her mouth, wishing she wasn’t too late to stop that snappish outburst. She couldn’t understand what was wrong with her. Everything in her carefully planned life felt out of kilter somehow. And Rafe had pushed her a little more off balance with all that talk about chemistry and sizzle. The center of calm she prided herself on, the one that existed on rules and order, felt irritable and rocky. She had a new empathy for her patients—in fact, she felt like she needed some therapy herself.
Deb sat there bemused as he carefully shut her office door behind him. She’d put his departure down to the fact that she’d refused to go out with him, but instinct and training told her that wasn’t what had caused him to leave in mid-session.
What a strange character he was. He was more self-aware than most of her clients and yet unwilling to do the work to fix his problem.
She tapped her pen against her paper. Which suggested he didn’t want to fix his problem. As she knew well, until a person was ready to change, there wasn’t much she could do.
She hoped he’d be back.
When she rose from the seating area, she noticed he’d forgotten his copy of her book. Clearly he was still reading it, as a business card protruded from the pages.
She picked up the book, hoping to catch him before he left the building, and as she did she noticed that the business card looked familiar.
Flipping open the book revealed a card that had filled her with irritation the first time she saw it. Chloe Flynt, The Breakup Artist. She flipped it over and there, in neat female handwriting that definitely did not belong to Rafael Escobar, was the date and time of Rafe’s first appointment with her.
She slammed her book shut, filled with burning rage.
It was so hot, that rage, so corrosive, she felt as though her insides were burning up. He wanted chemistry? She’d show him chemistry.
She ran for the door, bursting into the reception area to see a sight that sent her anger into dangerous territory. For there in her waiting room was Rafael Escobar, and he looked very cozy with her next client, Stephanie Baxter.
She didn’t care that the waiting room was not a very private place—that Jordan, Carly the receptionist, and a guy currently delivering coffee supplies could all hear her. She screeched, “What is going on here?”
Stephanie jumped and blushed scarlet. Rafe turned slowly to look at her. He might think he gave nothing away, but he was wrong. His body language said it for him—the way he moved protectively toward Stephanie as though he could shield her from Deb.
She flapped the business card. “You took that job, didn’t you, Stephanie? With this breakup woman?”
Guilt was written all over the little shoplifter’s face. She nodded glumly.
Her hot gaze flipped back and forth between them like a madwoman’s. “You two are lovers.”
“Deborah, I didn’t know—”
“Why is your appointment written on the back of The Breakup Artist’s business card?” She heard her own words bouncing around the reception area like exploding bullets. She didn’t even give them time to answer. “How dare you!” she yelled, feeling all those years of careful restraint incinerate around her. She shook the card at the pair of them. “You set me up. You deliberately made a fool of me. I want to know what the hell is going on and I want to know now!”
She’d always been terrified that someday she’d turn out to be her parents’ daughter. Now she was. And spectacularly so.
Stephanie stepped forward, as though she wanted to soothe the therapist. Oh, it was all so wrong. Her world was completely upside down. She stopped her patient with a hand gesture that was intended to mean stop but looked more like a heil Hitler salute. A shaky one at that. “Do you know that your lover just asked me out?”
Jordan stuck his head out of his office door at that moment. Stared at her, and then at Rafe. He stood in his doorway as though uncertain whether to come forward or to dive back and retreat. “Deborah, would you like to sit down?” he said to her in his level, compassionate therapist’s voice.
“Maybe you should butt out,” she snapped.
What was the matter with her? She should apologize to poor Jordan. This wasn’t his fault. But screw it. She didn’t feel like apologizing. Everything was a mess. Suddenly, she saw that her carefully ordered life was a façade.
“Tell me what is going on this minute!” she yelled to the two of them.
“I’m sorry,” Rafe said. “I can’t.”
She turned on Stephanie. “You brought this card in to me weeks ago. You said this woman offered you a job.”
Stephanie looked miserable, but she nodded.
There was a moment of potent silence. Carly the receptionist had stopped clacking on her keyboard, the coffee guy had abandoned the break room to stand in the doorway, staring, and Jordan could have been a stone statue for all the noise he made. She could hear the hum of the air conditioning, it was so quiet.
“Did you take that job?”
Stephanie glanced at Rafe, then at the floor. “Yeah.”
“I’m asking you again, what is going on here?”
“It’s nothing to do with Stephanie.”
As a calming device, Rafe’s interference was not successful. “Okay, if you won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll go and ask Ms. Chloe Flynt myself.”
“Wait!” Stephanie said. “Don’t you want to think about this?”
“No,” she said, stalking back into her office for her purse.
Stephanie, usually so mild-mannered, followed her. “But what about my appointment?”
“It’s canceled.”
“You know what you always say about conflict. It’s clearer when not clouded by anger.” Stephanie grabbed the book she was still holding and started to flip pages. “Look, you could read your chapter on anger.”
“I’m too mad!” Deborah yelled.
“Don’t you think you should take a moment to think this through?”
“No.”
She stomped past Stephanie and back through the outer office. A nervous young woman was just coming through the door. Jordan’s newest client. The woman needed some backbone, was the first thing she noticed. She was creeping through the doorway as though she should apologize for inconveniencing it, the way Stephanie used to.
She’d reached the outer door. Stephanie stopped her with a hand on her sleeve. “Please, Deborah, let’s do one of your pro and con lists.”
“Fuck the pro and con list,” she said, and slammed the door behind her.
Chapter 19
Stunned silence filled the reception area after Deborah’s dramatic exit. “Did she just say what I think she said
?” Carly asked the room in general.
“I’m going after her,” Stephanie said. “I can’t leave Chloe all alone to face her.”
Rafe shook his head. “You ask me, Chloe’s got this one coming.”
“She was only doing her job.”
“You interfere in people’s personal lives, you’re going to get into some messy stuff.”
“But Deborah is never messy.”
“Today she is.”
Jordan suddenly came to life. He ran into his own office and emerged with his jacket on and car keys in hand. “Carly, please reschedule all my appointments for this afternoon.” He glanced at the nervous young woman who’d just walked in. “I’m really sorry, but I have an emergency.” He strode to the door and then turned back. “Oh, and you’d better cancel all of Deb’s appointments too.”
“I think you people need more decaf,” said the coffee guy, shaking his head and dragging his now empty delivery cart behind him.
Rafe was still standing there, looking at Stephanie in a way that make her want to kick him very hard and at the same time, throw herself into his arms. Altogether a confusing mix of emotions. “I should get back to work,” she said stiffly.
“You just ended up with a free hour in your day. Why don’t we take a walk?”
“Chloe might need me.”
“What those two gals need to do, they can do better alone.”
She had a strong feeling he was right. “I’ve never seen Deborah so angry.”
“Nobody likes to be screwed around with.”
“No,” she said, giving him a pointed look, “they don’t.”
She picked up her bag and headed out. Rafe was right behind her, but there was nothing she could do about that. It was a free country.
She punched the elevator button and the doors opened almost immediately. Unfortunately, there was no one else inside. She’d thought Rafe was heading for the stairwell, but instead he followed her into the elevator. The doors slid shut and she concentrated all her attention on watching the floor numbers light up as they slid downward.
Five floors passed before her eyes. She felt him near her, felt his energy. She felt him shift. “I’m sorry,” he blurted suddenly.