by Max Henry
She repositions herself while I take the seat opposite. Unlike last week, she wears a flowing dress that falls just above her knee. The soft floral fabric outlines her shapely thigh, falling over her tanned flesh like a ribbon waiting to be pulled. Her hair is drawn into a loose knot at her nape; soft tendrils lay delicately over her shoulders.
“We’ll work on your background today, Boe. Do you have any objections?”
“None at all.”
Her eyes widen a fraction. “Great.” I drink in the blush of her lips while she diverts her attention to the notepad on the arm of her chair. “Your first conviction. Tell me about that.”
“My first?” I grin. “Only if you tell me about your first time.”
Her disappointment is evident in the dip of her brow. “I ask the questions. Remember?”
“For now.” I widen my legs, thighs pressed against the sides of the seat. As predicted, her gaze pulls to my crotch when I lay my hands casually at my hips.
“You had a clear record until then.” She recovers well, flicking her attention to my face. “What prompted an aggravated assault charge at twenty-two?”
“Yeah, see—” I wave an index finger at her “—I had a clear record until then, but I was far from well-behaved.”
“When did the physical altercations start, then?”
“With strangers?” I clarify. “Or anybody in general?”
Her delicate fingers fidget with the pen clasped to her notepad. “Can you detail what you mean for me?”
My fingers tap on the smooth white arm. “I brawled in the schoolyard like most boys, had the odd altercation while out with buddies. But my first fist fight was with my grandfather.”
The pen slides from the pad in one swift movement, the nib scratching hungrily across the paper. “Why?”
“Because he provoked me.”
“How?”
She’s less surprised than I anticipated. “It was his way of teaching me how real men behave.”
“In relation to what? What did he think you weren’t responding correctly to?”
“My first conviction was for a road-rage incident,” I divert. “But I’m sure you already know that.”
Edith’s pen slows; her shoulders slump before she pulls a deep breath. “I know the details, yes. But what the police reports don’t tell me is why you chose that option for resolving your frustration.”
“Words didn’t seem to help,” I sass.
“You could have chosen to walk away.”
“A bit hard to leave when his car blocked mine.”
A beat passes with the two of us staring one another down. Her nostrils flare once, her jaw working as she rolls her lips. I’ve pissed her off. Good. Let’s see how the wonderful Dr. Potts deals with her frustration.
She draws a deep breath, closes her eyes briefly, and then exhales. “Witnesses report that you threw the first punch, Boe.”
As quick as that, she regains self-control. Hardly fair.
I scoot forward in the seat, elbows rested on my knees. “You know, you really are too attractive for this job, Edith.”
She lifts one eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“How do you handle the men who come in here with sexual addictions? Men who are desperate for a little romance in their lives, even.”
The slightest peek of her tongue, the smallest hint of a smile as she dips her chin to fidget with that damn pen. I wish she’d handle something of mine with the same gentle care.
“You mistake me as being delicate, Boe.”
I make a show of dragging my gaze the length of her. Right from those inquisitive eyes, down to her slender ankles. “I don’t think I do.”
“Your second conviction, then.” Edith clears her throat. “Did you not learn your lesson the first time, or were you simply undeterred?”
“I guess you’d say undeterred.” The same as I am currently. “You have no wedding band.”
“Unlike the first conviction, this victim took you to court.”
I rise with a sigh and head for her desk. She watches me with a frown. “No pictures of a significant other, either.” She opens her mouth to object when I press the home button on her phone, yet I cut her off. “None on your lock screen, too.” Although there is a curious picture of what appears to be a Tuscan sunset.
“Please sit, Boe.”
“I like to move around.” I pin her with a hooded stare, twitching the corner of my lips into a wry smile. “It releases pent up energy.”
“If you prefer.” Scribble, scribble. “Am I right in detecting no remorse for your actions?”
“Why would I regret telling a beautiful woman I find her attractive?” I navigate my way to the rear of her seat.
Interestingly, she chooses to remain face forward. However, the notepad is flipped on her lap. “You were ordered to pay reparations for your second victim. How did that make you feel?”
“As though I sponsored a child.” She stiffens, yet holds her ground when I lean down to whisper in her ear, “How about you, Edith? Would you like children one day?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Her skin pebbles with telltale goosebumps.
I pull in a deep breath as I move away, eliciting a rushed exhalation from the good doctor. “The idea excites you, though.” Her captivated gaze tracks me back to my seat. “Question is: is it merely children that excite you? Or is it the thought of children with me?”
EIGHT
Edith
Guidelines state that when one is uncomfortable with the behavior of a patient, that their legal rights allow them to request the patient leave.
I want Boe to stay.
His heady scent still tickles my nose from the proximity he held while questioning my personal standing. It took everything in me not to lean into him as he whispered in my ear. The man is capable of putting you under his spell, and that—especially in my profession—is one hell of a problem.
“I would warn you that stalling our sessions in this way will only lead to me extending how many are required to satisfy the courts’ needs. But”—I hesitate, tipping my head briefly to one side—“I get the impression that wouldn’t inconvenience you in the slightest.”
“I get the impression inconveniencing me is something you enjoy. Am I right?” He steeples his hands before him, elbows on the armrests.
“You have a need to assert dominance.” I flip my notepad back over.
“Most women enjoy it.”
“A need to control the world around you.”
“Again, I’m told that’s quite a turn on.”
“And a desire to unsettle others with your false confidence.” I can’t keep the smile from my face.
I’ve got the bastard.
“Who says I don’t have confidence?” He frowns, and yet, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve had grace my office… ever.
“If you did, you would have walked away from confrontation rather than engaged. You wouldn’t have had the need to seek reassurance of your worth by asserting dominance over those you perceive as a threat.”
He tips his hands toward his bottom lip, dragging the side of his forefingers over the supple flesh while he regards me. “You think I pretend to be someone I’m not?”
“In a way, yes.” I uncross my legs, tucking them to one side instead.
“What do you think I hide?” he tests. “If my character is nothing but a ruse, then who am I truly, Dr. Potts?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I slip my shoes off and tuck my legs on the seat beside me before realizing what I’ve done.
His gaze drifts to my feet, then leisurely back to my face. I slipped up, and he knows it.
“I bet you’d love to spend hours on me, wouldn’t you?” Boe’s smirk grows. “I fascinate you.”
“You intrigue me. There’s a difference.” I’m losing my grip on him, relinquishing control.
“How so?”
With every less than perfect answer I give, his arrogance slowly r
eturns. “Fascination is related to desire. Intrigue is purely curiosity.”
“What does it take to make you fascinated then, Edith?” He leans forward, hands clasped while he waits on my answer.
I touch my pen to my lips, half-heartedly watching the slow drift of the clouds out my office window. “I’d have to say, honesty. An honest conversation is a sure way to keep me wanting more.”
“Honesty.” He mulls the word over. “I’ve been honest.”
“You’ve been evasive.” And given his reaction to the pen against my mouth, it seems the technique required to swing the balance back my way is to play him at his own flirtatious game.
Boe pauses to retrieve his phone from the pocket of his slacks. I rest my chin atop my hand, elbow braced on the side of the chair, and wait him out.
He sighs, scrolling the screen. “Do you often share intimate details with people you barely know, Edith?” He can’t, or won’t, look at me.
“You know I’m not married. That I’m not in a relationship, either.”
Piercing eyes find my own. “You didn’t willingly share that information with me, though.”
“True.” Surely there was something else…
“How do you, then, with good conscience expect your patients to divulge their secrets with you if you don’t extend the same courtesy?” He mimics my position, a cheeky grin tainting his lips.
“Because they pay me to share their secrets, not mine.” I lean forward, dropping my feet to the floor. “What is it about therapy that unsettles you?”
“Nothing.” He again mirrors my action, moving toward me. “I don’t think I need it, is all.”
“You’ve been arrested for assault three times, before the courts for it twice, and left one man in the hospital.” I twist my lips up on one side as though thinking it over. “I’d say you need it.”
“Objective assessment, wouldn’t you agree?” Boe rises.
I tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. “One based on fact.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Firm fingers caress my chin. “The only fact between us is if you want to know more about me, about my history, and what the hell goes through this head of mine, you’ll need to do more than ask the right questions.”
He sneers as I pull my head free of his touch. “Such as what?”
“I’ll be in touch.” The bastard heads for the door.
“Our time isn’t up, Mr. Johanssen.”
“No, it isn’t,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll be in touch when I want to finish this session.”
He’ll what?
I slide my shoes on swiftly, one after the other, and stand to question him further. Yet all that remains is an open door, and the lingering scent of a man who effortlessly maintained power the whole time we spoke, whether I knew it or not.
Perhaps I have underestimated his level of comprehension when it comes to mental manipulation?
Then again, perhaps it was simply my subconscious steering the meeting the whole time?
Either way, one thing is for sure. Four sessions will not be enough.
NINE
Boe
“Petrone and Brown. Melinda speaking. How may I assist you?”
“Melinda, it’s Boe.” I scowl at some jackass who thinks it’s a good idea to cut me off.
“Oh. Hey, Boe.” She wants me. I know it. But she’s completely not my type.
If she were, I would have tapped that three years ago when she drank enough at the office Christmas function to let down her guard.
“I’m taking the rest of the day off.” Fucking red light. All I want to do is get the fuck home and out of this suffocating suit.
“I’ll let Alec know. Are you okay?”
“I will be.” I cough for emphasis. “Thanks.”
Fuck knows what she says next; I cut her off with a swift stab of my finger to the End Call icon on my dash.
“Come on!” A green light—finally—and I won’t even make it through thanks to the idiot who wants to reverse his semi into an alleyway.
Edith knows. She took one look at the man I crafted and called bullshit. If she can see through my carefully assembled disguise and deduce that my heart doesn’t lie in the corporate world, then what else can she see?
What else does she know?
I had to get the hell out of there, and somehow I managed to do so without making an idiot of myself. I asserted power by ending the session on my terms when in reality the boy inside of me wanted to sit at her feet and have her pet my head while she told me everything would be okay.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Boe?
Tires squeal on the sidewalk as I barely manage to get my Cadillac into the underground parking entry without taking out a bollard. I’m no the most cautious of drivers at the best of times, but today…. Today I couldn’t give a fuck what I hit as long as I get home before this fucking suit strangles the life out of me.
I careen into the allocated park for my apartment, kill the engine, and bolt from the car as though my goddamn ass is on fire. The lift takes longer than I’d like to arrive, my fist poised to smash a new dent in the stainless door when the ding of the car arriving saves it from imminent destruction.
With the toe of my perfectly polished shoe beating out a rampant rhythm on the lift floor, I retrieve my phone in one hand and Edith’s card in the other. The gold foil lettering caresses my fingertips; lavish and smooth. I bet her goddamn skin feels just the same. Easy now.
I name the time and place. You show up. Refuse, and I promise to drag these bullshit sessions on for as long as I fucking can.
The lift opens on my floor, six identical doors staring back at me. The scrape of my key slotting into the lock echoes around the small lobby. I could have gone for swanky electronic access, but then how the fuck would I get in during one of the city’s many power cuts? Nope. Simple and functional is how I like most things.
Including my women.
Sterile gray on white on black furnishings greet me when I step inside my short-term lease. I opted for fully furnished, not having the slightest interest in shopping for my own shit. What a goddamn mistake. I’m pretty certain I could accidentally step into my neighbor’s place and never know.
Calling this apartment home is a bit of a joke when it feels nothing like it. A home should be warm and inviting, a place you crave to be. This spread? I sleep and shower here, and every now and then when I’m too fucked to deal with waiters and strangers, I eat here.
Home. I wouldn’t know where to start if I was asked to describe one. I just know this isn’t it.
This number is purely for professional use only.
I grin at Edith’s reply, typing out one of my own with my left hand while undressing myself with my right. The natural light fades as I make my way down the hall to my room; the darkness highlights the conversation on my phone.
I requested your services, didn’t I?
She takes her time to respond. Enough that I’ve stripped down to boxers only and stand before the wide windows overlooking the city. If I’m not mistaken, I can almost see her building from here.
Request? I do believe that was a demand. What are the details?
Hooked. I send my address through, of course omitting it’s where I live and give her an hour. Call it an olive branch on my behalf—she can pass it off as a lunch appointment this way.
Thirty-five minutes. That’s what we had remaining.
Challenge accepted.
Deal.
TEN
Edith
No name placards in the lobby, no manned front desk… This is a damn residential building. Ugh. If I’d bothered to crosscheck against his file, I would have known this already.
Can’t afford to slip up around this man, E.
I contemplated bailing on his request, purely so I’d be guaranteed plenty of sessions with Boe. But I got the feeling they would be more of the same arrogant power-play that we’ve had, and call me fickle, but I’d prefer quality over quantity.
The overhead lights in the lift emphasize every imperfection in my appearance. I do my best to avoid looking at myself in the mirrored walls but fail to hold back from fixing my hair before the lift reaches his floor.
I shouldn’t be doing this. Not only does it break numerous ethical codes, but also it’s pure stupidity. I lost my power to this man from the moment he walked into my office and I never once truly regained it back. How could I when his presence alone is enough to elevate my heart rate?
I lift the simple brushed steel knocker and give the door two solid taps. It’s not too late to back out. Yes, but what impression would that give? I can’t begin to imagine the ridicule he’d deal in our future sessions if I get as far as knocking on the door and then run.
“Right on time.”
My next breath lodges in my throat. He’s answered the damn door in no more than a pair of low-slung gym pants. Long gone is the suit of a mere hour ago.
I choke, and then promptly swallow to regain composure. “Do you always greet visitors this way?”
“Depends on who they are.” Boe gestures for me to enter.
I edge my way past him, purse clutched under my arm as though it could protect me from the pheromones thickening the air. “You’re on the clock. Shall we sit?”
“We can do whatever you like.” His presence startles me as he gently moves around where I stand.
I fail to find a single personal item on my way toward the lounge area. No pictures, no souvenirs, not even a stray DVD or magazine placed atop the furniture. “You don’t spend much time here?”
Oh, God. Is the place even his?
“Only what I need to.” He holds out his hand for my coat. “Would you like a drink?”
“Whatever you’re having.” I shrug the cream wool from shoulders and pass it over.
He slings it over one arm like a well-practiced butler. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Boe leaves the room, the muscles working in his defined back a thing of beauty as he moves effortlessly through the modest apartment. I expected something larger for him. Something lavish. First impressions were of a man who probably entertained and in numbers. Now… I sense somebody a lot more detached.