Psychodynamic psychologists took from the principles of Sigmund Freud. They believed that many of our impulses were driven by sex. The restrictions society places on us and then the conflict we experience because of that.
I could see how he leaned more toward that theoretical perspective. It still surprised me though.
“I am, but I also believe that there is no one specific theory that’s right. I just happen to believe it works for this topic. People are driven by their desires and sometimes, given the situation, they don’t care about what others think. They do what the hell they want.”
“I don’t know if I could do that.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m surprised to hear you say that. You seem exactly like that. Like you wouldn’t care what people thought.”
I searched his eyes, stunned that he’d given any thought to me at all. Stunned that he would form any opinion of me.
“Oh, I guess I come across that way. Maybe. I like that you think that though. It’s a good way to be. I think.”
“It shows you have confidence and strength in personality.”
“Yes, I guess, and thanks for the compliment. There’s no way I’m sleeping with someone I just hitchhiked with though.” My damn mouth was fast becoming the death of me.
Why’d I say that?
That wasn’t funny. Not at all.
“I hope not, but I’d bet for the right guy, you would,” he challenged.
“No way. I’m not like that.” I couldn’t begin to imagine myself doing that. I’d done some bizarre things, but I’d never had a one-night stand or anything like that.
He held his finger and stood. “You’re in a bar, by yourself,” he began.
I listened intently to what he’d say next.
“It’s been a long day, and you’re stressed. You have a million things to do, but you don’t want to do any of them. You need a break. A guy walks in and clocks on to you, and you see him.” He walked up to me and stretched out his hand, motioning for me to stand. I set my notebook down and stood in front of him.
“I see him and what?” He certainly had my interest piqued.
“He comes straight to you, and you continue to stare at each other. It’s odd because you wouldn’t normally do that. We’re told it’s rude to stare. You guys look at each other and feel this instant attraction you can’t deny. It’s there, and you can’t ignore it. You feel it everywhere, it’s all over the place crazy, and the spark between you is like fire on gasoline.”
I had to swallow hard past the lump that formed in my throat. I had to focus against the swirl of emotions that stirred within me, worse than before, because damn, as he spoke, I felt everything.
He looked at me for a second or two, then continued. “He sits next to you and says, ‘Do I know you?’ You say no, but you continue to stare because of what you feel. He then says, ‘We should have a drink together.’ And you say…”
He smiled seeing I was in character with him. “I say… ‘We could go sit over there, where it’s more private.’”
He nodded and placed an arm around me, ushering me over to the little sofa, where we both sat facing each other.
“You talk with ease while you drink, but you notice as time wears on you get closer somewhat. Flirtier, more sexual, but it’s getting late and you know it’s gonna get to that time when you have to go. He leans closer and says… ‘I don’t want to say good night.’”
He actually did it, leaning in and brushing against my shoulder.
“I say, ‘maybe we don’t have to.’” I shuffled closer, feeling the moment, and my knee touched his. Twisting made the little strap on my dress fall down my shoulder. His gaze dropped to my breasts, and when his eyes met mine, I noticed the wealth of desire. There was no mistake about it. I knew what I saw. “’What if we didn’t say good night… We could…’”
“We could what?” he asked, and suddenly it was like we weren’t talking about those people anymore.
That electricity he spoke of sparked between us, and I could feel it like it was a tangible entity.
“Go somewhere we can be alone,” I heard myself say.
The words came from me, but I didn’t remember thinking about them first before I said it. The words just fell from my lips. My lips he was now looking at.
“Alone, like we are now.” He seemed to say that more to himself than to me.
“Yeah, where no one can see us. It’s just us…”
He moved closer, and that force that sparked inside and outside of us pulled me closer to him.
When he reached out and touched my cheek, I continued to watch him.
When he lowered his mouth to my lips, pressing his gorgeous lips to mine, I closed my eyes and kissed him back. The kiss turned hungry in an instant. We would have stayed there in the moment, but as I reached out and pressed my hands against the hard walls of his chest, he flinched and jumped up from the sofa.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Jada. I don’t know what the hell got into me.” He looked completely freaked out while I sat there completely numb.
I stood too. “It’s okay. I should go. I should…” I took two steps and stopped, then turned back to him. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
Like him, I didn’t know what the hell had come over me, and I suppose he must have been right about me not caring what people thought.
“I kissed you, and it was completely inappropriate. I understand if you want to report this. I’m your professor.” He pressed his lips together.
I walked back to him. “I’m not going to.”
“Why not?” He raised his brows.
“Because… I wanted you to kiss me.”
“Jada, I …”
“I know. You can’t.” So much for risks.
I turned to walk away, but he caught my arm and pulled me back to him, closing the space between us.
This time when he kissed me, it was with a need I’d never felt before. I kissed him back with the same desire that coursed along with the spark that ignited my soul.
Chapter 7
Jada
Present day…
Just like every other time when I thought deeply about the past, it took me a while to get it out of my system.
Days. It really did not help that Dr. Ivan had myth-busted my ass just like he’d promised.
I was on day seven of his madness and attack on me and sitting on ready to explode and hit something.
Yesterday, his article was about my no-chances and no-risks principle. The asshole went deep into questioning me and started drawing these exaggerated caricatures of me. Yesterday, the image was of me wrapped in bandages like a mummy, tiptoeing on a cloud that someone was holding.
I started today out thinking I’d ignore him. I had my breakfast with Olivia, and neither of us talked about him.
I thought I was going to be cool if I kept up like this.
When I got to my office, everything was okay. It was nearly lunchtime, and if I continued like this for another four hours, I’d be fine.
I got my notebook out and started jotting down the things I needed to prepare for my replacement for the duration of the trial show.
The trial show would run for a course of two months, and each contestant would get a couple they’d work with. The outcome was all left to the viewers at home, no matter what the results were. So, a contestant could work wonders with their couple and still not win. It was just how it was, which I suppose was fair because it was all down to who the people liked and who they wanted.
The initial votes would close on Monday, and I’d know who’d be competing against me.
As of today, I was pretty certain it would be Ivan because the damn man was just a few votes behind me.
While I knew it wasn’t finalized yet, I pretty much knew I’d be on the show, so I took the liberty of speaking with a few of my colleagues who agreed to take my patients. There would be a substitute columnist taking on my work at New Woman too. That left me free to just focus on
the show, and if—God forbid—I wasn’t successful, I’d have my job and my clients to go back to.
A knock sounded on my door just as I was getting into my to-do list.
Shanda opened the door even before I told her to come in. The expression on her face was a mingle of surprise and uncertainty.
The minute I saw the newspaper in her hands, I frowned.
“What now?” I asked, giving her a withered stare.
“Jada, I wouldn’t bother you with shit like this, but, gurl, this guy needs to get checked,” Shanda replied, putting the paper down in front of me.
My mouth hit the floor. The story was on the front page of L.A. Times.
There on the page, taking up all the space, in full-blown caricature form was me dressed as a dominatrix with a whip in one hand and a lead in the other. The lead was attached to a host of dogs. The dogs all bore faces of men. And not just any old men either. The first five dogs were little chihuahuas with the faces of the last five men I’d dated.
Tyson Parker, Rory Tennyson, Harry French, Gage Montgomery, and Jon Storm.
I was so appalled I had to stand up and put my hand on my chest to stop my heart from leaping from my chest. The picture was bad enough, but the title made me want to spit fire.
Jada Dane, The Dominator and the Puppy Pack: Don’t fall for her Bulls@%t
That was it. No more.
I had to put a stop to this craziness. Somehow, someway. I had to. I absolutely had to.
This wasn’t fucking funny anymore. It never was in the first place, and this was bordering on bullying.
No, not bordering. It was. I thought I was years past this sort of behavior. Many years and in different circles.
It was funny. I’d said that most men were dogs, and what was Ivan doing other than proving me right?
I grabbed my bag and stepped straight past Shanda.
Today was the last of this shit, and I knew exactly what I was going to do.
* * *
Two hours later, I made my way into the restaurant area of the DoubleTree.
The goal had been to go back to L.A. Times, but when I called to make sure he was there, I was told that this would be where Dr. St. James would be meeting for lunch with his friend.
The plan I had was the type that needed the man to be present.
People looked at me as I walked into the restaurant.
Of course, they would. I was no stranger here, but that wasn’t the reason for the stares.
I was dressed in a leather catsuit with a deep V-cut that showed off my even deeper cleavage and my slim waistline. Just like in the caricature, I had my hair down in long graceful waves that hung down to the center of my back.
I looked like a cross between Cat Woman and a black Trinity from The Matrix, and right now, I was out for blood.
Me with my leather catsuit and my stilettos.
A waiter walked past me with a bottle of wine on a tray. Casually, I took it from him and kept on walking when he started protesting because I saw my intended demon man object sitting in the corner with his friend, laughing.
Ivan’s face when he saw me was classic, and I wished I’d had a camera to take a picture.
When the friend looked around and saw me, his mouth fell open and his eyes widened.
Yes, let him be shocked. Let them both be shocked. I’d bet the two of them were assholes just the same. Two peas in a pod, thick as thieves, and both good looking. They always were.
I eyed the friend dangerously as I walked right up to them, then I looked away from him and snapped my gaze to Ivan. I had no interest in his friend.
Just him.
“Jada Dane, to what do I owe this absolutely erotic vision? You look good, baby.” Ivan looked me up and down. “And you brought wine.”
I answered by walking closer and shoving my foot on his chair between the space where his legs parted and his crotch.
He looked down at my heels dangerously close to his crotch. I leaned in, and when he looked up, he got a good eyeful of cleavage I didn’t intend.
By now we had a scene. Everyone was watching.
“You think it’s funny to insult me?” I hissed in his face, getting up close and personal the way he normally did to me.
“I—”
I opened the bottle of wine and poured it on his head, drowning out whatever he was going to say.
The whole bottle of wine soaked him, making his white shirt red and cling to muscles I didn’t give a crap about.
I stepped back and set the bottle down on the table.
He stood up and wiped his face.
“Jada, I—”
My hand took on a life of its own and slapped him right across his left cheek.
“Jada, what the—”
I slapped the other cheek. A few ladies at the table ahead of us started laughing.
“Son of a bitch, asshole prick. You rank complete amateur, and you have no tact. Leave. Me. Alone. Expect a lawsuit next time you pull a stunt like you did today.”
I didn’t care what opinion he had, or about freedom of speech.
There had to be something I could sue his ass for.
Chapter 8
Ivan
Smooth jazz filtered through the bar of the DoubleTree lounge.
That was all I was aware of. That and the fact that I was sitting around a table playing poker with Paterson, Jim, and Tony.
We did this sort of meet-up on the regular. Tonight was different because we were celebrating. Celebrating my news.
Celebrating here at the DoubleTree, where only days ago I was publicly humiliated.
I knew I couldn’t exactly complain because I deserved it.
I really did take things too far, and I was out of line for messing with Jada.
Anyway, as fate or luck would have it, we were going to be working together closer than she’d imagined because the votes closed last night and Fox Studios called me to let me know that I’d been selected as a finalist for The Love Doctor trial show.
As if that wasn’t good enough to hear, they’d also informed me that I was right on par with Jada for votes. A tie with the famous Jada Dane.
She had ten thousand votes , and so did I.
It was the best news I’d had in a long time, so here I was out with my buddies.
The other guys from work who’d joined in the celebration had left about an hour ago, but we were still battling it out. The problem was, we were all too good at this game. It wasn’t uncommon for us to play all night and call it quits with no winner.
As with everything, I was competitive, but tonight my mind was elsewhere.
I was on autopilot all evening because I had a certain goddess on my mind, and I guess I was getting all worked up because I’d be seeing her soon. I knew too that our next meeting would come with a truckload of tension because of the last time I saw her. Two bitch slaps and a bottle of wine on my head.
Oh, and the threat of a lawsuit.
All that, and fuck, all I could think of was how damn good she looked in that catsuit with her tits practically in my face.
Her pleas stopped me though. I thought it was enough. I’d taken her on and busted the hell out of her whole business.
I’d been a fucking asshole who’d played the game at my finest, and I… wasn’t proud of it.
Today was my last day at L.A. Times. A short-lived position I’d loved, which they’d gladly hold for me if I wasn’t successful on the show.
I’d spent the day making arrangements and sorting out stuff for my private practice.
“Guys, we should totally go play pool,” Patterson declared.
“Agreed,” Tony said, putting his cards down.
“Me too,” Jim chimed in. “I can’t do this anymore with you guys.”
“I’m wiped out.” I shook my head and set my cards down.
“Okay, old man,” Patterson joked, sipping on his beer.
I stood up and tipped my head. “Time to call it a night, boys,” I stated.
I made my way out of the lounge and decided on going through the section with the bar. It would be quicker to get to my car because I’d parked on the opposite side of the hotel.
As soon as I started walking, Jada entered my mind again.
I was thinking about what I’d say the next time I saw her.
I’d made my mark by drawing the attention to myself in the public’s eye and accomplished the mission. But I was aware that I’d practically torn down another professional in the process. That wasn’t my style, and I definitely did get carried away. She’d stuck in my mind because I knew I owed her an apology
I also kept thinking of that look I saw in her eyes the other week as I’d tried to figure her out. It was when I went to her office.
I could usually figure people out from looking into their eyes, but damn, she’d put up a block that I couldn’t get past. I did, however, feel that I struck a nerve when I mentioned heartbreak. I thought I was right about that, and curiosity had been killing me ever since.
I was just about to go through the door to the lobby when a voice caught my attention.
The music was still playing, low enough to just enjoy, loud enough that I shouldn’t have been able to pick out the voice, but I probably did because it was a voice I’d heard in my mind, asleep and awake.
Over by the bar sat a very annoyed-looking Jada. She was talking to a tall, bulky-looking guy who looked like a trucker.
“Leave me alone,” she wailed when he grabbed her.
“No way. I’m taking you home with me tonight,” he answered.
The guys around just laughed, looking drunk out of their minds, and didn’t seem to take note that she could be in danger.
The trucker guy pulled her away against her will, despite her protests, and the people around cheered, raising their glasses.
I didn’t know what went down before, but I knew what I saw didn’t look good to me. So, I did the only thing I could do and followed them.
He took her through the side door.
The Love Doctors Page 6