Until I Break(26)
Author: M. Leighton

“Um, you did, whore. I’m calling because you’re such a paranoid crackpot you wouldn’t even give your therapist your phone number.”

“That’s called plausible deniability. If I don’t like how things go, I can always swear on a stack of Bibles that I never attended one therapy session with Dr. B. No one would be able to prove a thing.”

“You really take this whole thing to an unhealthy level, you know that, right?”

“Yes, I know. But are you surprised?”

Chris sighs. “I guess not. It’s par for the course, I suppose.”

“Right. Now, what do you want?”

“God, you’re so cranky! You really need to get laid, Sam. I think it’s getting to the point of being an imperative.”

I ignore her comment.

“Spill it. Why are you calling me?”

“Because Dr. B’s office called to see if an eleven o’clock office visit on Tuesday would be acceptable.”

“I haven’t decided I’m going in yet.”

“Well, you are now.”

“Chris, what did you do?”

“I confirmed your appointment. You would’ve had that time blocked off for your online session anyway. A short trip downtown won’t hurt you one little bit.”

“I hate you. Have I ever told you that?”

“Yes. You hate me just as much as I hate you.”

It’s my turn to sigh. “If only I didn’t love you so much.”

“Pain in the ass, isn’t it?”

“More than you know.”

I hear a giggle and then a click. Just like that, she drops a bomb and disappears.

Typical.

Now I know I won’t get any sleep.

********

Sunday melts into Monday, and Monday into Tuesday. With every day that passes without so much as a single word from Alec, my mood darkens into something eerily similar to despair. Before I know it, I’m on my way to keep an appointment with a therapist that I neither wanted nor (technically) agreed to meet. This reminds me of how desperately I need to be more assertive.

Maybe if I write a book about an assertive woman in complete control of every aspect of her life, I could experience some of that in real life instead of…this.

On the up side, if she can get me to loosen up and talk, she’s liable to regret it. I am loaded with issues today!

My sigh is swallowed up by the blues music coming from the stereo in the cab. It doesn’t seem nearly long enough before he’s dropping me off at the curb in front of my destination.

The building is sleek and glass-fronted. It looks posh, which comforts me from a confidentiality standpoint. Usually the more things cost, the less likely you are to have to worry about blabbermouths. Rich people certainly don’t want to bite the hands that feed them, so discretion is a must.

I leave my sunglasses in place until I get into the elevator and hit the button for the fourteenth floor. According to the signage in the lobby, Buraquinho and Associates occupies that entire floor.

A muted ding followed by the whoosh of the doors opening signals my arrival. I step out into an elegant reception area.

Gone is the coldly formal marble-and-chrome décor of the lobby, replaced by a calming cream, beige and sage palette. I have no doubt the colors were specifically chosen for their soothing effect, an effect that is lost on me in my current state of anxiety.

I walk to the half-moon shaped desk and stop. The girl behind it, a gorgeous, wafer-thin female with wheat-colored hair and enormous blue eyes, looks up and smiles. I feel immediately inferior, like a drab buffoon.

“I’m here for an eleven o’clock with Dr. Buraquinho.”

The girl clicks her mouse button a few times. She looks back up at me and smiles, a bland smile that says either she’s never heard of me or she’s good at pretending she knows nothing. It’s not like I’m famous or anything. Just paranoid, I guess. Either way, her ambivalence comforts me.

She clears her throat. “Yes, Ms. Drake. Please have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” She waits until I’ve made myself comfortable and then asks as she passes me on her way to…wherever, “Would you like some coffee? Water?”

“No, thank you,” I decline with a smile.

She nods and walks away. In her absence, I try to convince myself that this wasn’t a colossal mistake.

I’m just settling in to wait when she returns.

“This way, Ms. Drake.”

I get up to follow her. She leads me down a long hallway to a set of double doors that dominate the end. I’m not surprised that Dr. B would have this portion of the floor. Such prestige comes with having your name before the “Associates” part.

The girl knocks once and opens the door, holding it as I pass then shutting it quietly behind me. I stop just inside to look around and get my bearings.

The black, leather chair behind the enormous mahogany desk that’s centered in front of the wall of windows is empty. The lamp on one corner is on. That, coupled with the soft light being filtered through the partially opaque window shades, gives the room a safe, intimate feel that I can really appreciate at this point. The effect is accentuated by the cozy sand colored furniture arranged on a thick rug in front of a lit fireplace. I can see myself spilling my guts right on that sofa.

I hear the click of the door opening behind me. I don’t turn, but wait for Dr. Buraquinho to make her way to her desk. I’m startled when I hear a deep rumble break the silence.

“Ms. Drake.” I turn toward the voice, expecting to express my surprise that Dr. B is not a woman. The words die on my tongue and in my head, however, when my eyes collide with bottomless jade ones that I can’t quit thinking about. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Standing at my side, with his hand extended in introduction, is Alec Brand.

“I’m Dr. Buraquinho.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – Alec

If she had looked away one second sooner, I might not have recognized her. But she didn’t. She hesitated one breath too long, just enough for me to place the soft, heather-gray eyes I’ve been fantasizing about.

Despite her hesitation, I’m stunned into speechlessness, which doesn’t happen very often. I scramble to mask my surprise at this interesting turn of events.

Laura Drake is Samantha Jansen. Samantha Jansen is Laura Drake.

“Well, well, well. The sweet and innocent isn’t so sweet and innocent after all,” I mumble finally, crossing my arms over my chest. This puts an unusual spin on things. It adds a degree of complication that I’ve never before encountered, much less prepared for.