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“Fine. You’re right and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, and I do want to talk to you about what happened, but not here.” Standing, I grab her arm and usher us down the hall. We take a step into a more secluded alcove by the bathroom.
“So, what’s going on?” she asks, her eyes huge.
“I got a letter from Preston.”
“Preston?” She raises her eyebrow.
“Dr. Montgomery.” I let out an audible sigh. “I had a mini breakdown after the drunk incident, and while he was comforting me, I might have tried to kiss him.” I scrunch my nose, waiting for her to erupt.
“You tried to kiss him?” Her voice raises an octave.
“Shh.” My eyes jet around the space. “Yes. I tried to kiss him, and, well, he told me I needed to find another doctor. I didn’t listen. I apologized and said I would see him the next week. Then I walked out.”
“Why did you do that?”
“I guess I figured if I avoided it and ignored it, he would change his mind.”
“And did he?”
“Um, no.” I look down at the marble floor. The idea of meeting her eyes right now is too much.
“What aren’t you telling me?” With an exhale, I lift my eyes and meet her stare. Her eyes are narrowed and she has a small line forming between her brows.
“He sent the letter,” I squeak out on a whisper.
“What! What did it say?” she loud whispers.
“God, Sydney. Can you keep it down?
“No one can hear shit. Keep going,” she says as she rolls her hands to gesture me to tell my story.
“He sent me a formal letter of termination of our doctor/patient relationship.” With that announcement, she covers her mouth with her hand in shock. “He basically fired me as his patient.”
“Wow.”
Silence descends. An awkward one, where she keeps opening and shutting her mouth in rapid succession. “So, that’s why you ran out last night?” I nod yes. “Then what happened?”
“Basically, I barreled into his office, slamming doors and shit. Then I bawled him out.”
“Oh, my God! You didn’t,” she dramatically shouts.
“Sydney, can you pleeeese keep it down?”
“Oh, sorry. What did he say then? Not to downplay this, but I think I need popcorn to listen to this story.”
I slap my hand against my forehead. As much as I want to yell at her to stop joking, I smile. Because for the first time in a while I feel we’re back to us again. It feels good.
“Okay, where was I? Oh, yes, I got heated. Then he got heated, and then . . . ” I stop. How can I say this out loud?
“I’m not getting any younger here,” she says in a snarky voice and I know she’s happy, as well. “Just tell me what happened. It can’t be that bad.”
I raise a challenging eyebrow and then let it all out with a smug look on my face.
“He pushed me against the wall and started making out with me.” Bam! Let the explosions begin. She leans against the wall without a word. Just leans there. If not for the tiny heave of her chest, I’d think she’s comatose. I’m a bit taken aback and shocked by her lack of reaction, but I know eventually she will gather her words and composure. I tap my left foot on the floor and wait.
“He what!”
I smack her arm playfully and shoot her a look that says “Shut the fuck up.”
“Yes.”
“He kissed you?”
“Dry humped me against the wall would be more accurate, but yes . . .” My lips turn up in a smile.
“Wow.”
“Yep.”
“So, how was it?” She smirks.
“Amazing.”
“That’s all I get?”
“That’s all you get,” I deadpan. I couldn’t tell her this was the kiss to end all kisses. That his kiss ruined me for all other men. That his kiss left me breathless and desperate and begging for more.
“What will you do now?”
“What can I do? He doesn’t want to see me.”
“Wait! What? What do you mean? And what about therapy? The nightmares. The panic attacks. You can’t stop seeing him.”
“He freaked out and told me I had to go. He offered me a list of referrals.”
“Okay, good,” she says and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What?” Her eyebrow lifts.
“I kind of forgot it at his office.”
“What do you plan to do about that? Because if your answer is nothing, I’ll smack you upside the head.”
“What do you expect me to do about it?”
“I expect you to man up, head to his office and get it back.” I look down to the floor, playing with the hem of my skirt. Sydney takes a step closer to me. “It will be okay. You just need the referral list. In and out.” My eyes must bug out of my head at her choice of verbiage, because she busts out laughing.
“Grow up.” I roll my eyes and step away.
“That’s it? No more gossip?”
“I would have thought that was juicy enough for a lifetime.”
“I don’t know about a lifetime. I’d say a week, maybe two.” She shrugs and I shake my head. I’m a few steps from the office door when I realize she’s no longer next to me. Turning back to where I was, I see she’s still standing there.
“Come on, Sydney. Before you catch flies in that mouth.”
She lets out a laugh and then rights herself. It’s good to have us back.
“If you don’t hurry, we’ll be late to the meeting,” I say to her as I stand waiting for her to catch up. She doesn’t say anything but I know the previous conversation is far from over.
Everyone on our team is already in the conference room when we make it back into the office. Grabbing my notepad from my desk, we jet inside and all eyes turn to us. I sit down and stare up at Michael, who is already going over the budgets and objectives for the rest of the week. We’re working on a campaign for a new fashion publication that’s set to launch in six months. Around the room everyone throws out random hashtags and concepts for an Instagram program we will kick off the beginning of the next week.
It seems the office has returned to normal. The excited energy is back from before Richard’s death. This should make me happy. I know Richard would be pleased. Instead, it tightens my chest. Rubbing at the muscles there, I concentrate on what is being said. Breathing in and following Preston’s techniques helps keep the panic at bay. Every day that passes, the anxiety lessens when I’m in the office. I only wish the nightmares would stop, too. They’re so strange. They make absolutely no sense. I have never seen blood like I have in my nightmares. I have never felt fear like I do in my night terrors. As I rub the fatigue out of my eyes from another restless night, I know I need to follow Sydney’s advice and get the referral list from Preston.
When I get back to my desk, I grab my cell phone and dial the number for his office. On the third ring the phone is answered.
“Park Psychology. How may I help you?” A high-pitched voice answers. I know instantly I have never met this receptionist. Her breath comes through the phone in a ragged burst and sounds as though she’s just run a marathon.
“May I please speak to Dr. Montgomery? This is Eve Hamilton calling. I wanted to get a referral from him.”
“Ca-Can you hold on a minute? Let me see if he’s with a patient.” The phone drops and echoes on the desk. Then I hear the sound of her heels on the wood floors. A little laugh escapes me as I realize she forgot to put me on hold. I wonder if she’s new? A few seconds later, she returns out of breath again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton. He’s on a call, and will be on and off calls for the rest of the day. He said he will send a courier to you with the chart and referral list.” Courier? Wow.
“No, that’s okay. If he can just leave the file with you, I have a lunch meeting in the area so I can stop by afterward. Say two p.m.?”
“Um, okay. I guess that’s okay. He has a patient then. I’ll just grab it from him before he goes in.”
>
“Thank you.” Hanging up, I pinch the bridge of my nose. He won’t even speak to me. I shudder at the thought, then let out a deep sigh.
It will be fine. Everything is fine.
Don’t get upset.
In. Out.
In. Out.
I turn back to my computer and start my search for stock images for the new Instagram campaign.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
EVE
