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The air thickens.
A muscle jumps in his jaw.
He’s going to snap.
“Let’s cut the fucking crap.”
And there it is.
Chapter Ten
His fake smile vanisheslike an apparition, and in its place are hardened eyes and a clenched jaw.
“I’m sure Maxwell already told you I got dragged into this. I don’t believe in your mental psychobabble, and I don’t need help.” He slowly leans over the table between us, a clear ploy to intimidate me with his size.
His cologne—sandalwood and pine—hits my nose.
My mouth waters. Dammit, I really need food.
“And I know you don’t want to do this either. Lana told me she begged you to take me on. So let’s stop wasting each other’s time. You make a few notes, scribble whatever it is you want on that little notepad of yours. We’ll stay out of each other’s hair and you can enjoy your trip—shopping, sightseeing, spa treatments—while I do mine.” Rex sits back down.
“You’re telling me to lie?” I press my lips into a thin line, remembering what I thought about him that night at Mystique.
He doesn’t want to do the work and you can’t help someone who refuses to help themselves.
You can’t help someone who doesn’t evenaskfor help.
These people will ultimately hurt everyone around them. Then who’s left to pick up the pieces?
“Call it whatever you want. If you’re a stickler to the rules, which, judging from that adorable frown on your face, you are, then fine. Wecan have a few chats. Talk about the weather. Then, you can mark down we’ve met. Either way, I’m not doing this.”
“You seem to have forgotten your participation in therapy is the prerequisite for your being on this cruise, Mr. Anderson.” I take a deep breath and level my stare at him.
Angling the notebook toward me, I jot down some preliminary notes.
Uncooperative. Uses charm to get what he wants. When that fails, turns to intimidation.
Rex’s eyes sharpen at my motions, the soft sounds of pen scratching against paper adding to the tension quickly rising between us.
He’ll break. Men like him hate people they can’t control. They definitely don’t like the idea of someone taking down their secrets and not letting them see.
“Are you threatening me?” he rasps.
I pause my writing and set the notebook and pen down. Neatly, as always. “No. I’m a psychiatrist. Why would I threaten you?” Then I dole out a saccharine smile.
He flinches.
“I’m just reminding you of the deal. So, let me tell you how it’s going to go, Mr. Anderson.” It’s my turn to lean forward now. “I’m a doctor because I want to help people. Mental health issues might be invisible to the naked eye, but they are real problems and near and dear to my heart. If left untreated, they devastate not only the patient, but also others around them.”
I pull out my phone and flip to a few screenshots I saved because I predicted this would happen.
Turning it around, I show them to him. His face pales. “These are headlines of articles Maxwell stopped in the nick of time before they were published. I have videos too.”
“Drunk billionaire spiraling out—Is Rex Anderson the downfall of adynasty?”
“‘He keeps popping these pills. I don’t know what they are and I don’t want any part of it,’ a model and influencer exclaims. Exclusive on the playboy prince inside.”
“A ménage à trois is no longer de rigeur. Rex-a-Million rumored to be the only man in a twelve-person orgy.”
