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“I’ve got to go.” The young girl hurries out the door.
I rise from my chair. “Are you ready-”
“What are you doing? She’s my client.”
I’ve seen Charlotte annoyed. In fact, she was out of sorts when I met her. But she’s livid now.
“She stopped to talk to me, so I was talking back,” I say carefully.
“You were talking to her about getting a nose job?”
I let out a long breath. “She asked me what I did. So I told her and then she asked me about her—”
“Don’t ever talk to my clients about getting plastic surgery. She’s just a teenager.”
Up until now, I’ve been trying to keep my cool, but I’m starting to get irritated. “She asked me.”
“I don’t care if she asked you. I don’t care if her mother brings her to you. I expect to tell them you can’t do it.”
Now my feathers are ruffled. Not that I would treat the girl. It’s clear the girl is less interested in plastic surgery than her mother is. It is one of the things that we look for when minors come in for cosmetic surgery, particularly in areas like getting a nose job.
“If you hadn’t yelled at me, you would’ve heard me tell her that I don’t normally work on teenagers unless it’s something related to reconstructive surgery, like after an accident. Although you might consider that sometimes helping people fix something that makes them feel bad on the outside, can be a catalyst to fixing what’s wrong on the inside.”
“You think I’m being unreasonable?”
I put my hands on my hips and glare at her. “I think you’re being disrespectful to me and my profession.”
“I thought we were clear on my opinion of your profession,” she says.
“I guess we are.” I’m angry enough to walk out and go to dinner without her, but that won’t look good to Dr. Kramer, so I strike out in a different way. “How long have you been seeing that girl?”
Charlotte’s eyes narrow at me. “It’s none of your business.”
“I’m going to assume it’s been a while. I talked to her for less than five minutes and I can tell you her problem is her mother. If you’re any kind of therapist, the mother is the one you should have in here.”
Charlotte’s eyes heat with fire. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”
I let out a derisive laugh. “It’s okay for you to tell me how to do my job but I can’t say anything about yours? You are a piece of work, Charlotte.”
For a moment she just stares at me and then she says, “You know, I’m not feeling very fake-engaged to you at the moment.”
It strikes me in the gut, but I’m not going to let her know that. “I’m not feeling it either, sweetheart.”
“Then I’ll just bow out of this dinner tonight.”
“I’ll tell Dr. Kramer you had an emergency or something.” I don’t wait for her to say anything. Instead, I leave her office and wonder how I keep getting involved with unhinged women.
