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I’m working my way through my third magazine when Dr. Kramer emerges from the back.
“Dr. Everling, so nice to see you. Are you waiting for Dr. Wolfe?” he asks me.
“Yes. I was hoping to have lunch with him, but it looks like he’s busy for a little bit.”
Dr. Kramer turns toward the receptionist. “Can you contact Dr. Wolfe and let him know his fiancée is here?”
“Oh, she already called him,” I explain. “I thought I’d just wait until whatever he was working on was done."
The receptionist is already on the phone though, contacting Oliver again. I’m pretty sure he’s going to be annoyed at me, but since I’m annoyed at him too, I don’t really care.
A few moments later, Oliver appears in the waiting area. He struggles to smile. “You didn’t have to wait for me, sweetheart.”
“I’m still hoping for lunch,” I say.
Dr. Kramer pats Oliver on the shoulder. “You’re doing a great job here, Dr. Wolfe, why don’t you take some time and take your fiancée to lunch.”
“I just have a couple more things I need to do,” Oliver says and I wonder if that’s true or if he’s just saying that as an excuse to avoid me.
“What’s going on with the Donovan woman?” Dr. Kramer asks.
“I turned her down.”
I frown, wondering if the woman he was talking to outside was the Donovan woman.
“Turned her down?” Dr. Kramer asks, his tone indicating he doesn’t like that answer.
“She’s looking for someone to make her look like a celebrity. It’s my job to enhance and bring out who she is, not to turn her into somebody else.” I can hear the frustration in Oliver’s voice.
Fortunately, Dr. Kramer nods. “That’s probably a good call. Sounds like someone who needs therapy, not plastic surgery. Maybe you could refer to your fiancée.” Dr. Kramer turns to me. “I want you to go have some lunch. In fact, Dr. Wolfe, go ahead and take the rest of the afternoon off. It’s the holidays. You probably have plans you need to work on and presents to buy.”
I can tell that Oliver feels like he’s being caged in, but he nods and we both leave the building. The only thing he says to me is that he would prefer to have lunch at home, so that’s where we go. I check my watch because I do have clients in the afternoon, but I still have until three and it’s only just noon.
He’s quiet during the drive and as we leave the car and enter the condo building, riding the elevator up. But I can feel the seething anger radiating off him. A part of me wants to find a way to comfort him, yet at the same time, I remind myself that I saw him in a questionable situation with a woman.
Once we enter the condo and the door shuts behind us, he whirls around on me. “Are you trying to ruin me too?”
I stop short and gape, because I’m shocked by his outburst. “Ruin you?” It takes me a moment to get my bearings, but then I remember what I saw. “If you don’t want to be ruined by your reputation, maybe you should stop carousing.”
He stares at me and while I still see anger, I can also see hurt. “Is that why you were down here today? Are you checking up on me? Are you going to start dictating where I can go, what I can do, and who I can spend time with?” He storms into the living room and toward the liquor cabinet.
I follow him, confused by his anger at me. “No, I was just coming down to see if you wanted lunch, but maybe I do need to check up on you because clearly, you need checking up on.” Even as I say it, I realize how problematic it is. We’re only friends with benefits after all. He made no promises to me.
He downs two fingers of scotch and pours some more. “You really think so little of me, don’t you?”
His words hit me in the middle of the heart, and the guilt begins to grow.
“First of all, I’m not dumb enough to be flaunting another woman at my workplace where I know that would cause me problems for my job. Two, I am monogamous with women, and right now I’m with you. And three, I don’t know why you’re acting like a jealous, controlling woman, when you’re the one that set the boundaries of what was going on between us.” He downs the rest of his scotch.
All my anger and need to lash out at him dissipates, as I see a man who is tormented. “I just came down to see if you wanted to have lunch. That’s it. I didn’t like seeing you with another woman. You’re right, we’ve made no promises. So, I’m sorry.” I feel like a foolish jealous ninny. I turn to leave, not liking how vulnerable I feel as well as to give him space.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I’ll just grab lunch and eat at my office,” I say.
“I thought you wanted to know who the woman was?”
I stop but I don’t turn to look at him. “And as you pointed out, I don’t have any right to ask.” I take another step toward the door.
“She’s about to fucking destroy my life.”
