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Maureen, the blonde-haired receptionist who’s spent the past forty minutes going over the rules with me, smiles and nods. “Yes, that’s right. Mr. Steele feels like it’s important to get the full effect of the place. And being on social media all the time isn’t going to help with that.”
I frown. “What if there’s an emergency?”
“Then we can help you reach out to your loved ones, and there’s a number that they can call you on. It’s a landline.”
I blow out a breath. “Wow, okay. You guys really aren’t kidding when it comes to the technology detox.”
Maureen stands up straighter and nods. “That’s right. It’s the same with the laptops. You can stream shows and movies. You can listen to music, and you can play games. But you cannot access the outside world directly.”
“It’s almost like a cult,” I joke, pausing to skim over the agreement. “Are you sure we’re not going to be howling at the moon and offering up a blood sacrifice?”
Maureen gives me a blank look.
“Sorry, it’s a bad joke,” I mumble, before averting my gaze. “So, are there any spa services around?”
“There’s a schedule with all of the activities, and you can book an appointment with our in-house masseuse or the nail service.”
I read over the last line again. “I’m sorry. What is this waiver for?”
Maureen leans forward and lowers her voice. “I understand that this is because you chose to add sessions with our in-house therapist. It’s just a standard agreement. You’re required to put down an emergency contact and basic information about yourself to help the therapist get started.”
“Isn’t that something we do in the session?”
“You can always give your therapist more information during the actual sessions,” Maureen replies, after a brief pause. “But she does require that you sign the waiver. It indicates that you understand that if you appear to pose harm to yourself or others, she’ll have to break doctor patient confidentiality.”
I scrawl my name at the bottom. “What do you mean exactly?”
Maureen shrugs and retrieves the clipboard. “I’m afraid I can’t comment on that. You’ll have to discuss any concerns you have with Doctor Sheridan.”
I link my fingers together. “Okay. Do you want me to sign over my firstborn too?”
Maureen gives me another blank look, and I offer her a weak smile.
I want to apologize for the jokes that I can’t seem to stop myself from making.
Being forced to wait a whole hour just to get to my room is taking a toll on me.
I’m tired, hungry, and sweaty. And the only way I know how to cope with being uncomfortable is by making ill-timed and lame jokes.
It’s a coping mechanism I’ve had since I was a kid, and I’m not proud of it.
But it’s also gotten me out of some sticky situations.
More than I care to admit.
“Okay, there’s just one more thing—”
The cowboy hat man I spotted earlier leans against the counter and flashes Maureen a row of perfect, pearly whites.
He still has his glasses on, so half of his face is covered. “Hey, Maureen. I was wondering if you could help me out with something.”
I wave a hand in front of his face. “Um, hello? I’m standing right here. You don’t even have the decency to say excuse me.”
He twists to face me, and my stomach dips.
Up close, he’s even more handsome. A chiseled jaw, beautifully tanned skin. Locks of brown hair peak from underneath the hat. And he has a body like a Greek Adonis.
I almost forget why I’m annoyed.
