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If she could remember her motivation for what she’d done, she could solve all of the other issues. She needed a clone of herself who understood that method of recovering memories, and could handle the highly sensitive information she might reveal.
While she was at it, she needed better clothes and decent hair.
Can’t have everything.
The clothes Beatrice had given her were, well, Beatrice’s. Vivi looked a clone of her in pink skirts and white blouses. While the two of them were of similar height, Beatrice filled out garments much better than Vivi did.
Scratching her head where the hair was filling in again, she eyed the bright colored slips of paper and moved them around. Moved them around again. All were equally important.
What action can I take right now? Which issue had solutions that were concrete and had immediate practical value?
Her attention landed on Ian and their marriage. That was a quagmire of emotions, and he was as bullheaded as they came. Until the situation with the photo was resolved, all she could do was go along with Beatrice’s plan and protect her husband.
He’d laugh at that idea. Ian had always had such a streak of independence and confidence, he’d never allow anyone, not even her, to protect him.
But what he didn’t know…
Beatrice owes me. Tit for tat.If Vivi was helping Sloane, Beatrice was going to put every safeguard in place Vivi could think of to keep that target off Ian’s back.
Rising, she was about to march to Beatrice’s office and inform her of that, when a knock sounded at the door. “Dr. Mont—I mean, Dr. Greene? It’s me, Connor.”
Quickly, Vivi snatched the notes from their places and stuck them in her top drawer. Resuming her seat, she affected an air of busyness. Old habits died hard. “Yes?”
He strode in, hands full with a mug and a plate. “Black, one sugar, and the muffin is lemon-blueberry.”
She slid her laptop aside as he delivered both to her, bringing out a stack of napkins from a pocket in his cargo pants. “What’s all this?”
“Beatrice said you like muffins, and Sabrina brought some for the entire office.” He pointed at the treat. “If you’d prefer chocolate chip or cranberry orange, I can run back and get one for you.”
The coffee teased her nostrils and she sipped. “This is fine. Better than fine, in fact. You ever tasted prison coffee?” He shook his head and made a face. Her stomach growled. “Pray you never do. You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
“Your espresso machine is on order, should be here today or tomorrow. You have a lot on your plate,” he said, grinning as he pointed at the giant muffin. “Literally, and figuratively. Mick told me what’s it like to recover from prison life, and I want you to know, Sabrina and I are here for you. All of us are. You need anything, call me. Okay?”
Vivi broke off a piece of the muffin’s top and chewed. Delicious. “She’s not mad I skipped out on her yesterday?”
“Nah. She was relieved, actually.”
“Why?”
“You make her nervous.”
Hmm. “I don’t mean to.” She wondered if he knew about the baby. “Afraid it comes with the territory.”
“On the other hand.” He withdrew a folded slip of paper. “There are others here at SFI who would like to make an appointment to see you. Professionally.”
She eyed the paper and drew back an inch. Motivation. It always came down to that. She felt a touch disappointed. “That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Buttering me up with coffee and sugar in order to get me to see patients.”
His fingers creased the folded edge, over and over. Apparently, Sabrina wasn’t the only one who had a case of nerves around her. “I know you’re not ready yet, but when you are, would you at least consider talking to them?”
Compartmentalizing wasn’t the only habit that was rearing its ugly head. The tug in her solar plexus had her wiggling her fingers at him to hand over the list. “They talk, I listen. That’s how it works. I may ask a few questions, but mostly it’s about getting them to open up and spill whatever’s buried in their subconscious.”
“I get that. Every person inside these walls needs that, you know. There’s no possibly or probably about it.” He handed her the paper. “We need you, Doctor. I hope you’ll consider picking up your practice again for all of us. I’ve read the data on Trident. The great results you had with it. We definitely could use that type of therapy.”
She was such a sucker. Keeping her game face on, she glanced over the list, sipped her coffee, as if considering it, but not committing. “I have to getmyhead on straight first. You understand that, right? I could do more harm than good.”
“Sure. Of course. Listen, if you need someone to talk to…” He let the offer hang between them.
“Do you have any experience in behavioral therapy? Hypnotizing people?”
