“In conclusion, I urge you all to power through the self-destructive thoughts, to seize every moment as if it was your last because you never truly know when it might be. They say that people on their deathbeds don’t regret the things they did. They regret the chances they didn’t take. I suggest to you, ladies and gentlemen, that you regret nothing at any point of your lives. Thank you so much for having me this morning.”

There was a round of applause as he stepped from the stage, his smile fading slightly when he saw who waited in the wings. Despite his fading smile, he felt an urge to stare into her unique grey coloured eyes framed by long lashes.

“That was a lovely lecture, Dr. Landry,” the svelte blonde told him charmingly. “I enjoyed listening to your opinions.”

Jameson felt his breath catch in his throat, an overwhelming fusion of annoyance and desire for the stunningly beautiful woman in the A-line suit.

“My opinions are based on years of research, Dr. McMahon.” Pushing aside desire and focusing on his annoyance.

“As are mine, Dr. Landry.”

His eyes bored into hers and his mouth twisted into a smirk of exasperation.

“Perhaps one day we’ll have to sit down and compare notes. My patients have an eighty percent success rate when they come to me. Can you say the same?”

Not that you have time for patients as you jet set around the world, selling your Zen BS and signing books.

She shrugged almost indifferently, the serene smile remaining on her face as she watched him with intense grey eyes.

“ ‘Success rates’ are subjective, as we both know. I think that by now, Dr. Landry, we’ve learned to agree to disagree on the matters of the mind. I may not be actively involved in treating patients but my readers assure me that my methods have been very effective in helping with their own issues.”

I bet all your readers are straight men and gay women.

As if she’d read his thoughts, her beam faltered but Jameson forced himself to grin and nod.

“You’re right. This is one of those sciences that is ever-evolving. I wouldn’t dream of debating it with someone as informed as you are in the matter. Good luck on your forum.”

Her eyes narrowed and Jameson was suddenly uncomfortable as if he could sense he was about to be swept into something he didn’t have any interest in pursuing.

“Luck. Interesting.”

Jameson’s heart sped up and before he could stop himself from taking the bait, he heard himself ask the question he wished he’d swallowed.

“Why is that?”

“Luck indicates an acceptance of matters beyond our control. For you to wish me good luck, it means that you accept that not all situations can be monitored, therefore showing that your theory of taking the reins isn’t always feasible.” Audrey responded sweetly.

Jameson scowled and folded his arms over his broad chest, shaking his head. He was irritated with her cocky response and even more with himself as he found himself wanting to reach out and tuck the strand of soft hair escaping the small chignon at the nape of her neck when she tilted her head.

“Now you’re putting words in my mouth over a silly adage,” he snapped before he could stop himself. “I said nothing like that. In fact, I—"

“Oh! They’re introducing me,” she cut him off, nodding toward the stage. “Forgive me for interrupting you. Enjoy the rest of the conference, Dr. Landry.”

She smiled serenely at him and was gone, striding on stage with even clicks of her four-inch matte pumps, the muscles of her shapely calves hypnotic to Jameson’s green eyes.

Why does she have to be so damned beautiful and eloquent? Why can’t she be some pinched-face shrew or a hippie who reeks of patchouli?

“Are you all right, Jameson?”

He realized he was still staring after Audrey when his assistant appeared at his side. Jameson glanced at Tonya and nodded.

“Yeah. I just want to get the hell out of here,” he mumbled, turning away from the wings to head out of the lecture hall. He hadn’t wanted to come to the conference as it was and the three days he’d spent in Amsterdam was enough.

“Tomorrow,” Tonya reminded him. “One more session and you’ll…”

But Jameson had tuned her out, his attention reverting to Audrey McMahon who had taken the stage. She was the picture of calm but assertive confidence, her face gentle but stoic, her perfect figure straight but not rigid.

How the hell does she do that? It’s like there’s two different women in the same body, living in perfect synch with one another.

“…easier to believe that we can take the bull by the horns but science dictates that the human psyche is very sensitive and will crack if too much pressure is applied. The key is not always to push, but to nurture our subconscious, and if you learn to do that, you will find yourself tapped into a reserve of power that you could not possibly imagine.”

Jesus Christ. How can she be a PhD with her new-aged psychobabble? This is why I hate these conferences so much. They let anyone in here now. I bet they’ll be doing tarot readings at lunch.

“Jameson?”

He grunted and looked at Tonya who stared at him expectantly.

“I need to go back to my suite and grab some stuff,” he told her and he saw the disappointment in her face.

And then there’s this one. When we get back to the States, she and I are going to have a long discussion about what the end game of all these sessions was.

That was going to be easier said than done. Tonya Glass had been at his side almost from the day he’d graduated from Colombia Med. She had started as a secretary at his small but reputable practice in New York to urging him to work more in the public eye.

Before Jameson knew what was happening, he was fully booked both day and night, practicing psychiatry and rubbing elbows with the upper east side elite where he was quickly invited to speak at charities and medical conferences. Jameson didn’t need to be told that the bookings he received were a result of Tonya’s hard work. He hated the social aspect of it, the pushing of his beliefs on the public, like he was peddling himself — he just needed to take a step back and decide if he continued with the direction Tonya and his career was taking him.

It’s not like I’m trying to sell a book like some people, he thought bitterly, his eyes again resting on Audrey McMahon. But he could hardly complain. He was well-respected, wealthy and ultimately doing what he loved, even if he could do without the speaking engagements.

The problem was, he knew that there was bound to be another shoe to drop in one form or another.

And why do I feel like Tonya’s going to be the one to deliver that blow?

“I was hoping we could have lunch together,” Tonya told him and he shook his dark head of hair, forcing an apologetic smile.

“I’m heading to the gym,” he told her. “We’re invited to the embassy tonight, remember? I’m not great company right now.” He said, trying to soften the tension he heard in his own voice. “I need to get away from people for a bit, before we join more of them tonight. Is everything okay?”

“Oh yeah,” she assured him quickly, flashing him a quick smile. “I mean, I guess it can wait if you need to reboot, before tonight’s commitment.”

He nodded at her gratefully.

“Thanks, Tonya. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

“There’s nothing to make up,” she assured him. “Do you need anything? Should I arrange for a massage to follow your workout?”

“No, I’ll just have a soak in the jacuzzi and get myself in the right headspace again,” he replied. “I’ll catch up with you in the lobby tonight, all right? Six, right?”

“Six,” she replied, nodding and again, he noticed the shadow in her eyes.

“Tonya, is something wrong?”

Again she shook her head and adjusted her glasses.

“Nothing that can’t wait,” Tonya insisted.

“Okay then. See you tonight.” He said turning away. He turned back in time to see her disappear back through the hall and out of his sight, an odd uneasiness growing in his gut.

She is such an anomaly. He couldn’t fault the work she did for him, but he also couldn’t dismiss the feeling that something else was at play with her.

It was a feeling he’d had probably a hundred times in the past fifteen years but the reason never seemed to surface.

Was it possible that Tonya had simply come to see his successes as her own? At one time, he had considered that she was attracted to him and had expected a romantic future with him but that was before he realized that she was a lesbian.

He shoved the thought of Tonya out of his mind for the time being and cast one last look at Audrey McMahon. To his surprise, she looked directly back at him, a coquettish smile playing on her lips as their eyes met. A wave of sexual heat swept through Jameson, it surprised him, given his issues with her ...

No, not her, her methods.

She’s a scam artist, he reminded himself firmly, wrenching his eyes away at exactly the same time as Audrey turned her sights back to the audience who was captivated by her husky voice, but he couldn’t help but remain in place and listen to the end of her speech, despite his professional disdain.

“…percentage of the human mind remains unexplored,” she was saying, her voice even and soothing. “But even as a doctor, as a woman of science and logic, I will accept that there are matters in this world which are mysteries. There was a time when our ancestors believed that hurricanes and forest fires were the rage of the gods. Until we learned about climate and weather. There was a time when the flu killed millions of people and the mortality rate of disease was 50/50 ... as our knowledge has grown so have our survival rates.

“The same can be said of the human mind and body. We continue to learn, to explore and we don’t simply accept what we’ve been told as gospel now. Yes, we believe in science. But as a scientist, you also must admit that there are things we do not understand and embrace that.”

Yeah. By meditating and burning incense, Jameson thought sarcastically. Audrey’s head whipped around and she eyed him with narrowed eyes.

Fuck! Did I say that out loud?

He was sure he hadn’t, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Audrey had heard him anyway.

Maybe I really do need to go pound the punching bag around, he told himself, pivoting away from the stage and moving toward the lobby.

A quick survey of the entrance showed him that Tonya had likely returned to her room. Suddenly, he felt more than heard a dull buzzing sound. The subtle sound seemed to come from inside his head, yet he looked around warily, anyways, searching for the source of the uncomfortable sound.

How can a sound be uncomfortable? he asked himself subconsciously.

Suddenly, Jameson was overwhelmed with the thought of going to the bar for a drink.

The idea stunned him and he stood in the lobby, blinking for several seconds, trying to broaden his focus, which had suddenly narrowed down to that almost palpable desire for liquor.

A drink? He thought, the words making his mouth water. He could almost taste the whiskey on his tongue, burning down his throat and warming his gut.

One drink. Why not?

He wasn’t sure who owned the voice urging his feet toward the restaurant bar, but he felt like he’d been taken over somehow, even though he was in full control of his body.

Slowly, he sat on a high-backed leather stool at the counter and waited for the bartender to notice him.

“Dr. Landry, right?” the young man asked, a warm smile forming on his lips. “I heard you speak last night. Your views are very progressive and thought-provoking, sir.”

Jameson barely heard him, his eyes darting over the liquor bottles behind the kid.

“Do you serve this early in the morning?” Was that really his voice sounding so monotone?

The bartender’s face broke into a broad beam, before stating “This is Amsterdam, Dr. Landry. We serve at all hours of the morning. What can I get for you?”

Jameson shook his head slightly.

“Nothing,” he muttered, sliding off the chair and turning away.

“Nothing?” the bartender echoed in confusion.

“No. I don’t drink.”

Jameson hurried away before any more questions could come at him and he made his way toward the elevators, jabbing the button impatiently.

He was disturbed by what had happened for more reasons than one.

What Jameson had said to the bartender was true; he didn’t drink. Never had, not even in his teens to sample at a frat party.

So where had the insurmountable desire come from?

The elevator opened and Jameson hurried in, as if trying to escape the lingering uneasiness from drowning him.

But it was never that easy to escape the ghosts which chased, not when they had all the answers and he had only a memory full of holes.