9

One month later

Marin tried to keep the giddy smile off her face as she and Nate unloaded the moving truck and carried their things into their new two-bedroom cottage. When Dr. Suri had offered her the job and told her that free housing was involved, she’d nearly spun around in a circle and broken into song.

In that moment, she hadn’t cared that this was a probationary appointment or that Donovan West was burning a hole into the side of her head and clearly didn’t want her here. She had a job, a place to stay, and would have enough money to send Nate to school as long as she got the permanent position. And there was no goddamned way she wasn’t going to. She had six months to prove herself, and she would do whatever it took to make it happen. The salary they’d offered and this house were like winning a small lottery. She wasn’t going to be rolling around in dollar bills on her bed or anything, but that ever-crushing stress of living paycheck to paycheck would go away. She’d be comfortable.

And this house . . . God. When they’d said they had housing, she’d expected something stark and dorm-like, but these cottages were posh. Gorgeous refinished wood floors, high ceilings, period details mixed with high-end appliances and furniture. They’d taken simple houses that had been built for staff when it was an asylum and decked them out. And the look on the outside was pure New Orleans with its pale pink clapboard and raised foundation. Marin imagined it had seen a lot in its years—survived floods and famines and hurricanes. Somehow she was comforted by that, made the place feel solid and dependable beneath her feet. And the view out the windows of the trees and gardens was stunning. It was a fairy-tale cottage. One that put every other place they’d ever lived in to shame.

But despite the nice digs, Nathan was less than thrilled about the arrangement, so Marin was trying to keep her enthusiasm in check. Nate had planned to spend his last summer before college with Henry and his high school friends, but Marin had told him that if he wanted to go to art school, this was the price. He’d have to live with her at The Grove for the summer before moving into the dorms at school. He’d agreed, but now she had a sulky, lovelorn teenager on her hands.

She understood where the angst was coming from, but he was going to have to get over it. She had her own angst to mull over. New job. New city. Donovan fucking West. She stacked a third box on a pile of two. “Lots of pretty scenery to paint around here. You can get some practice on landscapes.”

Nate didn’t look her way. “Uh-huh.”

She frowned and tried again. “What time do I need to bring you into the city for your interviews?”

At her behest, he’d applied to a few jobs. She needed him occupied. Otherwise, he’d mope all summer. But instead of applying in Bellemeade, the small town that was a few miles outside The Grove, he’d applied to places in New Orleans—art galleries, coffee shops, photography studios. It was forty-five minutes away, which she didn’t love, but she’d compromised. The kid was an artist. He craved the city. Maybe if he fell in love with New Orleans, it would ease the separation from his friends and boyfriend.

Nate shrugged. “You don’t need to bring me. I can take the bike.”

She scowled. Nate had saved up all his money from his after-school job for a used motorcycle. She hated the whole idea of it, but he’d reminded her that he’d turned eighteen last week and could make the call. She didn’t give a shit about the age thing, but he’d also reminded her that they couldn’t live on one car anymore. She’d be stranded every day when he went into the city to work. Plus, he’d need something once school started. She hadn’t been able to win against the practical argument. But she didn’t have to like it.

“Make sure you wear your helmet every time and don’t speed. And always have your inhaler with you and—”

He lifted a hand. “I got it, all right? Don’t do stupid shit that will get you killed.”

“Yes. Good advice in all situations.”

He shoved his hand in his pockets. “Do they have Internet here? I told Henry I’d Skype when we got here.”

She headed to the kitchen where her welcome packet was and pulled out the card with the Internet code. “Campus-wide wireless.”

He plucked the card from her fingers and grabbed his laptop. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Tell Henry I said hi.”

He grunted.

She rolled her eyes and went back to unpacking. But just as she opened one of the kitchen boxes, there was a light knock on the back door. She’d left only the screen door closed, so when she looked up, she saw Oriana giving her a little wave. “Welcome wagon’s here.”

Marin smiled and abandoned the box. “Come on in. It’s not locked.”

Oriana swung open the door. Today she wasn’t in her white coat but instead looked to be heading out for a summer stroll in pale yellow capris, big sunglasses, and a sleeveless white shirt. She had a potted plant in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. She lifted both toward Marin by way of greeting. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Ooh, thanks.” She took both from Oriana and gave the plant a sniff. “Mmm, basil.”

“It’s from the community garden we have near the children’s building. Basil brings good luck to a new home. And wine brings good luck to everything.” She leaned against the counter, glancing around. “You also may want to burn some sage to cleanse whatever bad energy is left from the last resident. He got fired for hooking up with a patient. Very scandalous.”

Marin lifted a brow as she brought the plant to the sunny window over the sink and set it on the sill. She put the wine on the counter. “Cleansing bad energy? A doctor who believes in superstition?”

Her lips lifted at the corner. “I grew up in New Orleans. It’s a requirement to have a healthy respect for otherworldly things. Plus, my grandmother was big into natural remedies and taught me a lot about them. Some work. Some don’t. Some have a placebo effect. But the clients here like a holistic approach, so it’s good to have some tricks up your sleeve.” She gave a wistful sigh. “I’m still waiting for that love spell to kick in with that hot orderly on the inpatient ward, though.”

Marin laughed. “I’m afraid to ask what’s involved in that.”

She sniffed. “Mostly longing looks from me as I pass him in the hallway. We’re both too smart to risk our jobs over a hot interlude in the supply closet. Though, sometimes I wonder . . . May be worth it.”

Marin scrubbed a hand through her hair, the humidity making it stick to her forehead. “So they’re pretty strict about interoffice stuff here, huh?”

A picture of Donovan rumpled and covered with lipstick marks ran through her mind. She had no idea where he’d been coming from that morning, but it was pretty obvious it was from some woman’s bed.

She shrugged. “I’m not going to say it never happens. With so many of us working long hours and living on-site, it can be a little like boarding school. But it’s best not to get caught. The head honchos don’t want the drama. The clients provide enough of that.”

“I’m sure.”

“Mar, have you seen the charger for my computer? I just lost the—” Nate stepped into the kitchen and stopped talking when he saw Oriana there. “Oh, sorry.”

“Nate, this is Oriana. She’s another psychologist who works here. Oriana, my brother, Nathan.”

Oriana smiled and put her hand out. “You can call me Ori.”

Nate gave her hand a quick shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Marin was pleased to see that despite his pouty mood, he hadn’t forgotten his manners. “I think the charger is in the backseat of the car.”

“Cool. Thanks.” He jogged out the back door, no doubt in a hurry to reconnect his call with Henry.

Ori watched him leave and sent Marin a questioning look. “He’s staying with you?”

“Yeah, he starts art school in New Orleans in the fall, so he’ll be here for the summer.”

“He didn’t want to stay with your family?”

“I am his family. Our mom passed away when he was nine, and no dad in the picture, so I’ve been raising him since then.”

“Wow. I’m sorry about your mom.”

“We’ve done all right.”

“Yeah, he seems like a nice kid. Good looking, too. You better keep him away from east campus. We have a residential teen program, and those girls will fall on him like starving tigers.”

Marin laughed. “He has a boyfriend, so I think he’s safe.”

“Ah, well keep him away from west campus then where the teen boys are. Same threats apply.”

Marin smirked. “Noted. Hey, you want some coffee or something? I think I can find the coffeepot.”

Ori waved a dismissive hand. “No, I’m heading into town to do some shopping. I’m on call tonight, so I have to get out while the getting’s good. I just wanted to stop by and welcome you to the insanity since I know it can be a little intimidating to start here. The place can be kind of cliquey. So know you have at least one friend already.”

Marin reached out and gave Ori’s hand a squeeze. “Thanks. That means a lot. Believe me.”

“We’ll do coffee soon. I expect sordid stories from the X-wing.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She gave one last wave and headed out the door. Marin let out a breath and sat down at the small dining table in the kitchen nook, the drive to Louisiana, the move, and all the transition over the last month catching up to her. She’d been so focused on the money and getting her and Nathan here that she hadn’t let the reality of what was in front of her sink in.

Monday she was starting a job that she had no experience in. And the person responsible for training her didn’t really want her here. Over the past few years, she’d walked into things with confidence because she could stuff her head with the knowledge she needed beforehand. She never had to be off the cuff. She had the tools in her pocket at all times when she went into a research environment. For her dissertation defense, she’d practiced so much that she could’ve recited the thick document by heart. There was no question they could’ve thrown at her that she hadn’t prepared for. But there was no armor she could walk in with Monday.

People were going to want her to fix their sex lives.

Problem was: How was she supposed to do that when hers had started and ended on the same night, at eighteen with the very man she had to report to tomorrow?

She lowered her head to the table and tapped it lightly against the wood.

Time to give a whole new meaning to the term “faking it.”