I stepped through the front door and took a deep breath, reminding myself that people go to psychiatrists all the time. It was perfectly normal and quite common, and there was nothing for me to be embarrassed about. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop me from feeling like an awkward mess as I hesitantly stood by the front desk while the receptionist opened the window.

“Good morning.” I was greeted with a warm smile. “May I help you?”

“Oh, um … yes, I have an appointment with Dr. Michaels.”

“Okay. Just sign in, and I’ll get you some forms to fill out.” After she handed me a clipboard with the routine paperwork attached, I turned around and found myself a seat in the waiting room. Just as I was about to finish the paperwork, I heard my name called.

“Grace Parker.” The secretary held the door open and led me down a short hallway. Dr. Michaels was one of the therapists at the clinic my coworker had referred me to. I wasn’t exactly thrilled that she hadn’t actually met the good doctor, but she assured me it was the best clinic in the area. With that thought in mind, I was starting to feel more confident in my decision to see the doctor. His secretary was friendly, sweet even, and the building was clean and beautifully decorated. It was classy, yet comforting, leaving me with a really good feeling.

Then, Dr. Seth Michaels, DPM, opened the door to his office and I felt like the rug was pulled out from under my feet, landing me flat on my ass. He was nothing like I’d imagined—he wasn’t old and gray or frail and meek. No, he was like some kind of Adonis with a face that stopped me dead in my tracks and a drool-worthy body to match. I would’ve never dreamed that a shrink could be so damn good-looking. As I stood there staring at him, all those good feelings from just minutes earlier completely vanished. The air seemed to rush from my lungs, and like a boa constrictor wrapping its body around my chest, I could barely take a breath. I had no idea what to do. I was there to talk to him about my most intimate problems, but there was no way in hell that was going to happen. The ghosts in my closet were going to remain securely locked away in the vault where they belonged.

His eyes lit up as he stepped forward and smiled. “Well, hello there, Ms. Parker. I’m Seth Michaels.” He extended his hand as I managed to come to my senses … well, enough to smile and shake it. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?”

I hated the name Ms. Parker. It made me feel like I’d suddenly aged twenty years, not to mention it reminded me of my mother. I apprehensively answered, “Umm … you can call me Grace.”

“Okay. Grace, it is.” I nodded as he motioned for me to take a seat. I should’ve just turned and walked away, keeping all my neuroses intact along with what was left of my self-esteem. But something, a force I couldn’t even begin to understand, compelled me to walk into his office. Every nerve in my body twitched as I made my way past him and headed over to the sofa. He sat down in the brown leather recliner in front of me, and once we were both settled, he gave me another warm smile. “Well, Grace. What brings you in to see me today?”

I looked at him sitting there, assessing me with those gorgeous green eyes, and I couldn’t imagine telling him why I was really there. So, I lied.

“I’m not exactly sure.”

He paused for a moment, studying me as I sat there with my blank expression. I wasn’t making it easy for him. I knew that, but I couldn’t stop myself. The longer I sat there, ogling his chiseled jaw and broad shoulders, the more aggravated I became. I could feel it churning inside of me. Sure, he was a therapist. He was there to listen and help me with my problems, but I feared that he would end up being just like all the others. On the outside he looked like the perfect guy—with his tailored, navy blue, double-breasted jacket, a crisp, white button-down shirt, and sinfully fitting dark denim jeans, not to mention his godlike handsome features. A girl would think he’d be the kind of man who would make their dreams come true—but I did my best to avoid men like him, fearing he’d just end up being another disappointment. It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t help the fact that he was hot, that he was the epitome of sex, and that just looking at him brought a thousand unfulfilled fantasies to my mind.

When I didn’t speak, he tried once again. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little something about yourself?”

“Um … Well, I’m twenty-eight years old … and I grew up in Westchester, New York,” I told him as I glanced around the room, quickly becoming distracted by my surroundings. It wasn’t your everyday counselor’s office. Instead, it looked like something a successful lawyer might have, or maybe some wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street. It was extravagantly decorated with beautiful hand-painted canvases on the walls, an over-sized, leather sofa, which I was currently sitting on, and a stunning, large oak desk. I could only assume that someone had decorated it for him—maybe his wife—no scratch that. I’d noticed earlier that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so maybe it was an interior decorator who had done it for him. Regardless, it was one of the nicest offices I’d ever seen. When he clicked his pen, my attention was drawn back over to him. His eyes were focused directly on me as he sat there waiting for me to continue with my response.

I sighed and answered, “And ... I’ve been a news journalist at the Dupont Times for the past four years.”

“Hmm. Okay.” He wrote something down on his notepad, which I couldn’t imagine what, because I barely gave him anything. I’d been short and to the point on purpose, hoping that I wouldn’t divulge too much, and I couldn’t help but wonder what he’d written down. After jotting down his notes, he looked back at me and asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

“Yes. I have a sister, Mia.”

“Is she older or younger?”

“She’s four years older than me,” I answered nervously. I looked back at the door and cursed myself for not leaving when I had the chance. There was little I could do about it now, so I answered, “She lives in Ridgefield with her two kids and her husband, Roger.”

“Would you say the two of you were close growing up?”

“Yes.”

“Really? I’m sure that wasn’t easy with her being so much older, especially in your formative years.”

“There were times when it wasn’t exactly easy, but we made the best of it.” My sister was one of those compassionate types—always understanding and putting others before herself. She wasn’t one to hold grudges or throw your mistakes in your face. Nothing at all like me.

“And your parents? Are you close as well?”

He rested his pen in his lap, and I suddenly felt a little more relaxed. Without meaning to, I let my guard down for a moment and answered, “I guess. I was very close to my father.”

“Was?”

“He died a couple of years ago,” I answered, trying my best not to sound too heartbroken. My father meant everything to me. He was the only one who seemed to understand me, who loved me without condition, and I missed him every single day. I knew he would want to discuss the loss of my father, but it wasn’t something I talked about—ever.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a parent can be very difficult.”

He had no idea. “Thanks, but it was a long time ago.”

I hoped that he would move on, come up with another intrusive question, but he didn’t. He just sat there waiting for me to continue. I waited several long seconds, but the silence got to be too much. “My mother and I have had our moments, but for the most part, I think I’ve been a disappointment to her.”

Again, he remained silent.

“She means well, but she wants everything in our lives to be perfect. She wants us to be perfect, especially me.”

His head cocked to the side as he asked, “How so?”

I shrugged. “It just little things that she says. She’s constantly giving me advice about everything, and it makes me feel like I’m not living up to her expectations. I’m not skinny enough. My hair isn’t straight enough. I don’t wear the right clothes or makeup … It’s never-ending.”

His long fingers raked through his short, perfectly-groomed brown hair, which immediately fell back into place when his hand ran along the nape of his neck, then back down to his lap. “Do you really feel like she expects more from you than she does your sister?”

My eyes skirted to the floor as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. It was a sore subject, but one I’d come accustomed to over the years. “Well, my sister is pretty much perfect. She has a great job, an amazing figure, and she has two wonderful kids and a great husband. There’s nothing for my mother to be disappointed about where she’s concerned. I, on the other hand, am a different story.”

The sound of his pen clicking echoed through the room, and I could actually feel my nerves tingling as I watched his teeth toy with his bottom lip. The wheels were turning in his head, and I desperately wanted to know what he was thinking. Had I already given away too much? He quickly wrote something on his notepad, and a part of me wondered if he already knew the answer when he asked, “And how are you so different?”

“Because she thinks I’m making a mess of my life.”

His tone changed slightly as he asked, “Why does she think that?”

“Because I’m not married. I don’t have a boyfriend. Oh, and the clock on my ovaries is ticking like a giant time bomb.” I couldn’t believe I just told him all that. I had every intention of keeping things simple, away from the hard stuff, but I’d just opened the door to the vault. Shit. Trying to force it closed again, I grumbled, “Enough said.”

The room fell into silence as he looked at me with a puzzled expression. I guess I surprised him. I’m not sure which part threw him off, but there was no mistaking the stunned look on his face. When he didn’t respond, I continued, “Personally, I don’t think she could be more wrong. A man is the last thing I need in my life.”

That comment seemed to shock him even more as he cocked his head to the side and clicked his stupid pen, again. “I’d like to further discuss your last statement in just a moment, but let’s take a step back before we continue. So, you’re not seeing anyone right now?”

“No.”

There was another dramatic pause as he shifted in his chair. I noticed a flicker of intrigue in his eyes, which I hadn’t seen before, and it became even more apparent when his gaze slowly drifted down my body. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that he was doing it in a rather seductive manner, or maybe it was just my mind playing tricks on me, right? Ignoring the intense look in his eyes, I leaned back on the sofa and sighed. “I was seeing someone, but it just didn’t work out. He was a self-centered jerk, which seems to be the status quo with all the men I date.”

“Do you care to elaborate on that?”

A sexy smile spread across his face, and as much as I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help but let my guard down even more. “Which part?”

“The status quo?”

“I seem to have the same issues with every man I date.”

I tried to fight it, but the words just came flowing right out of my mouth. There was something about Seth Michaels that had me telling things about myself that I’d never shared with anyone, and it terrified me. If I wasn’t careful, I would end up revealing that one secret— that one humiliating secret—that I’d never shared with anyone.