CHAPTER 1
Grace
I took a deep breath, and as I stepped through the front door, I reminded myself that people go to psychiatrists all the time. It’s perfectly normal, and there was nothing for me to embarrassed about. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop me from feeling like an awkward mess as I stepped up to the front desk. The secretary greeted me with a smile, and once she’d gotten my name, she announced my arrival to Dr. Michael Pratt. He 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 with Dr. Pratt, but she assured me it was best clinic in the area and I had nothing to worry about. After filling out the routine paperwork, the secretary led me down a short hallway. With every step, I was feeling more confident in my decision to see Dr. Pratt. His secretary was friendly, sweet even, and the building was clean and beautifully decorated. It was classy, yet comforting. I was feeling really good.
Then, Dr. Michael Pratt, DPM opened the door to his office, and I felt like the rug had been pulled from under my feet, causing me to land flat on my ass. He was nothing like I’d imagined. He wasn’t old and gray, or frail and meek. Instead, he was like some kind of Adonis, with a face that stopped you dead in your tracks—and a body to match. Who would’ve guessed that a shrink could be so damn good-looking? As I stood there staring at him, all those good feelings I’d felt just minutes earlier took a nosedive out the window. I felt the air rush from my lungs, and like a boa constrictor wrapping its body around my chest, I could barely take a breath. What the hell was I supposed to do now? I was there to talk to him about my most intimate problems. Oh, no. There was no way that was going to happen. The ghosts in my closet were going to remain securely locked away in the vault.
His eyes lit up as he stepped forward and smiled. “Well, hello there, Ms. Parker. I’m Michael Pratt.” He extended his hand, and by some force of nature, I actually managed to force a smile and shake his hand. “Why don’t you come in and make yourself comfortable?”
I should’ve just turned and walked away, keeping all my neurosis 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 walked past him and headed over to the sofa. He sat down in the recliner in front of me, and once we were both settled, he gave me another warm smile. “Well, Ms. Parker. What brings you in to see me today?”
It was bad enough that the man was hot—I mean the heart-racing, bring a sweat to your brow, panty-melting kind of hot—but then he had to have one of those voices that made my toes curl. It was low and sultry, sexy as hell, and made my entire body hum. 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.” 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 tried to muster a smile as I said, “And…Umm…you can call me Grace.”
“Okay. Grace, it is.” 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, looking at 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 help me, but I knew he was just like all the others. On the outside, he looked like the perfect guy—with his handsome face and his high-dollar, navy blue, double-breasted jacket and perfectly pressed white button-down shirt, but I knew he was just one step away from 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. But that didn’t stop me from glaring at him like he’d just kicked my poodle. When I didn’t speak, he tried once again. “Why don’t you start by telling me a little something about yourself?”
Avoiding the question, I quickly glanced around the room. It wasn’t your everyday counselor’s office. Instead, it looked like something a pristine lawyer might have, or maybe some wealthy stockbroker on Wall Street. It was extravagantly decorated with beautiful hand-painted canvases on the walls, a large, comfy leather sofa, which I was sitting on, and a large oak desk that was out of this world. I could only assume that 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 a response.
Knowing I had to say something, I answered, “I’m twenty-eight years old. I grew up in Westchester, New York. And I’ve been a news journalist for the Dupont Times for the past four years.”
“Hmm. Okay.” I watched as he wrote something down on his notepad. I’d barely given him anything. I’d been short and to the point on purpose, and yet, there he was evaluating my every word. I was being a total hypocrite. It was his job, but I couldn’t stop myself from feeling frustrated. 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 with a dramatic sigh of boredom. I knew I was behaving like a total bitch, but I just couldn’t stop myself. It was like a train wreck and I was sitting behind the wheel. “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.”
Oh, good grief. Formative years. Really?
“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 put 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?”
“What about them?”
“Were you close as well?” he pushed.
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 sad. My father meant everything to me. He was the only one that seemed to understand me, that loved me without condition, and I missed him every single day. 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’d 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’ve been a disappointment to her.”
Again, he remained silent.
“She wanted everything in our lives to be perfect. She wanted us to be perfect, especially me.”
His head cocked to the side as he asked, “How so?”
I shrugged. “I just never seemed to live up to her expectations. I wasn’t skinny enough. My hair wasn’t straight enough. I didn’t wear the right clothes, or my 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 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. “My sister is 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 the tingling of my nerves 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 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 the one who’s failing at life.”
His tone changed slightly as he asked, “Why does she think that?”
“Because, I’m not a size zero. I’m not married. I don’t have a boyfriend. 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’d 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. “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 eye that I hadn’t seen before, and it became even more apparent when his eyes slowly drifted down my body. If I hadn’t known better, I’d say that he was doing it in a rather seductive manner, but it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Ignoring the intense look in his eye, 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.”
The vault—the one that I’d promised myself to keep securely locked—was about to be blown wide open. I couldn’t help myself. I tried to fight it, but the words just came flowing right out of my mouth. There was something about this Michael Pratt that had me sharing things about myself that I never shared with anyone. However, there was one thing I knew for certain; I had one secret, one humiliating, awful secret, that I would never share—at least I hoped I wouldn’t.