12

“I wrote her an email.” Lawrence chewed the corner of his thumbnail as he stared out the window in the therapy room. “I wanted to send her pictures.”

Donovan kept his sigh to himself but couldn’t contain the frown. “What kind of pictures did you send?”

Lawrence’s gaze shifted over to Marin, who was sitting prim and poised at Donovan’s left, taking notes. She’d taken out her contacts after lunch and put on her glasses. The sight of her was driving Donovan to distraction. He’d told her this morning that he saw her as a stranger because he could tell their past was making her feel off-balance, but he was so full of shit. Sure, she was a stranger in many ways, but the ways in which she was familiar were far too vivid in his mind. He’d had to fight all day to keep his focus on his clients. And apparently it was taking Lawrence’s focus as well, but for different reasons.

Lawrence gnawed harder on his hangnail and looked back to Donovan. “Personal photos.”

Which meant dick pics, or worse. Great.

Lawrence had been obsessed with a particular porn star for the last year, and Donovan had been trying to help him detach from that fantasy, to go out in the world and date real women, but Lawrence was regressing.

“What did you think the email and pictures would accomplish?” The question came from Marin.

Donovan looked her way, pleased that she’d jumped in. He’d sensed Marin’s nerves and her hesitation in sessions today. She was confident when talking with him in between appointments, and her assessments of the clients were pretty spot-on. But once she was face-to-face with them, that confidence collapsed.

Plus, she was way too easy to read. Even when her poker face was in place, her body language and tendency to blush were giving her away. On one level, he thought it was sexy as hell. He could imagine the things he could do or say to her to coax that kind of reaction from her. But for work purposes, she wasn’t going to make it long if she didn’t loosen up and relax in the sessions. Her blushing was the equivalent of an M.D. grimacing or saying Oh, gross when a patient revealed some medical issue.

Lawrence shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable that Marin had spoken at all. Not surprising. Lawrence knew how to objectify fantasy women, not speak to real ones. “I thought maybe if I tried to talk to her and sent her pics, she’d email me back. I . . .” His jaw twitched and his gaze flicked toward the window again. “I’ve got a big cock, you know, so I thought she’d be into that.”

Marin’s lips pressed together as she obviously tried to temper her reaction and not roll her eyes or something. “I see.”

Donovan was proud of how mild and unaffected she sounded. He made a note. “Did she respond to the email?”

A secret smile touched Lawrence’s lips. “She did. She said I was hot and that she was sorry she couldn’t be there with me, but she sent me a code to get a discount off of her body mold so I could, you know, fuck her. I ordered one.”

Fan-frigging-tastic. Donovan wanted to tap his head against the wall. All the progress from previous sessions was unraveling before his eyes.

Marin’s eyebrows lifted in question as she looked Donovan’s way.

He could tell she didn’t want to ask and seem uninformed, so he threw her a rope. “So when you say body mold, you mean the sex toy that’s specifically shaped like Rebecca Bling’s anatomy.”

“Yeah, pussy and ass.” The pleasure in Lawrence’s voice was bordering on giddy. He’d slipped into fixation mode. He wasn’t looking at either of them anymore. He’d gone into his head. “I don’t know why I didn’t get one before now. It’s like fucking the real thing, especially with that lube that heats up. I rubbed my dick raw this weekend.”

He grinned, but then he lifted his head, apparently remembering that there was a woman in the room, and winced. “Why the hell does she have to be here again?”

Marin sat there stoically, but her fair skin took on that telltale shade of pink again. Donovan couldn’t tell if it was embarrassment or anger. Either way it was not going to go over well.

Donovan put down his pen. “Because Dr. Rush is training with me and is here to help.”

“Look at her. She’s fucking judging me is what she’s doing,” Lawrence said, his voice going snide, the spoiled-rich-kid side coming out. “How am I supposed to talk about this stuff when some chick is staring at me like I’m a pervert? I want her to leave.”

Marin blinked, her spine going poker straight, and she looked to Donovan, clearly unsure on how to proceed.

Donovan lifted a finger, silently asking her to give him a second. “You have the right to not have her observe, Lawrence, but maybe we should think through this for a moment. It seems like you’re getting angry because Dr. Rush’s presence has triggered some reaction in you. She’s not looking at you like you’re a pervert, but maybe that’s a fear you’re having. That this behavior makes you a pervert?”

“Fuck that noise. I’m just doing what everyone else does and doesn’t have the balls to say out loud.” He sent daggers Marin’s way. “Dr. Proper over there probably has a big fake cock at her house to shove inside her. I don’t see what’s the difference.”

Marin’s face went full red now, and Donovan had to wrestle back his own flash of anger. He sat forward. “The way you’re talking to Dr. Rush is beyond inappropriate, Lawrence, and you know it. I’m going to ask you to apologize to her, and we’re going to end things early today and schedule another session for next week. I expect you to come back then and be ready to work instead of lashing out.”

“You want me to leave? I’m paying for this fucking session.” Defiance sparked in Lawrence’s eyes.

Donovan almost pointed out that no, his parents actually were, but that would’ve been petty and would’ve risked Lawrence giving up on treatment altogether. Lawrence stared at him like he expected an answer, used to getting his way when he threw a man tantrum. But when Donovan didn’t budge or say anything more, Lawrence launched himself off the couch and stalked toward the door, throwing out a whatever. When he passed Marin, he mumbled a sorry but didn’t look her way or slow his stride.

The door slammed behind him, and the pictures rattled on the walls. Silence ensued for a few long seconds until Marin sagged in her seat and groaned. “Well, that went great. Gold star, Dr. Rush!”

Donovan smirked, tossed his notepad onto the nearby desk, and then stretched his neck from side to side. “Nah, it wasn’t that bad.”

She looked over at him like he’d told her turtles could fly. “Now I know you’re bullshitting me. The guy just walked out because of me.”

“No, he walked out because of him. Lawrence’s biggest issue is that he objectifies women and fixates on them as tools for his pleasure. He got himself in trouble in high school because he got obsessed with a girl and started following her home and peeking in her windows. That’s when his parents originally started him in therapy.”

She frowned.

“He’s moved on to a safer target in the porn star but not healthier. I mean, how apropos that he literally has a piece of a woman to use now? No face, no brain, no words.” He ran his hand over the back of his head. “He’s taken a big step back. It’s frustrating. But having to deal with your reactions today—a real woman who has thoughts and opinions—could be therapeutic.”

She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “I don’t know. That felt like a disaster. We had to end the session early.”

He shrugged. “Clients are going to get pissed. You expose the vulnerable spots, and people are going to react like wounded animals. It’s part of the deal. You use that anger to get to the stuff you need if you have to. And you always, always keep your cool.”

“So was I looking at him a certain way?”

Donovan leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees. “You weren’t looking at him like he was a pervert. That was him projecting his feelings about himself onto you. But you did blush again, and that can be a problem in sessions. You’ve done it a few times today and most of the time it went unnoticed. But if they see it, it can make clients feel like they should be ashamed if you’re embarrassed.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Shit.”

“Don’t stress. You can train yourself out of it.”

She peered over at him. “Right. And how would I do that? It’s not like I want to blush. I’ve been fighting that particular affliction since grade school.”

“Easy. You have to learn how to be unshockable.”

She sniffed. “The nature of shock is that you’re surprised by something you don’t see coming. How the hell can I prepare for what I don’t know will shock me?”

“Oh, don’t give me that, Rush. You have a good idea of what will do it.” He rolled his chair over to hers so that he was facing her, their knees almost touching. This wasn’t an issue he’d ever come across with another trainee, but it was one they were going to have to fix. Starting now. “Okay. What if I said, ‘I like to cut my thighs with a razor when I’m having a hard day’?”

He said it with a straight face. Truth usually came out that way. Even if this one was a past truth not a current one.

A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “I’d say we need to talk about the dangers of self-harm and work on finding alternative ways to release stress or emotion.”

He nodded. “Good. Now what if I said, ‘I like to dig my nails into my thigh when I masturbate’?”

Sometimes true.

Sure enough, her cheeks stained pink. She licked her lips. “I’d say if that works for you, go for it.”

The soft cadence of her voice and the sight of her tongue slipping over her lips distracted him for a second. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to be the one getting too warm. He reached over and touched her hot cheek. “There’s your answer, Marin.”

She seemed startled for a second, something unreadable flickering in her gaze, and then she turned her face away with a grimace.

He lowered his hand to his side, knowing he shouldn’t have allowed himself that touch in the first place. He dragged his focus back, trying to remind his brain that this was work and he was training her. “Society teaches us to react that way when people talk about sex. It’s not your fault. But in this job, you have to lose that or it will be your downfall.”

Her jaw flexed. “Believe me, I get that. But I’m not sure how to get past it—beyond time and a lot of sessions. I don’t want to be screwing up with clients in the meantime.”

Annoyance filled her tone. Annoyance at herself. He loved that she was so determined to get everything right. To be perfect right out of the gate. It was an impossible goal, but he admired that she set it for herself anyway.

Donovan leaned back in his chair and considered her. He should probably leave it at that, just let her work it out over time. That’d be the prudent course. Eventually, she’d get to the been-there-heard-that stage. But that could take a while, and he knew it would drive her crazy. She was a perfectionist. She was going to beat herself up over any mistake. And if she didn’t fix it quickly enough, she’d fall victim to the dark side of perfectionism. Quitting. She’d bail because imperfection was too uncomfortable. He’d have failed her. And lost his promotion and maybe his job in the process. No way could he let any of that happen.

He clasped the back of his neck and rubbed the tension gathering there. He’d told Elle that he’d stop by after work for a chat. He hadn’t gone over to her place since the morning he’d had to sneak out half-dressed. They needed to talk, cut the ties. But the whole idea of seeing her tonight had dread curling through him. He checked his watch. “What are you doing later tonight?”

Marin looked up at the shift in subject, brows scrunched. “Unpacking more boxes, why?”

“I’ve got an idea. There may be a way to tackle this issue guerrilla style.”

“Uh . . .”

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the screen. An appointment reminder for his weekly call with the private investigator he’d hired to work on his parents’ case. He stood to get his things. “Look, I’ve got a few things to take care of this afternoon but can you meet me by the east side fountains around seven? I’ll explain more then.”

“Explain more about what?”

He headed toward the door, his mind already formulating a plan. A risky one. But a plan nonetheless. “Just trust me, okay? I think I have a way to help.”

She frowned for a moment, and he thought she was going to refuse, but then she stood and shrugged. “Sure, whatever you say, boss.”

“I’m not your boss.” The words came out sharper than he intended them to.

Her brows arched. “O-kay, mentor. Does it matter?”

“Yeah. It does.” He stopped in the doorway, his hand braced on it and peered back at her. “I can’t be your boss. Because if what I have in mind is going to work, it’s going to have to be strictly off the clock and off the record.”

Her eyes widened. “Donovan . . .”

He tapped the doorframe. “See you at seven, Rush.”