Groaning, I roll over when my alarm goes off at seven, ripping it clean out of the wall. Why would anyone intentionally get up this early? I know seven won’t seem that early to a majority of people, but it might as well be three in the morning for me. It doesn’t seem right. I rub my eyes, forcing them to stay open as I swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I’m at least sitting up now, even if I’m not really awake.

Welcome to the workforce, Darcy.

When Jim offered to use his connections to get me a job at Emerald Lodge, I was so excited. As far as psychiatric clinics go, Emerald Lodge is the place to be. It’s a private hospital that’s very popular among celebrities who require urgent, inpatient treatment. Working there, fresh out of college is unheard of. People with years of experience under their belt, get rejected because, in an already competitive field, EL is the top choice. But when you’ve got one of the most respected judges in California vouching for you, I guess anything is possible. Somehow, what was supposed to only be an interview turned into a job offer. I was grateful, but in the back of my mind, I worried about what other people might think.

Before I get up, I check to make see if the ad has been deleted. I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been, considering the number of times my phone vibrated through the night. A smarter person than I would’ve gotten up and switched it off or even turned it on silent, but the actual act of getting up wasn’t something I’d been ready to commit to.

I sigh. Just as I thought, the ad is still live. I create a new text, and I add both Katie and Sasha.

Me: If that ad is not removed today, I’m gonna go all postal on your asses.

And now for the fun part. Some of these messages—no, scrap that, all of the messages that have come in fall into three categories: Obscene, disturbing and offensive. Some people were even talented enough to tick all three boxes, so you knew right away, they were going to be a real catch.

I click on the first message and giggle. I turn my phone sideways because I’m not even sure what way it’s supposed to go. I study it for a moment and then I nod decisively. Yep. I definitely understand why this guy is still single. I click on the next message and wince.

Words I never thought I’d say? I’m so sick of cock.

Seriously, I’ve seen more cock than a chicken farm over the last twenty-four hours. If you’re going to insist on sending me a photo of your manhood, then for God’s sake, at least make sure it’s impressive. But do you know what offends me even more than that?

The fact that “Aaron” sent me this at four in the morning.

Four in the fucking morning.

All I can say Is thank God I don’t have notifications hooked up. Does nobody care about first impressions anymore? I guess when you’re sending a dick pic, making a good first impression isn’t high on your list of priorities.

When I can’t avoid it any longer, I reluctantly kick back the blankets and stomp down the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I get dressed and then make my way into the kitchen. After living alone for nearly three years, I moved back in with Mom and Jim last week, because the hospital is literally right there. This is definitely a temporary thing until I find somewhere nearby. I love Mom and Jim—sometimes even Mack is okay, but I love the independence of living alone more and boy do I miss it.

I trudge into the kitchen, put my phone down on the table, then I make myself a coffee. My body is desperate for caffeine, like it is every morning. I don’t function until after at least cup three, which is usually consumed within an hour of getting up. My phone is still buzzing every five minutes, which for someone who’s usually glued to her phone, is as irritating as hell. As I wait for my coffee to be ready, I silently thank Jim for moving in with his stupidly expensive Italian cappuccino maker.

Will they miss it if I take it with me when I move out?

I stand up and throw some bread into the toaster, which I know I’ll have to force myself to eat. I’m not hungry in the slightest, thanks to the fifty different cock pictures I’ve been forced to look at. My phone continues to buzz behind me on the table as I slather my toast with peanut butter.

“Oooh, another sex call.”

I turn around to find Mack holding my phone, reading my messages. He looks up, grins at me and then keeps reading.

That little shit.

I lunge forward and snatch it off him.

“Dude … privacy,” I growl, shaking my head. “Respect it. Reading my texts is not okay.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you shouldn’t leave your phone unattended if you don’t want people reading your messages. But can I just say, these are way more entertaining than Cam’s emails?”

I shake my head at the little smartass.

“Stay out of my shit,” I warn him.

“Which is apparently, what you’ll be saying to these creeps,” Mack cackles.

I reach over to slap the back side of his head while trying not to laugh.

“Have a nice day, Mack. Try not to get yourself expelled, okay?”

He grins at me. “Nah, the teachers love me.”

I bet they do.

I grab my peanut butter toast, drink down the last of my coffee, then head for the door.

The psych facility is just a short drive from home, so less than five minutes later, I’m pulling into the parking lot. I’m shitting myself, which is strange, because I don’t usually get nervous about anything. I just can’t shake the fear that’s floating in the back of my mind … and in my stomach.

What if I hate it?

I’m not even talking about specifically here, at this place, but more psychology in general. I chose it as my major because I had to choose something, and I didn’t know what I wanted. The idea was that when I figured it out, I’d change my major, but I never did. Now, at twenty-three, I’m still not sure what I want and that’s scary as hell to admit.

My phone beeps. I don’t think twice about looking at it, but as soon as I do, I wish I hadn’t.

What kind of sick fuck…

I shudder. That can’t be what I think it is, can it? There is no fucking way someone would take a photo of themselves doing that. Wait, how the hell did he get it all the way up there in the first place? I forward the image to both Katie and Sasha, because if I have to visualize an internal picture of someone taking a dump, then so should they.

Getting out of my car, I walk over to the entrance. As you’d expect, there’s a lot of security before I even make it inside. Security cameras are positioned everywhere and When I finally make it through, there’s a whole new round waiting for me. I get it, with such high-profile celebrities paying a fortune for treatment here, they need to be thorough, but fuck … are they going to pay me for the hour will take to get through this circus every single day?

“Do you have any phones, recording devices, cameras on you?” the guard asks me as he rummages through my bag. “They’re prohibited, you know.”

“None of the above,” I say. “Why are they prohibited, though?”

“Visitors aren’t permitted any devices that may pose a privacy threat. We get a lot of reporters who try to sneak them in, after claiming that they’re here to see a relative,” he explains.

He looks at me like he suspects I’m smuggling all of the above in my anus, so I flash him a smile. There’s no way in hell I’m handing my phone over to this guy. The last thing I need is for the guy I have to walk past every week to think I’m a sexual deviant because he’s been snooping through my phone.

“My phone broke last night,” I explain. “The screen smashed. Damn thing is going to cost a fortune to fix.”

“Yeah,” he finally nods. “My daughter smashed hers last month, so I feel your pain. Though my wallet feels it more.” He chuckles. He reaches for his scanner and my heart drops. “You’re not going to do what my girl did, and go hit up Daddy to fix it for you?”

“Daddy isn’t in the picture, but Judge Hunter is about to be my stepfather, so I guess I could try that …” I muse.

I hate myself so much for namedropping, but desperate times and all that. Thank God, it works. He puts the scanner back down, then gives me a wink.

“Go on,” he mutters, waving me through.

I smile and then I quickly move through, before he can change his mind. The first chance I get, I’ll turn it off and then for tomorrow it stays at home—locked in a drawer, where Mack can’t get his dirty little paws on it.

I sit in an area near the back end of the hospital, waiting. My orientation was supposed to begin nearly twenty minutes ago and the more time that passes, the more on edge I am. I don’t know much about the person who’s supposed to show me around, other than her name is Sarah Sanders. I shift in my seat to tug the hem of my skirt down, which suddenly feels way too short—or maybe it’s just the way Mother Teresa, is scowling at me from behind her desk.

My phone. Shit.

I’m reminded the damn thing is still on when it buzzes softly in my pocket. I wait until the receptionist has turned her back, then I fish it out, but before I can turn it off, a voice startles me. I look up to find a woman in her late thirties smiling at me.

“Darcy?” she guesses.

“Yes,” I quickly reply.

I flash her a confident smile as I stand up, while simultaneously sliding my phone back into my pocket. I’m pretty impressed with my stealth abilities, except I’ve missed everything she’s said to me up to this point.

“Anyway, you’ll learn more about that later,” she says, ushering me into a room.

“Can’t wait.” I grin.

I quickly realize we’re in her office. She closes the door and I sit down in one of the two chairs in front of the desk. I study her as she walks around to her seat. I’m not sure whether I like her or not yet. She’s nice and all, but something about her is … off.

She sinks down into her chair and smiles at me.

“So, a little more about your role.” She glances at me. “I’ll be honest with you and say that we don’t really have a name for what you’ll be doing. We don’t have a dedicated intern program here at all.” She pauses to give me the once over. “You’re the first of your kind to work here.”

The first of my kind? I keep the smile plastered on my face but suddenly I feel the latest attraction at the zoo.

“To begin, you’ll be assisting me. I’ll have you observe at first, then over the coming weeks, we might look at what areas you feel more comfortable with taking on an autonomous role in. I am hoping things like client interaction and our basic group counseling sessions are tasks you’ll feel comfortable enough to lead after a few weeks. Sound good?”

No. It sounds terrifying.

“It sounds fantastic,” is what I actually say.

“Okay, great. Before we progress any further …”

She reaches into her drawer and pulls out a folder, sliding it across the table to me.

“I’ll need for you to fill out this mountain of paperwork. You’ll find in there a confidentiality agreement and a non-disclosure statement. We have a lot of very high-profile people who use our services. Their privacy is extremely important to us.”

I nod. “Of course.”

“I’ll show you to the staff room. Coffee is in there for you if you want while you fill those out.”

A rush of relief hits me. Because coffee.

“Thank you so much,” I say, smiling widely.

“You don’t need to thank me. Just show up on time, work hard, and get as much out of it as you’re giving.”

She rummages through her pockets, a frown on her face.

“I was going to give you my card, so you can page me when you’re done,” she murmurs, her forehead creased. Then she stops, looks up at me and smiles. “Or maybe you can just put it directly into the phone you’ve got hiding in your pocket that you really shouldn’t have on you, without the correct forms being signed?” she suggests, raising her eyebrows.

“I’m sorry, I’ll leave it at home next time,” I promise.

Wow. She has me worked out.

My face heats as she smirks at me. Yeah. I don’t like her.

“How did you even get in here with that?” she asks suspiciously. “The guard should’ve taken it off you.”

“I may have dropped a name or two …”

She smiles knowingly. “Ah, so you’re Judge Hunter’s stepdaughter? That explains why the director was suddenly so eager to create a new role just for you.”

“I’m not his stepdaughter yet, but I will be soon,” I say with a frown, because I’m really not liking her tone.

She nods. “Just so you know, you might be used to dropping names to get what you want, but it’s not going to work with me.”

I groan inwardly.

Great. Now she thinks I’m a leech.

She stands there, eyebrows raised, like she’s waiting for something. I raise mine back.

“Your phone? So that you can save my pager number?” she prompts, a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Right,” I mutter, shoving my hand in my pocket.

As I’m pulling it out, my fingers get caught and press against the phone. Sound blasts through the speakers, startling me enough that I drop it, sending it tumbling under her desk. Not only is it on speaker, but I’ve somehow managed to call my voicemail.

“Hey Arsy …” The voice chuckles.

Shit.

Fuck no, this isn’t happening.

I snap myself out of whatever trance I’m in and drop to my knees. I crawl under her desk, desperate to stop it before he says anything else.

Of course, my phone somehow managed to wedge itself between the filing cabinet and the table, where my fingers are just a little too big to squeeze into. I keep trying though, never mind that my knuckles are slowly being crushed with every tiny bit of ground I manage to gain, all the while the message continues to play.

“Cute name, by the way. I hope your name means you’re into ass play. Nothing too heavy, just some light pegging and maybe the odd fist. I’ll even fulfill your fantasies and dress as a panda. Or whatever—”

Yes.

Got the little fucker. I turn it off, my heart racing.

Thank God for that.

I’m so relieved—until I remember that she heard every last fucking word of that voicemail. I’m still under the table, my ass up in the air and my eyes closed—which is ironically exactly how “Nolan” would want me.

Why didn’t I just cough up my phone when I had the chance? Or better yet, realize that taking it to work might breach their requirements and leave the fucking thing at home?

As much as I want to stay down here until I die, I know I have to face her sooner or later. I only hope it's not so she can tell me the offer of employment has been reconsidered. Slowly I back up when I get to my feet. I can’t make eye contact with her because really, what do you say to someone after that?

“I’m so sorry about that,” I begin. “I was—”

“It’s fine,” she assures me, putting her hand on my arm.

I gape at her. Well, I’m confused as fuck. Five minutes ago, she hated me for using Jim to get ahead—which is not to be confused with using him to get head, but she’s okay with this?

She’s either really open-minded or she’s into some weird shit herself. If it’s the latter, I hope she’s not expecting me to perform for her. I shift back slightly.

Yeah, that’s definitely not happening.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about, Darcy.”

God, now she sounds like my mother.

“Desires and urges are natural and so long as you’re not doing anything illegal,” she continues. “You’re not hurting anyone, so what’s the problem?”

“Thanks, I appreciate the support and everything, but I’m not really into chicks,” I say slowly.

She starts laughing. “Me? Oh, God no. No way.” She pauses for a moment then looks me in the eye. “My brother enjoys ‘dressing up’, too, if you understand what I mean,” she murmurs, barely moving her mouth.

It’s like she’s afraid of being overheard, even though it’s just her and I in the room. I stare at her, finally process what she’s saying. Her brother is a furry? And she’s telling me this why?

“I don’t judge him for doing something he enjoys,” she says with a shrug. “And I’m not going to judge you either.”

I stare at her, speechless. Which is impressive because I always have something to say. She nods, satisfied with our chat, then pats me on the back.

“Go fill out your forms. I’ll see you later,” she says, leading me out of her office. I watch her disappear around the corner, then I glance down at the stack of forms that I need to sign. It’s only then I realize she never gave me her number. Or showed me to the staffroom.

Fuck. What a shit start to the day.

Parking my car in the driveway at Jim and Mom’s place, then I get out and walk across the lawn to the front door. I’m glad to be home after what felt like an abnormally long day. I keep thinking about what happened and cringe. It sounds like an article I’d find in one of the trashy women’s magazines Sash is always reading.

My new boss thinks I’m a sexual deviant and she’s okay with it.

How did I walk away from that and still have a job? Not that I’m complaining. Two days a week, working there for a few hours is going to look great on my résumé. I’m almost at the steps when someone grabs my hand. I jump and spin around while snatching my hand back. My eyes widen at the random dude, who’s standing in front of me.

“Yes?”

“Hey,” he mutters, not making eye contact. “I … um, I wanted …” he mutters abuse under his breath. I’m not sure if it’s aimed at himself, or me.

“What do you want?” I ask, frowning at him.

I place more distance between us because this guy is creeping me the fuck out. How did he figure out where I live?

“Are you … Arsy?” he asks in a low, gravelly voice.

How the fuck did he get this address?

“I’m sorry,” he quickly adds. “I don’t mean to scare you, but I really wanted you to know that your words really spoke to me—”

“Okay. Thanks, and bye now,” I say, attempting to shoo him away like a pesky fly.

He frowns at me like he’s wondering what the hell I’m doing. He’s the one tracking down a total stranger because their fake personal’s ad spoke to him. How come I get to be the weirdo?

“Hang on, wait a minute,” he protests. “Just hear me out—”

“No, I won’t be hearing you out. Not today or ever,” I say, glaring at him. “You’re going to leave me the hell alone or I’ll call the police.”

“You heard her. Fuck off … NOW … before I make you.”

I turn around. Cameron stands there with his fists clenched, a menacing look on his face as he steps forward. The creep cowers back, clearly intimidated by him. Given that Cameron towers over him, both in height and size, I’m not surprised.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I was just leaving.” He quickly scurries away.

I step back and glare at Cameron. I’m so annoyed because I had that under control. He smirks back at me, the stupid little dimple popping up in his left cheek just enough to make me want to punch him in the guts. At least that would stop him smiling. Then I wouldn’t have to look at it. Or pretend I’m not thinking about how sexy he is, or how badly I want to touch his slightly curly chestnut colored mop of hair …

What? No. No fucking way. He’s an arrogant, self-righteous prick. I’m annoyed at myself for letting that one tiny dimple turn me into such a … girl.