Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Brooks moves in front to face me, so he’s the only thing I can see in my field of vision.
Then the man’s arms go around me. To everyone else, it probably looks like a regular hug. How could they possibly know it’s something I’ve needed longer than I’m comfortable admitting? I wrap my arms around him as well, burying my nose in his throat, uncaring he’s a total stranger.
I breathe in the masculine scent of his bodywash and the hint of mint coming from his lips and hold on tight.
“You’re gonna be fine,” he whispers, chills rushing down my spine when his lips brush the shell of my ear. “You’re a rock star, remember?”
I huff a laugh at him for bringing up what I said when I had my dick out earlier. If the man isn’t careful, we’re going to have the same problem I had when I saw him for the first time. I don’t know how the press would react to an erection right before a therapy session.
I honestly feel better than I have in a while just from that simple hug. When he pulls back, he repositions himself beside me, his hand at my back again, as he guides me closer to the building.
“Are you drunk and high?”
“How many men have you had relationships with?”
“Why the sudden change?”
“What is Fletcher going to say when he finds out you’re cheating on him?”
“Who’s the bottom?”
I grind my teeth together, pissed beyond measure, as they spit questions at us. Brooks doesn’t say a word to them, so I take his lead, keeping my clenched jaw shut.
They don’t follow us inside, so they must be some of the tamer paps around. It doesn’t stop them from holding their cameras to the glass to get pictures of us inside.
“Do they have a room for us to sit in long enough to seem like I’ve talked to someone?” I ask when Brooks steps away, instead of begging for him to wrap his arm back around me.
“Mr. Morgan, Mr. Bremen, this way please,” a young woman behind the desk says as she sweeps her arm in the direction of a closed door.
We follow her through to a smaller waiting room. Brooks immediately takes a seat on the small couch, but the lady touches my arm when I turn to sit beside him.
“In here, Mr. Bremen.”
“For what?”
“Dr. Kent is this way.”
I stare at her confused, before looking in Brooks’s direction.
“You said this was for public image,” I snap.
He shrugs, dismissive in a way that makes me want to stomp my foot like a child. “You’re paying for it. Might as well go and see if it really helps.”
“I’m not an addict,” I say, trying to keep my voice low in case the woman standing beside me isn’t in the know.
“I’m not either, but I’ve benefited from many counseling sessions.”
His eyes lock on mine, a challenge in them.
My lip twitches with agitation, but rather than saying what’s on my mind, I turn, giving the woman a quick smile before shoving through the door she’s instructed me to enter.
I pull up short at the sight of the elderly woman behind her desk. She’s dressed in a soft sweater, despite the heat outside, and dark slacks. Her hair is pulled into a severe bun, and I have to wonder if that’s the only thing keeping her face from looking more wrinkled.
“Not what you expected?” the woman asks, her voice sure rather than the warble I’d expect from someone old enough to have grown grandchildren.
I blink at her, my mind racing with a million thoughts.
She watches me like she can see every secret I’ve possessed, the truth of every lie I’ve ever spoken. I pull my eyes from hers, looking around the room just to escape the scrutiny of her gaze.
The room is calming, soft tones and minimal distractions, and I’m certain it’s manufactured that way. She wouldn’t want people to focus on paintings when they’re supposed to be spilling their guts.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Bremen.”
I look at the soft-looking couch on the far wall and then at the chair sitting in front of her desk.
I opt for the couch, not wasting a second lying back, closing my eyes, and putting my hands behind my head.
She doesn’t move from her desk, and I guess she doesn’t have to because when I open my eyes, she’s got a direct line of sight to my face.
“I’m Dr. Lillian Kent,” she begins. “I’ve been a psychologist for forty-nine years.”
“That’s a long time,” I say, because shit, I can’t even imagine doing what I do for that long even if the public wasn’t so quick to turn on me.
“It is,” she says, a soft smile on her face.
“What am I here for?”
Her smile stays the same. Her cheeks don’t twitch as if she’s irritated. She doesn’t scoff and tell me that I know damn well why I’m in her office.