Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
My stomach sank the way it always did whenever I got asked this question. It was a natural response, my body working its way through the emotions any time I was reminded of my trauma, but it never got any easier.
“No,” I said, knowing the client-coach relationship needed to be honest on both sides. “I actually wanted to be a teacher. Like my friend Nora. I almost was.”
“But?”
I swallowed hard. “But,” I said. “While studying in college, I was in a relationship that I didn’t realize was toxic, to say the least. By the time I realized I was so entrenched in it, I didn’t think there was a way out.” I shook my head, that familiar sensation of shame coating me like an oily grime. I forced my voice to work around the emotion clogging my throat.
“I became very good at reading body language, emotions, everything that comes with that environment. Halfway through college, I made a change from teaching to psychology with an emphasis on behavioral studies.” I laughed darkly to myself, gripping Sherlock’s fur as he leaned farther into me, as if he could sense my anxiety. “I think when I switched my focus, I thought I could help him. Even my desire to learn revolved around him.” I hated looking back on who I’d been then, so submissive, so quiet, so willing to let him tell me who I could be and what I could do.
“Anyway,” I said, blinking out of my memories. “I realized I wanted to help people in a different way than teaching.”
“You got out,” he said, gray eyes equal parts angry and sympathetic.
“I did.”
“And instead of using your talents to help people like you, on the other side of it, you decided to help those who struggle with anger control.”
“Yep,” I said. “I know there are some people who don’t want to be helped or don’t need it. I’m not one of those people who wants to fix everyone. In reality, I can’t fix anyone. It’s up to the person to do that. They’re the ones with the power. But…” I searched for the right way to explain what I felt in my heart. “Sometimes, people who struggle with emotion regulation were simply never given the tools they need to effectively do it. It’s as simple as that. Me offering them what they need, teaching them things they didn’t know, it can help. And that means they can live their lives free from the strain of not being able to control their responses.”
“You’re fucking incredible,” he said sharply, then cleared his throat. “I mean, you took a shitty situation and rose above it, grew from it.” His eyes flashed down toward Sherlock, going distant for a moment, his features drenched in regret.
“You built something from nothing,” I said. “It looks like that worked out for you.”
Another shrug.
“What?” I asked, trying to read the hint of bitterness on his face. “Do you not like where you ended up?”
“Who wouldn’t enjoy being a billionaire?” he asked, but I could hear the sarcasm in his voice.
“Money isn’t everything,” I said. “It’s not the only thing that matters.”
His eyes met mine, his movements on Sherlock’s coat slowing. “It’s usually the main thing that matters to a lot of people.”
It was my turn to shrug. “Not to me,” I said. “Money can buy things that matter, absolutely. Like the tablets you donated, but money isn’t the key to happiness. Money can’t buy time.” I motioned to Sherlock and the animal shelter we stood in. “Time is a priceless commodity.”
“Not everyone shares your mindset,” he said. “Unfortunately.”
There was something in the way his features shifted, something about the darkness that clung to his voice that had my stomach clenching. We were getting somewhere now. I could feel it. I was dancing dangerously close to a truth he didn’t look very willing to lay bare.
Which was fair, but in the effort of helping him heal, I needed to know.
“Who?” I asked.
“Who, what?” He smoothed his features, returning to rinse and lather Sherlock with the conditioner.
“Who’s the person who doesn’t share my mindset? I can tell you’re referring to someone specific.”
“Jesus,” he said at the end of a laugh. “My PR team was right. The rumors about you reading people are spot on.”
“I’m just really good at body language.” I cleared my throat, unable to stop the onslaught of memories that forced me to be good at reading people.
Ethan sighed.
“You don’t have to tell me now,” I offered. “But the more I get to know you, the better I’ll be able to help you.”
He continued washing Sherlock before starting the final rinse.
“The one and only time I was in love,” he said, and I held my breath. “It ended badly. I was blindsided, hurt I’d never felt before.” He visibly swallowed. “She cheated on me with someone more controlled, someone wealthier, and then married the guy. I bought his family’s team so that he could feel what it’s like to lose something you love.”