“You sent that reporter to my house, didn’t you?”
He sighs and leans back in his chair as he scratches his scraggly beard. I’ve heard he’s in his early fifties, but he looks at least ten years beyond that. He’s balding, but trying to cover it with a hideous comb over and always stinks of cheap cologne. I should buy a beat up, windowless, white van to park outside of this guy’s house as a warning. I’ve seen what he does online in his free time here at the school. I can’t imagine it’s much better at home.
“What if I did, Ms. Silva? You may not wish to disclose intimate details of your life, but I’d recommend you keep providing Chase with your…services. We need the press in order for me to request a larger budget. A budget that could help with your review this year. But only if you keep him in a happier and more generous mood than you do the other men in your life.”
“Excuse me?” Oh, I’m about to shove a pencil right into this man’s eyeball. “Mr. Miley, I will not be?—”
“Getting a raise anytime soon if you keep up the attitude?” He smirks, and my lip twitches into a snarl. “Try wearing something a little lower cut from now on, yeah? The children do love those new boards, so think of it as doing it for them. Besides, I’m sure he’s giving you much more than smart boards, honey.”
I stare at him, mouth open at the pure audacity. As I turn for the door, I glare over my shoulder, and reply, “If you ever insinuate anything else about my personal life or my attire, I will report you to the board with proof of your inappropriate behavior toward the female teachers and what you’ve been doing on the school computers. Also, he’sMr. Cooperto you.”
He’s sputtering something that I don’t care to hear as I slam the door behind me. The receptionist offers me a knowing shrug and whispers, “Are you really dating Chase Cooper?”
“Allison, you’re a lovely person. Mind your own business.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER15
GOOD LUCK, BABE!
CHAPPELL ROAN
My leg won’t stop bouncing. Evenwhen I hold it down, it’s bouncing like I drank three pots of coffee. I hate waiting rooms for so many reasons and I should have phoned this appointment in, but I promised Cynthia I’d do this in person. Pongo puts his head on my leg and I grimace. “Sorry, bud. I’m trying to stop. I swear.”
I haven’t talked to Ren since I fucked up. I heard Dani tried to convince her, but she didn’t budge. I don’t blame her; even if she hates me now.
“Coop?” My head snaps up at the voice. “You ready?”
Dr. Theo Clay isn’t much older than me, but he’s got one of those faces that says he’s lived an interesting life and seen a lot out there. It’s part of why I trust him. His salt and pepper hair makes him appear older and wiser, too. A smart thing to have going for you when you’re a psychiatrist in the middle of Los Angeles. He doesn’t say much until we get into his office and the door shuts. I take my usual seat and look around. He’s added some new artwork. He takes photos when he visits different restaurants and kitchens in Europe and fills the walls with them. There’s nothing personal, but no stupid motivational shit either. And he can, and will, tell you about every picture he’s taken and what they were making or how incredible the food was.
“So, what’s new? I assumed you’d be on a set somewhere?”
“The indie movie has a few special screenings. I just got the script for the next one.”
Our sessions always start off this way. Small talk at first until I’m ready to dive headfirst into the deep end. Sometimes I never do, but he says those are still productive appointments because it’s bringing whatever’s bothering me closer to the surface.
Pongo walks across the room and curls up in his usual sunny spot on the couch. There’s a window and he can watch the squirrels play in the tree outside. I envy how quickly he can relax and fall asleep in almost any situation. Most nights, I can’t even sleep in a bed that costs as much as a car.
Theo offers me some kind of baked thing he’s made. I’m not hungry, but I don’t want to come across as rude, so I take it. Plus, he trained in France, so he knows what he’s doing. He baked an epic cake for Jamie’s wife, Alexis, last year for her birthday. He’s been seeing her as a client for a while to help her get through some fucked up stuff with her family.
“Coffee?”
“Nah. I’m alright,” I answer, nibbling on the cookie.
“So what’s with the bouncing leg?” I stare at him, confused. “The new receptionist is very perceptive. She’s practically Sherlock Holmes, and when she sees something like that, she texts me. Mostly because you all love to come in here and lie about how you’re doing while you’re falling apart on the inside. How are the madeleines?”
“Who? Oh, the cookie thing? No, it’s…buttery. Thanks.” We’ve been doing this for a while now, so he knows my tells and most of my dark secrets. It’s weird, because in this office, he’s my therapist, but once we step outside, he’s become more of a friend. We both know that could jeopardize the whole therapy thing, but for now, it’s working.
“Good, so what are your plans for tomorrow?”
“Why, you asking me out, Doc?”
He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even smile. Instead, he sits there and stares at me. “Just curious what you’re doing in your free time, since you’re not shooting.”
“You’re the second person to ask me about tom—” I swallow hard as my mouth goes dry. Tomorrow. Fuck. I should have known why Jamie called me to ask about my plans and decided on dinner atmyhouse, but he does that all the time. I shake my head and pick at the crumbs on my jeans. “I totally forgot.”
How could I forget? I mean, it’s not like I keep it on my calendar. What would I even write there?Reminder, it’s the fucking worst day of your life?That’s why I’m here, to keep myself from putting those exact words on a damn calendar.
