“It’s sort of like having a toddler,” I say quickly, smirking slightly. “But I manage.”
I take a sip of water before looking at Dr. Kincaid, and his lips twitch as his eyes continue to bore into Dr. Pierce’s.
“Do you have children?” Dr. Pierce asks.
My heart pangs. I briefly look down at my white napkin and debate how to answer this, just like every other time it comes up. Instead of being honest, I keep it easy and light. Besides, Dr. Kincaid doesn’t know about my past, and I’d like to keep it that way for as long as possible.
“No,” I answer, smiling despite my stomach dropping.
“Married?” he asks, and again, that familiar tug of uncomfortableness rears its head.
Why is it that important men always manage to make me feel small and like my only worth is tied to kids and/or having a husband?
“No.”
“Stop interrogating my assistant,” Dr. Kincaid says, mouth quirking into a small, cruel smile.
“If you ever want to work for someone who has an ounce of humor, just let me know,” Dr. Pierce says to me, winking. “I’m currently looking for a new assistant and I’ll double what this guy pays you.”
My mouth drops open at the outright attempt to poach me, but before I can decline his offer, Dr. Kincaid presses his hands flat on the table and glares at Dr. Pierce.
“She works for me and only me, Alan.”
His voice is low and possessive… territorial, almost. My eyes dart between them and they’re both staring at each other with such intensity that I clear my throat.
“I’m very happy with Doctor Dev—Kincaid,” I say, quickly covering up my mistake.
Dr. Pierce shrugs, and Dr. Kincaid leans back in his seat. His eyes find mine, and again, something dark swirls behind them.
I have to look away to distract myself from the way my stomach clenches every time he gives me that look.
The lunch passes quickly, with a keynote speaker talking about the importance of psychiatry and the mental health crisis in the U.S. I pay attention in case Dr. Kincaid isn’t, though every time I look over at him, he’s watching the speaker politely with his hands in his lap. The keynote mentions a few of the standout publications, including Dr. Kincaid’s most recent article on sleep disorders inTheLancet Psychiatry.I dip my chin and raise my glass when he looks at me, because I helped him with a lot of the publication process.
I keep my eyes trained on the stage, because if I’m distracted, I’m not paying attention to how Dr. Kincaid has been looking in my direction for most of the lunch. I make more small talk with the man on my left, and once I begin eating my dessert, I realize that most of the people in attendance here are men—I’m the only woman at our table, for starters.
A folder is passed around to all of the attendees after dessert, and it contains a full schedule of the ten-day event. The actual conference is five days, and then we all get a two-day break to explore the city over the weekend before one-on-one meetings begin next Monday through Wednesday. A lot of these meetings are for colleagues, or possible collaborations. There’s an optional two-day event at Alcatraz that’s open to the public which focuses on incarceration and the mental health effects of the prison system in the U.S., but I don’t think we’re signed up for that.
It will be a long and tiring ten days, but at least most of the sessions end at three, so I can explore the city in the late afternoons while Dr. Kincaid catches up on work.
I’m still looking over the schedule when Dr. Kincaid stands up and gestures for me to follow him. Everyone is dispersing away from the tables, and when I grab my purse and walk out of the dining room, I have to practically jog to keep up with him.
“We have an hour break before the first session starts. I don’t need you for anything, so please go back to the room and change,” he says curtly, reaching into his back pocket and producing a room key. “Please meet me in the lobby in fifty minutes and bring your laptop to take any relevant notes.”
I take the room key from him, and our fingers brush just briefly. Jerking back at the touch—which feels electric, somehow—I take a step back and nod once.
“Sounds good.”
He walks past me without another word, and I chew on my lower lip the entire ride up.
This is going to be a long ten days.
Better the Devil You Know
Frankie
It’s a fairlyshort first day with only two sessions—one of which is led by Dr. Kincaid. I run around attempting to ensure his mic works, that his suit is smoothed out, that his slides are working properly. I don’t really understand the things he’s talking about, but I know enough about him to know that he’s passionate about sleep disorders and how sleep (or lack thereof) affects the brain psychologically. Watching him command the room with his knowledge and expertise is more alluring than I expect, so of course I have to keep myself in check for the duration of the session. Once it’s over, we have the rest of the afternoon free. As the two of us walk to the elevators, he turns to face me.
“I’ll be getting dinner at my favorite restaurant tonight. Would you like to join me?”
