Off the Clock

The woman gave her a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, no. That bayou mud will get you after a rainstorm. I can show you where the bathrooms are if you want to wash out your skirt and can get you some scrubs to put on in the meantime.”

“Thanks. I would, but I’m here for an interview with Dr. Suri, and I don’t want to be late.”

She cringed. “Oh, wow, yeah. Being late would be a bad idea. She’s kind of stickler for time. Just tell her what happened with the fall. Why does that kind of thing only happen on job interviews? I got a flat tire when I came for mine.”

“Guess you got the job anyway.”

“That’s because I’m so good.” The woman brushed imaginary dust from her shoulder with playful confidence. “Two years and running. Hey, maybe bad luck before the interview is a good omen.”

After the parking lot, Marin was thinking not. But she smiled anyway. “Maybe.”

The woman stepped closer, her brown eyes flashing golden in the dappled sunlight that streamed through the branches of the surrounding oak trees. She stuck out her hand. “Oriana Wallace. Addiction wing.”

She shook her hand. “Marin Rush. Interviewing for the sex therapy program.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Wow, the X-wing, huh? Interesting stuff.”

“The X-wing?”

She shrugged. “It’s what we call it around here. You know, rated X? All the departments end up with their own code names. My area is referred to as the R and R.”

“Rest and relaxation?”

“No, rinse and repeat. My clients are the ones most likely to make repeat performances. Nature of the addiction beast, unfortunately. Come on, I’ll lead you into the gauntlet and show you the quickest way to Suri’s office. It’s easy to get lost. They had to retrofit a lot of the offices and it can make you feel like a rat in a maze. I have yet to find cheese, though.”

Marin smiled, thankful for the help and a friendly face. “That’d be great.”

Oriana led Marin up the front stairs and into the building, which had been beautifully restored to period details of the nineteenth century with its wide baseboards and Greek Revival architecture, but there was a poshness to it that she doubted had been present back when it was an asylum. Expensive-looking artwork, a lobby area with fine antique furniture, and a chandelier that sent sparkling light over the marble floors. It was a lobby meant to impress. But when they went through the double doors to get to the offices, Marin understood what Oriana had been talking about. Signs pointing every which way demarcated the offices, but it was a twisting tangle of hallways and doors. She half-expected that little kid from The Shining to roll up on his Big Wheel.

They took the elevator to the top floor and Oriana dropped her off there. She put her hand out to keep the elevator door from closing. “Dr. Suri’s office is the one at the end of the hall.”

“Thanks so much,” Marin said, her nerves bubbling up again and making her voice shake.

“No problem. Good luck with the interview. Just remember that if you managed to get an interview here, you’re already great at what you do. She only talks to the best, so be confident.”

“Ha. Sure, no problem. I’m just going to walk in with my muddy clothes and wet resume and wow her right out of her chair.”

She laughed. “How about I be confident on your behalf? When not if you get the job, you owe me a cup of coffee for being your tour guide.”

“Deal.”

She tapped the side of the elevator. “Go get ’em, doctor. Lord knows the X-wing could use some estrogen.”

“Oh?”

She smirked. “See ya.”

The elevator doors shut, leaving Marin in the hallway alone. She took a deep breath and headed toward the office, the sound of her heels echoing off the floors with an ominous reverberation. She tried not to think about how little experience she had in clinical work. She tried to forget that the man she’d tried so hard to block out of her mind was somehow tied to this place. She tried to remember why she was doing this.

This was insane.

She walked into the office and gave the secretary her name.

The woman smiled. “You can go on in, Dr. Rush. She’s waiting for you.”

Welcome to the asylum, we’re all crazy here.

8 (#ulink_74093b43-ff84-5b86-a68a-d400cb4b97d5)

“Do you think once a cheater, always a cheater? I mean, how am I supposed to trust him when he screwed that skinny bitch behind my back?”

Donovan hooked his ankle over his knee and leaned back in his chair, trying not to cringe at his client’s shrill tone. He should’ve had more coffee and extra aspirin before this first appointment. “I think each situation is different. Rarely are things always or never.”

Claire Daniels swept her long bangs away from her face with a huff, but tears glistened in her eyes. “This is such bullshit. I did the cover of Maxim last month. Men all over the world want me. And my jackass boyfriend fucked a wannabe catalog model.” She leaned over and yanked something out of her purse. She held up a computer printout of a redhead in a bikini. “Look at her. She looks like a boy. Who would you rather sleep with?”

Donovan frowned. The truth was he had no interest in sleeping with either. He’d rather go celibate than hook up with another actress. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. But he wasn’t going to answer that type of question in a session anyway. “Is that really what you want to know?”

Her gaze dropped down to her hands. “No.”

“What would you like to ask, then?”

She closed her eyes, and two fat tears rolled down her cheeks. The reviews of her latest movie had called her a pretty crier. Donovan hadn’t thought there was such a thing, but Claire did seem to make it look tragically elegant. She shook her head. “Am I that broken, doc? Would he rather be with someone like that because I’m just not worth the trouble?”

There it was. The real question. He was proud of her for being brave enough to voice it. In their early sessions, Claire had maintained a cool facade of the untouchable actress and had been combative when Donovan had tried to get her to open up. Finally, she was showing some trust in him. “I think we’re all broken in some way, Claire. But no, I don’t think you’re unworthy or that you deserved to be cheated on. And blaming yourself for someone else’s actions isn’t going to help. Benny strayed. You’re not responsible for his behavior.”

“But if I was giving him what he needed, if I wasn’t so fucked up …” She looked up and swiped at her tears. “What kind of woman can’t enjoy sex?”

“Lots,” he said, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his thighs. “Especially ones who went through what you did as a teenager. Give yourself a break and some time. You’re here and working on this. That’s more than most can say. And I don’t know exactly why Benny cheated without talking to him. People stray for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes it’s a lack of impulse control, other times it’s some kind of internal issue—insecurity, fear of aging, depression. Sometimes it’s impaired judgment from drugs or alcohol. It could be a lot of different reasons.”

She looked out the window at the sprawling oak trees that stood like sentries throughout The Grove. “Because the other person is sexier?”

Donovan let out a breath. This was one of Claire’s issues. The people who watched her in movies and smiling on magazine covers would never suspect how deeply insecure she was, that she’d grown up hearing that she was ugly and dumb. It was one of the reasons she was attracted to shitty guys and jumped from relationship to relationship. She needed empty compliments filling the ever-draining well. “I think if you want to work through this with Benny, he’s going to have to come in for a few sessions with you. You two need to decide whether or not this is a deal breaker.”

She chewed her lip and looked away. “I’m not ready to leave him. I know you probably think I’m stupid. The press definitely does.”

He glanced down at his steno pad and made a note. “I think decisions in life aren’t as cut and dried as they appear from the outside looking in.”

“Have you ever been cheated on?”

Donovan’s gaze jumped back to her, his pen pressing hard into the paper.

She gave him a sheepish look and an apologetic shrug. “I heard you dated Selena St. Pierre. And she got together with Ryan Vickers right after that.”

He held back the grimace that tried to surface. He hated that clients could so easily dig into his personal life. He was supposed to be this blank slate, a sounding board, a trained ear. But people could find dirt on him if they wanted it because he’d been stupid enough to date a TV actress. He’d been stupid in general. Luckily, the only thing that had made it to press had been the breakup and the rumored infidelity, not the … aftermath.

“Claire, my personal life has no bearing on yours. And every situation is going to be different.”

“But is that why you two broke up?”