Page 13 of Unethical

I force a smile as I take it from him, but it’s not an entirely fake smile. This small act seems nice of him. Almost as if he’s changed his stripes. But I don’t know how I feel about this random act of kindness. It doesn’t seem in his nature. It seems entirely unnatural for him to be anything but threatening and mysterious.

I set the container on the desk with no intention of doing anything but tossing it into the trash once he leaves. Even if this is a genuine act of kindness on his part, my lack of trust won’t allow me to take a risk. Considering the fact that everyone close to him has ended up dead, a few bites of cantaloupe aren’t worth my life.

Plus, I’m still upset with him for being late.

“Thank you, Maxim, but you can’t just stroll in here with twenty minutes left and expect this session to count.”

“Can you give me a break, doc? Have you seen the beater I’m forced to drive? I’m lucky I got here at all.”

“I’m not trying to give you a hard time, but the courts?—”

“Disrespectfully, fuck the courts. You can put that I was here for a whole day if you wanted to. You could tell them Ilivedat this office if you felt compelled to do so. You can say anything you want to the courts, which means you can say I was here since five o’clock. Right?”

My lips tighten. “You’re asking me to lie on your paperwork?”

“Yes,” he says, shamelessly.

Maxim stands up and towers over me. He puts his hands on my chair’s armrests as he leans closer. Each exhale that rushes out of him brushes the hair from my neck. He’s that close. I focus on my breathing to keep from showing any fear.

He smirks at me. “Come on, doc.”

He’s trying to intimidate me, and it works. It fucking works.

“Fine, Maxim, but just this once.”

“Bad, bad doctor,” he says.

The way I focus on how his mouth moves is criminal. Just like what I’m doing to his fucking record. But I have an ulterior motive.

“But only on one condition,” I add. “At our next session, you have to open up.”

He shrugs, and I take that as an agreement.

“Since I’m already fudging my records for you, we should pick this up next week.” I lift my chin. “On time.”

“Yes ma’am. See you next week.”

He takes his hands off my chair and rights himself. His finger taps on the top of the Tupperware. “Can I get this back when you’re done with it?”

“Of course.”

“Enjoy,” he says as he strides toward the door and leaves.

A stale silence permeates the room once his footsteps recede down the hall. My eyes catch on the container’s red lid as my growling stomach disrupts the quiet. I really shouldn’t have skipped lunch today.

I open the container and stare at the well-carved fruit. My stomach rumbles again as I eye the orange strips like they’re slices of prime Wagyu beef. Maybe just a bite wouldn’t hurt.

I grip one piece and bring it up to my nose. I smell it, and the familiar scent floats through my sinuses. My mother used to place cantaloupe on the table every weekend morning. It was a breakfast staple. My love for the fruit is two-parts flavor and one-part memories.

I take a bite, savoring the juice before some spills from the corner of my mouth. Once I finish the strip in my hand, I notice a tang of something salty in the final bite. Something a bit...not fruity.

With a sour expression, I stare at the strips of cantaloupe and realize what a mistake I might have made. If I get sick—or worse, if I fucking die—I want proof that he was the cause.

I grab a small plastic bag from the closet and dump the container’s remaining contents inside. I’ll wash the Tupperware and return it at our next meeting. He doesn’t have to know I didn’t eat all of it. Next, I scrawl a quick note on a Post-it and attach it to the bag.

If something happens to me, check this fruit. It came from Maxim Jankowski.

Once I’ve placed the bag into my desk drawer, I sit back and rub my forehead. A light headache taps at my temples. This is what I get for trusting him. For being nice. Now I’ll have tospend the next forty-eight hours wondering if every ache and pain is a symptom of some random poison.

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