Page 7 of For Her Own Good

We had a chance run-in on a plane, yes, but also knowing he walks the same halls I do at Harbinson makes dread and anticipation—two sides of the same anxious coin—war inside me. Alongside the low buzz of wanting to find out what it would be like for it to be him getting me off with his thick, blunt fingers while he croons to me in that dreamy voice of his, or even better, for him to be pounding into me with his cock, instead of me making use of one of my favorite dildos while I imagine all the filthy things we could do together.

How the fuck am I supposed to think about Kanban boards now? Not that I don’t find organization and office supplies sexy, but do they really compare to a somewhat-taboo crush—complete with masturbatory fantasies—on my ex-psychiatrist? Frankly, I don’t think they do. There is little in this world that does.

Thank fuck my phone rings because I’ve got to get this man out of my head. Hell, I’d even be less than ragey at the prospect of talking to Tad right now if I could only get Lowry to vacate the premises of my mind. As if he hasn’t spent enough years sifting around in there. But it’s not Tad, it’s the main line at Harbinson, perhaps Lacey’s admin calling to reschedule or something like that. Whatever it is, bring on the distraction.

“Hello, this is Starla.”

“Starla, it’s—”

Goddammit. Goddammit all to hell. He doesn’t need to say his name. I know who it is. Yes, there’s a thrill that runs through me at the sound of his voice, but all he needs to know about is the fit of pique.

“What do you want, Doctor Campbell?”

“You could start by not calling me Doctor Campbell. We’re both adults, you’re not my patient anymore. You can call me Lowry.”

If he only knew how many times I’d called him that in my mind, while I had incredibly inappropriate fantasies about him when I was in fact his patient…and also a couple of hours ago. Which is less scandalous, but no less mortifying. My face burns hot thinking about it. Thank god he can’t see me and the shade of scarlet my cheeks have no doubt turned given the heat warming my entire face.

“What can I do for you, Doctor Campbell?”

Yes, I have all sorts of feelings about Lowry Campbell and a whole bunch of them involve wanting to make all those dreams I had come true, but I’m still a child to him. So, to remind myself, “Doctor Campbell” and a crisp, no-nonsense address it is.

“This is a purely professional call. I was wondering if you were taking on new clients.”

That brings me up short. I wasn’t aware Lowry knew what I do for a living. It’s not as though the information isn’t readily available, but why would he have looked? A spike of that same exhilaration goes through me. He thought of me? I wasn’t merely a passing—and super angry—thing flitting by like an enraged wasp? But clearly not in the same way I’ve thought of him.Professional.I can be professional as fuck.

“I have a couple of openings, yes. Why?”

Now that Rafa is settled in Chicago, my workload for my own business has been comparatively light. It’s of course more than made up for by all the time I spend doing things for my father’s business and I’m still not doing enough. I’ll never be able to do enough because… It doesn’t matter. The point is that I’d be more than happy to wedge another client into my schedule and be able to make excuses about why I can’t be on yet another interminable conference call or some other meeting because I’m expected to make decisions about everything, all the time. Yes, please, for the love of god, give me something to do that I’m competent at.

“I have a patient I think you might be able to help. She deals with some anxiety, but her primary diagnosis is ADHD which isn’t my area of expertise. I’ve been seeing her weekly for the last month and while we talk through some of the ways she could organize her space and her workload, we also have a lot of other issues to address. Given that it would take more time than I can devote to her, and also that it’s not precisely in my wheelhouse, I mentioned you to her but didn’t want to make any promises. May I send her your way?”

Oh. Lowry thinks enough of me, my professional acumen, to refer a patient to me? He believes I’m stable enough to help others? Which I fucking am, thankyouverymuch, but still. It’s…it’s really nice. It makes the fire that lit on my face moments ago settle into a crackling warmth in my belly. Approval, from a nurturing man I respect and find attractive. It’s basically my daddy kink kryptonite and I could… I don’t know, whatever happens to Superman when he gets exposed to kryptonite. I’m aStar Warsnerd, not a DC Comics geek.

I try to focus on the pride of it, which makes sense. Anyone would be proud their former psychiatrist who saw them through 90 percent of the worst shit of their lives thinks they’re good enough to be trusted with their own patients. Not everyone would be getting turned on by that, though. Not everyone would want to be told that while sitting, cradled, on Lowry’s lap and then squirming with delight until he issued a mild threat to spank me if I didn’t stop. And would I?

Doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Lowry has a patient he thinks I can help. Even though potentially working with Lowry to help this client to the best of my abilities pokes at some vulnerable places, I won’t pass up work or refuse to offer my services to someone because I’m still bruised from Lowry’s abrupt departure over a decade ago. Especially since I already told him I had time. I’m awkward enough already, thanks.

“Yes, of course. You, uh, obviously have my number. Or she can email me if she prefers. I assume you have that as well.”

He makes a noncommittal noise that I’ll take as agreement.

“Have her mention she’s your patient, and we’ll see how it goes.”

“Brilliant. Thank you.”

Lowry thanking me? That’s something I never expected. I always figured I’d be the one forever being grateful to him. Which I am. I doubt I would be here on this earth if it weren’t for him, never mind being a successful professional to whom he feels comfortable referring his own patients. Yes, that is a flattering turn of the tables, and it’s perfectly reasonable to have to swipe at the corners of my eyes. Perhaps allergy season has started? But fucking A, it’s November, so that’s bullshit. Steaming heap of it. Feelings it is, then. Worst.

I don’t need Lowry knowing he’s got me choked up, but I suppose I should respond. At least somewhat politely. Manners—I have those, right?

“You’re welcome.” Damn it felt good to say that. And I should say something else as well. “Thank you for thinking of me… That means a lot.”

And then because a human being can only take so many feelings in a day, I hang up on him.

* * *

Lowry

The feisty little thing hung up on me. I take the phone from my ear and stare at it in case that’s not actually what happened, but it definitely is. I wasn’t finished yet. Although perhaps this is better since I did tell her it was a purely professional call.

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