Page 15 of Physical Therapy

TEN

Edith

No name placards in the lobby, no manned front desk… This is a damn residential building. Ugh. If I’d bothered to crosscheck against his file, I would have known this already.

Can’t afford to slip up around this man, E.

I contemplated bailing on his request, purely so I’d be guaranteed plenty of sessions with Boe. But I got the feeling they would be more of the same arrogant power-play that we’ve had, and call me fickle, but I’d prefer quality over quantity.

The overhead lights in the lift emphasize every imperfection in my appearance. I do my best to avoid looking at myself in the mirrored walls but fail to hold back from fixing my hair before the lift reaches his floor.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Not only does it break numerous ethical codes, but also it’s pure stupidity. I lost my power to this man from the moment he walked into my office and I never once truly regained it back. How could I when his presence alone is enough to elevate my heart rate?

I lift the simple brushed steel knocker and give the door two solid taps. It’s not too late to back out. Yes, but what impression would that give? I can’t begin to imagine the ridicule he’d deal in our future sessions if I get as far as knocking on the door and then run.

“Right on time.”

My next breath lodges in my throat. He’s answered the damn door in no more than a pair of low-slung gym pants. Long gone is the suit of a mere hour ago.

I choke, and then promptly swallow to regain composure. “Do you always greet visitors this way?”

“Depends on who they are.” Boe gestures for me to enter.

I edge my way past him, purse clutched under my arm as though it could protect me from the pheromones thickening the air. “You’re on the clock. Shall we sit?”

“We can do whatever you like.” His presence startles me as he gently moves around where I stand.

I fail to find a single personal item on my way toward the lounge area. No pictures, no souvenirs, not even a stray DVD or magazine placed atop the furniture. “You don’t spend much time here?”

Oh, God. Is the place even his?

“Only what I need to.” He holds out his hand for my coat. “Would you like a drink?”

“Whatever you’re having.” I shrug the cream wool from shoulders and pass it over.

He slings it over one arm like a well-practiced butler. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Boe leaves the room, the muscles working in his defined back a thing of beauty as he moves effortlessly through the modest apartment. I expected something larger for him. Something lavish. First impressions were of a man who probably entertained and in numbers. Now… I sense somebody a lot more detached.

“Red is all I had.” Boe returns, a drink in each hand.

One red wine in a stemmed glass, and one whiskey in a tumbler. The man is once again asserting control by assuming I’d prefer a more “feminine” drink.

He offers me the wine. I reach for the tumbler.

“I said I’d have what you’re drinking.”

His lip snarls, ever so slightly. “Bottoms up.” Boe downs the wine in two large gulps.

Asshole. I didn’t predict that. Now my only option is to create a scene by refusing the whiskey or admit he won by downing a drink that’s different to his.

“Where did you want to start?” He sets the empty glass down on the low table beside us and then folds his arms.

I weaken at the beautiful lines of his upper body, accented by his stance. Firm round shoulders, sculpted arms, and a stomach that is the literal definition of washboard abs.

“When do you find time to work out in your schedule?” Fuck it. I need this drink.

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