Page 3 of Physical Therapy

THREE

Boe

“For future appointments, I would appreciate if we could keep the start time as close to scheduled as possible.”

What the hell? That’s my line. I finish up forwarding an email to the office and look up.

“Perhaps you could take your own advice?” Damn. I furiously scan her desk for a nameplate—anything—to tell me this is definitely Edith.

No cat ornaments. No shitty handmade gifts. And definitely no stale book smell.

Just a raven-haired siren with dark exotic eyes glaring at where I stand.

“Three minutes I can allow for,” she responds while rising from her chair. “But if you insist on extending it closer to ten, it severely impacts on the rest of my day.”

She walks her shapely ass around the desk to come to stand before me. I drag my gaze the length of her, taking in the fitted satin blouse, a figure-hugging skirt that restricts her gait, and the plum heels that elongate her calves.

“Likewise, Edith. I have other things I’d rather do than be here. Therefore feel free to reduce my session to make up for lost time.”

“You’re scheduled for an hour by the state, Mr. Johansson. We need to make use of the all the time afforded to us.” She extends an arm to gesture toward two matching leather chairs, angled around a simple wooden table. “Please. Take a seat.”

I choose the one she appears to use herself, slinging my jacket over the back before giving my waistcoat a shrug and lowering myself to the seat. She waits, one hand rested on the arm of the free chair and the other hanging by her side, until I’m comfortable before she takes her position opposite me.

I lean back and rest one ankle to my knee while she pointedly spins her notepad around and retrieves it from the table between us. Her hair slides forward, falling over a lean shoulder. She gently rearranges it; the half-up and half-down style she wears her hair in only serves to frame such a slender neck.

I still can’t quite believe what I’m seeing. This woman has a body made for desire, nothing like the knitted jumper and generous waistline I’d imagined. Long legs are wrapped alluringly in a tailored skirt; a slender waist accentuated by a generously proportioned chest. I wet my lips while I take in the delicate line of her collarbone, highlighted by the fall of her satin blouse.

“Let’s start with why you’re here.” Edith sets the notepad on her lap, pen held between forefinger and middle as she tips it back and forth. “In your own words, why do you think you are in my office today?”

“Because I was told to be.”

She frowns and lets out a loaded breath. “Elaborate.”

“My sister made an appointment and handed me a card.” I smirk, loving this back and forth already.

She narrows her gaze, long black lashes darkening already heavily shadowed eyes. “Let’s not waste the time we have, Mr. Johansson.”

“You know,” I taunt. “You can call me by my given name if you’d like.”

Edith swallows, gaze darting to the few notes scribbled on the pad in her lap.

“Unless you’re not sure how to pronounce it?” I’ve got so used to correcting people over the years that it’s second nature. But with her, it’s a gift. A perfect chance to unravel her.

“Boe,” she says, sounding the word as though she names what adorns the present she handed me.

“Correct.” I tip my head to one side and study her. Most people try to over guess my name, putting extra emphasis on the E so it sounds like Bowie or Boy.

She’s taken the simple, safe route. Interesting.

“I really didn’t think there’d be any other way of saying it.”

“People can have quite a varied perception when it comes to some things. But I guess you’d know that.” My hand instinctually goes to stroke the ache in the hinge of my jaw.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Why don’t you tell me why your jaw troubles you, Boe?”

Makes me wonder, somewhat, if she planned the whole turn around all along? Who unraveled whom, just then? “I’m sure your file told you why I’m here.”

“As I said at the start, I’d like to hear it in your own words.”

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