Page 58 of Beautiful Liar

With my immediate respites out of the question, I reach for my phone.

Adriana Nathanson answers with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Your office. One hour.”

“Quinn? It’s…ten o’clock at night.”

“That early, huh? Make it half an hour then.” I hang up, stride through the apartment to my bedroom and pull on a black tee on top of my black chinos. A battered leather jacket to keep out the chill and a quick detour to the bathroom to throw water on my face and clean the blood from my palm before I head out. I activate the valet app on my phone and my DB9 is waiting for me by the time I exit my building.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Blackwood.”

I hand the valet boy a fifty and slide behind the wheel. Traffic is thankfully light and I reach Adriana’s office with five minutes to spare.

She must have alerted her office security because I’m escorted up to her office and let in by a security guard. I pace until the click of heels sends me to the door of her office.

She sees me and stops in the middle of the hallway. Her gaze rakes over my all-black clothing and she takes a nervous breath without moving.

“Why, Adriana. Don’t tell me you afraid of me?”

A single shake of her head. “You’re not violent. Not that way, anyway.”

I’m not sure why that soothes me, but it does. “Are we going to conduct this session in the hallway?”

“So you’re serious? You really want to talk?”

“Either that, or I want to fuck you up the ass. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

Her eyes widen and light up with suppressed excitement before her gaze drops. “Maybe we can do…both?”

I laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to send you back home to dear old Stanley with a sore ass and a heart brimming with fulfillment for all the good work you’ve done? Tell me, how is the darling husband doing these days?”

She resumes walking toward me. “Quinn, if you dragged me all the way here to toy with me, be warned, I’m not in the mood.” The practiced sway of her hips beneath the wraparound dress she has on contradicts her words. I don’t care enough to point it out.

I turn sideways for her to precede me into the office. She stops and stares up at me.

“Something’s happened,” she muses quietly. “What is it, Quinn?”

“Inside. Now.”

She walks in, and I shut the door. I decline the drink she offers, cross the room and drop into the sofa. Both hands spear into my hair and I search for words.

“You’re right. I’m…affected.”

“It’s understandable, seeing as your father’s back in the city—”

“It’s not him. Well, it’s not all him. But he’s being a good demon for now and staying in his allotted box.”

“Then who is it?”

“Names aren’t important.” I don’t want to mention her name here, even the names that I know are fake. Not in this place of sickening filth and half-baked healing. For the first time, I wonder what her real name is. Where she’s from. I catch myself and return Adriana’s stare. “All that’s important is how to get rid of it.”

“Rid of what? What are you feeling?”

“The need to succumb.” I say. My voice is barely a rumble. But with the time of night, and the quiet of the office, she hears me.

Her gaze moves over me. To the side. Down my arm. “Are you self-harming again?”

I silently commend her for not beating about the bush. She’s in full shrink mode, and I realize I need that.

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