Page 14 of Playing A Risk
I don’t know where the guy on the edge of rage whenever we discussed Jamison went, but I’m not complaining.
“Hunter, can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“How long have you been seeing a therapist?”
He shrugs and throws away some dirty tissues. “I went a few times after you slept with Jamison. It was sporadic, though, so I don’t count it. I started getting serious when you told me you were going to explore a friendship with him. I wanted to understand your needs better. Why?”
“You just seem more in control of your anger.”
“Why do you say that?”
I shrug. “For one, when you got upset last night, you left me alone so you could calm down. You wouldn’t have done that in the past.”
“And?”
I push myself off the counter. “We would’ve been in a huge fight. One that would’ve probably left me doubting you.Then, earlier this morning, when I left the room crying, you didn’t chase me. I thought you would, but you didn’t.”
He steps back and studies me. “Did you want me to?”
“No. I was just surprised you didn’t.” I walk toward the opening of the bathroom. “I think therapy is helping you.”
He follows me out of the room, switching off the lights as we leave. “I’ll take that as a compliment then.”
“You should.”
He guides me upstairs and shows me to a guest room at the end of the hall that spreads the width of the upper area. It’s bigger than my loft. I turn to say something, but he shushes me and tells me to enjoy the space.
“I had my assistant take care of everything you should need. There are clothes in the closet and a journal on the desk if you want it.” He points to a simple, light gray desk near a large window. “She should be back from your apartment soon with the belongings you requested.”
“You got me a journal?”
“I thought you might want to write down your thoughts.” He strolls over to it with a pensive expression. “My therapist has me write and it helps. If you want, give it a shot. If not, I’ll use it when mine is full.”
He flips through the pages and then runs his fingers over the front. I join him to look at the light gray cover. Across the top in gold writing it says, Musing of The Day.
I pick up the journal and head to the four-post canopy bed that reminds me of the beds in the hotel we use when we’re at board meetings. I crawl into the center of the mattress and get ready to write.
Before I do, I peek up. “Thanks, Hunter. Once again, your thoughtfulness is more than I deserve.”
“Nonsense.” He tosses me a gentle smile. Something tender passes in his eyes.
My chest warms. “What?”
“The way you’re sitting right now reminded me of howyou looked that first night we were together. I was just taking a minute to bask in the memory.” He pulls in a deep breath and starts to leave. “You left your phone in the other room, so I’ll grab it and bring it to you.”
He’s gone before I have a chance to respond.
I open the journal and gaze at the blank pages, but I don’t have a pen, so I get off the bed to search through the nightstands. I take a moment to scan my surroundings.
The light gray-colored furniture is a sleek designer brand. There are two nightstands, an armoire, a dresser, a desk and chair, and a table with two chairs near a balcony.
A dozen pink roses sit on the table, and there’s a canopy bed with a sheer drape floating across the top. In the corner is a gas fireplace.
The room has light pink accents throughout, creating a gentle, feminine feel—nothing like Hunter’s masculine mahogany decor.
Did he decorate this room for me?
