Page 11 of Wicked Duty
Nice to look at, sure. Callum’s one of the most visually appealing men I’ve ever laid eyes on. But to him, it’s clear that I’m just a job. He gives off the impression that he’s counting down the days until this assignment’s over.
“Efficient, hmm?” The way she bites her lip suggests she’s intrigued. “Efficient is good.”
“I guess. Though to be honest, having him around all the time is unsettling. I’m used to Maya, not a strange man who only has to glance at someone to intimidate them.”
She scribbles another note. “Do you feel safe around him?”
“I guess so.” Darren and Veronika wouldn’t hire someone they didn’t trust. “I know he’d protect me if I found myself in a dangerous situation.” I worry my lower lip. “But like I said, for years, it’s just been my sister and me. I’ll be glad when this is all over.”
“That’s understandable.” She spins the pen between her fingers. “How are you liking the diner? Any friends? People you might be interested in seeing more of?”
My fingers tighten around the silver cuff bracelet etched with Celtic knotwork on my wrist, the one Maya gave me when I graduated high school. She wears a matching piece, both of which originally belonged to our grandmother.
I trace the jewelry’s intricate design. “Some days are a little overwhelming, but I enjoy it most of the time. Though if you’re asking if there’s anyone I might want to date, that’s a hard pass.And I seriously doubt any man would be interested in…someone like me.”
“Why do you say that?” She rocks back so she can fold her legs beneath her in that oversize armchair. I always wonder how she gets those slacks to be so stretchy. “You’re a wonderful woman, Lucy. What’s so horrible about a man taking notice of that?”
Baseless flattery much?
I inhale through my nose, discomfort with the direction of the conversation needling my skin. “I don’t see myself as a wonderful woman. Look, even without…what happened to me a few months ago…even if I did believe I was a great catch, I grew up in foster care. I’ve always been…allergic to intimacy.”
Betty stills. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, making an emotional connection with another person was the dumbest thing a kid like me could do.” I track the patterns of her Persian rug as anxiety spurs my pulse into a gallop. “Abandonment and pain. That’s all bouncing around from home to home ever brought me. Do you really think I was desperate for a boyfriend? Or have been, like, ever?”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been desperate for anything.” She rests her hands on the notebook in her lap. “Except maybe to survive in one piece.”
I pause to digest her words. “It took me a long time before I was ready to give someone a chance. Wasn’t until college. And even then, we’re talking casual dates.”
“And what about after college?”
“I had a couple of short-lived relationships, but I always broke them off before they got too serious. Intimacy was awkward, and I found it just wasn’t worth the effort to stay in a relationship for a long time.”
Dr. Shaw and I exchange a look of mutual understanding. “Lucy, I know you grew up in the foster system. You wereorphaned very young in life. Being ‘allergic to intimacy,’ as you call it, is natural for someone who’s lived through your experiences.”
Blah blah blah.
“Some people develop a deep fear of vulnerability. Anything that feels like a loss of control can be frightening and uncomfortable for them.”
My skin tingles with the heat of exposure. I hate when she hits too close to home. I hate it even more when she pins me with the difficult questions like?—
“What frightens you?”
Unbidden childhood memories slam through my mind.
I almost lost Maya to this one family in the suburbs who only wanted to adopt her. That led to freezing black nights where I panicked myself to sleep, terrified I’d be abandoned, left alone without the one person in the world I loved. The only person in the entire universe who cared about me.
That bone-deep terror haunted me for the remainder of my childhood and lingered through adulthood. I was just starting to overcome the caution—daring to be more independent, pursuing my modeling dreams for the first time—when I was abducted. Taken. Confined.Used.
Like a helpless creature. A victim.
Sour acid bubbles in the pit of my stomach.
“What am I afraid of?” My voice is a hoarse, irritated murmur.
Losing power. Losing control. Being caged. Being watched. People with hidden agendas. Letting Maya down.
Nope. Not going there.
