Page 10 of Falling For Her Boss

It doesn’t take me long to notice that I’m in a hospital room and not my apartment. The second thing that comes to mind is that I must have missed all of my morning meetings. My third thought is of Isabella. I don’t remember leaving the restaurant last night, or how things ended between me and Joshua. Is she okay? Have I fucked this up for real?

A doctor enters the room before I can run through every question I’m dying to ask. He gives me a disdainful glance, shaking his head at me subtly as he consults his clipboard.

“You have a mild case of whiplash, Mr. Haynes,” the doctor tells me, pursing his lips. “Personally, I think you should be ashamed of yourself. You were very irresponsible last night. You should know better than to drink and drive at your age. You were well over the limit. But no one else was injured in the crash, so that’s something.”

I sigh in relief. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I’ve never been the sort to go for a joyride, even if I do tend to loosen up a little after a few drinks. With the business to tend to, it’s been a long time since I drank properly, anyway. What was I thinking?

Then I remember the argument Joshua and I had. I groan in realization. I must have drunk enough to try and forget the argument. To try and forget Isabella. A memory of being in my car flashes back to me, or her running around my head and driving me crazy as I headed home. At least she wasn’t in the car with me. At least I haven’t hurt anyone, but myself.

“I’m sorry, doctor…bad night.”

“Yes, well. You’ll be given a hefty fine, I would imagine, plus I’m sure the police will have you set up with some classes and community service, and you can expect your insurance to skyrocket. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse. From what I’ve heard, your car was a crumpled mess. Now, listen carefully so that we can have you discharged and home in a few hours. You might experience some pain and stiffness, but if your symptoms worsen, seek medical advice. Some numbness is normal too, so don’t panic. And for God’s sake, don’t try and drive again for a while. Take the subway or something…”

I listen to the doctor lecture me for another ten minutes, trying to nod in all the right places, but I can’t get last night off my mind. I would definitely count it as one of the craziest nights of my life. I’ve never done anything so reckless before. Even after my parents died and I went a little off the rails, the worst thing I did was get super drunk with my friends. I would never have dreamed of doing anything worse, and that was the hardest period of my life. Why all of a sudden am I acting out like some idiotic teenage boy?

But I think I know someone who might be able to help me.

CHAPTER 8

Logan

“Logan…I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Business or pleasure?”

“Strictly business,” I insist. I stand outside the office of Rochelle Jones, my psychiatrist and former lover. Yes, I know it’s strictly against the rules to sleep with your therapist, but she’s the one who encouraged it, and why would I say no to an offer so tantalizing? She’s a beautiful woman, with smooth dark skin and a head full of wild curls. Her wide rimmed glasses accentuate her brown eyes and make her look as intelligent as she is. Once upon a time, I would have gladly taken up her offer for sex. But since I met Isabella, I’ve had zero interest in one-night stands. Why would I want a meaningless experience when I could have tantalizing sex with the woman of my dreams?

Except I can’t have that. Is that why I’m here? To figure out why I’m obsessed to the point where I’m thrill seeking on drunken car rides? I’m hoping Rochelle might be able to decode it for me.

“Business it is, then,” Rochelle says, her voice tainted with disappointment. “Come inside. Take a seat. Drink?”

“Water,” I say, sinking slowly into the sofa uncomfortably. I was only released from the hospital last night, and I’m still pretty sore from the experience. Rochelle narrows her eyes at me, picking up on my injuries at last.

“You’re not looking so hot if you don’t mind me saying. Is that why you’re here?”

“I was in a car crash.”

“And how does that make you feel? Is your emotional response to the event more significant than the injuries you acquired?”

“I love it when you talk therapist to me,” I reply with a weak smile and a groan as I shift positions. “I was hoping you’d be able to make sense of my thoughts, to be honest. I’m not feeling like myself.”

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