Page 4 of Color of Love

Chapter 2

Justine stared at Blake. His silver eyes held nothing except darkness and despair, and she wondered how they looked when he was happy. Immediately she disregarded the thought, he’s aclient, she reminded herself. She kept her smile fixed on her face, hoping if she acted casually enough, he wouldn’t notice her cheeks heating or hear the pounding of her heart.

They stared at one another in silence before he tore his eyes away and let them roam around the office, his hand still gripping the door handle so tightly his knuckles blanched. He’s showing signs of anxiety, he’s planning his exit route, looking for weaknesses in the building’s structure. Oh yes, he was exhibiting symptoms just standing there.

A bubble of anticipation fizzled inside her: this was what she’d been waiting for. He wouldn’t be easy, he definitely would be a challenge, everything about him screamed hard, ahem, metaphorically speaking. After witnessing his outburst last night, she knew there were some deep-rooted issues and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him, again, metaphorically of course.

“You’re Dr. Rodríguez-Hamilton?” he asked, his eyes flicking back to her. She nodded and stood up, gesturing to the couch again.

“I sure am, but just call me Justine, I’m not a doctor doctor, I can’t prescribe you anything, not that you might need anything. I can see from your file you’ve been on medication before and didn’t want to try again, unless you’ve changed your mind, that is, but I do have a PhD.” She clamped her mouth shut to stop her babbling, and sighed internally. She was meant to be the one in control.

He slowly walked towards the leather couch and by the time he was sitting down his expression had completely shuttered. She was afraid that would happen. She seated herself opposite him, smoothing her purple knit dress over her knees, feeling nervous and trying not to come across like she was out of her depth.

“So, welcome to your first session. How are you feeling?” she asked enthusiastically, wanting to create a sense of excitement and joy that he’d taken this step, even if it wasn’t his choice. He rolled his eyes, not even trying to hide his reaction and she was surprised at the blatant rudeness.

“Did you not like that question?” She narrowed her eyes, assessing him. He pursed his lips at her inspection.

“It’s just the epitome of cliché,” he muttered, his deep voice gravelly as though the words had been dragged from his throat. She tried not to shiver at the sound. He’s. A.Client! she scolded.

“You might find it clichéd, but I find it polite to inquire after my client’s wellbeing,” she retorted. He pursed his lips again and he folded his arms across his wide chest. She bit her cheek, annoyed at herself for her snappy tone, he’s already adopted a defensive posture and closed himself off.

Despite his reaction she wasn’t concerned, she’d known he would be a tough nut to crack, something she would relish breaking down. Also, unlike some of her other clients, he was required to be here by the terms of his employment, she had plenty of time to break down his barriers. She didn’t need to play her trump card yet and he was sorely mistaken if he thought she wouldn’t get under his skin.

“Feel free to make yourself at home, you can remove your jacket, and your shoes if you wish,” she said, kicking off her heels and crossing her legs. He didn’t move, just stared at her, his expression unreadable. She didn’t speak again, just continued to let him watch her. She knew he was assessing her, trying to figure her out and see what her weaknesses were but she had none. That’s not true, her brain piped up, but she shoved the thought away quickly. After another five minutes of silence, she tried again.

“How have you found the move from Anderson?” She already knew that she wouldn’t get a response, she just wanted to show him that she wouldn’t be fazed by his actions. A muscle twitched in his jaw, he clearly had something he wanted to say but didn’t want to break his silent treatment. She nearly laughed at such childish behavior coming from a thirty-eight-year-old man. If he wanted to play this game, then she was all in.

She settled herself more comfortably in the chair, tucking her feet up under her, rolling her shoulders, massaging her neck, this would be a loooong hour. She couldn’t deny she wasn’t enjoying being the full focus of his attention, she reveled in having this beautiful man studying her, and she wondered what he saw. It meant she was also able to openly stare at him, something she hadn’t been able to do all the other times she’d seen him, when she’d been too busy avoiding him.

She took in his features: long, black lashes surrounding those startling silver eyes, his dark eyebrows were thick slashes across his forehead. His brow was tightly pinched, he was definitely one of those men who looked good all moody and broody. He had a cute nose perched above that flat, mulish mouth. She would love to see him smile, she bet it would be beautiful. Stop fantasizing!

His square jaw was set firmly in displeasure, his beard was in definite need of a trim and his biceps bulged angrily from where he folded his arms across his chest. Did he work out? She wasn’t normally a fan of muscles but seeing his made her feel all funny inside. She tried not to drool. Maybe preppy businessmen aren’t my type after all. She couldn’t see anymore of him without looking away from his gaze and she refused to let him win their staring contest.

They sat like that for an hour. Occasionally he quickly glanced out the window whenever there was a loud noise and she felt a flare of triumph each time, but he always swiftly met her gaze again. Luckily, there was a clock behind him on the wall.

“Well, we’re done for today.” She stood and headed around to her desk. “Looks like we’re in for the same time next week too so, I’ll see you then.”

She lifted her head, but he had already left the office, the front door banging shut behind him and she sat down with a sigh to make her notes. While she wrote she assured herself that her disappointment was stemming from a professional point of view rather than a personal one. When she finished, she went out to see Hilda.

“Did the first session go well?” Hilda asked, smiling up at Justine with affection. She and Hilda had become very close while working together. Hilda was like her work mom, although they spent time together away from the office too. Hilda had developed an interest in cooking the last few years and when she’d asked Justine to teach her how to make some traditional Mexican dishes, Justine had been thrilled. She had spent her childhood in the kitchen with her mom, learning culinary secrets, life lessons and the odd curse word in Spanish.

Justine sighed. “He spoke one sentence in the whole hour.”

Hilda tsked, handing her a list of her messages. “It’s the quiet ones that always have the most to say,” she said wisely.

“I don’t think he’s quiet, he’s just stubborn, but I hope you’re right,” Justine replied. She thanked Hilda for her messages and went back into her office.

Blake was complicated, that was for sure. His outburst at the Rusty Bucket last night had surprised her. She hadn’t realized his symptoms simmered so close to the surface. She couldn’t work out whether it was the crowds, the noise or being touched without his awareness or consent that had set him off. There was no mention of his triggers in the file that she had received so she would need to keep her eyes open to try and figure out what they were.

She put Blake out of her mind, focusing on her next client, a woman named Jodie who went bankrupt spending all her money on original 1800s fashion. Jodie liked to dress up and host luncheons with her stuffed animals. And yet she’s still got more experience with men than you, her brain taunted. It was true, Jodie also dressed her husband in the same clothes as her, and he liked it.

Justine tried to be present for the session, but she was a little checked out, she couldn’t stop thinking about Blake and what she could really do for him, the change she could make to his life, if she could handle it. Jodie didn’t want to change what she did, she just wanted to complain about why society couldn’t accept her. Blake needed to change, for the sake of his career, his sanity, even his life.

*

Blake was fuming. God, she’d pissed him off something awful. He’d assumed Dr. Rodríguez-Hamilton would be a man. Foolish and old-fashioned on his part, but he had not assumed that Dr. Rodríguez-Hamilton would be some wily temptress who had more than beauty and brains. With her as his new psychologist she had the ability to own his thoughts, to break him apart from the inside out, leaving him a shattered, broken shell. And fuck that scared him.

He had stormed out of her office as soon as their time was up, not wanting to be around her for another second, fearful of what her probing gaze would uncover about him. He jumped into his cruiser and sped off down the street to the station.

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