Page 10 of Interning For A Billionaire

I mean, really.

It was all this touchy-feely nonsense about how she was going through such a hard time, and she was seeing this therapist and now this inappropriate way we were communicating, blah-blah, she wants me to come to therapy with her, talk stuff through, find a way of communicating that was blah-blah-blah.

I sat back in my chair, so disappointed. I’d completely misread the girl, clearly. I was enjoying this charged interaction with her, I thought she was up for it. But I should have known. No way was I going to any therapy or talk session. God forbid. The mere thought made me shudder.

I needed to get as far away from this nut case as possible.

I decided my rock climbing was over for the day. I took a shower, got ready for work, stopping for coffee along the way.

At the Starbucks, I waited my turn, then told the barista I needed something extra. The girl had a huge Afro and a lovely smile.

“What about a caramel macchiato with a shot of espresso?”

She made it sound like something sexy and possibly dirty.

“Sure.”

I took a sip and felt the caffeine rush through my blood, the warmth and the sweetness picking me up right away.

“Was I right?” she called out to me.

“You sure were,” I said with a smile. “Could you fix my other problems too?”

We were alone in the shop, and I could risk a few off-the-cuff remarks. She came round to my side of the counter.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, her voice low and flirty.

“Do you read women’s minds?” I ask.

“Of course, it’s a specialty of mine.”

I grinned.

“If a woman says she has been seeing a therapist for years and she wants you to come to talk therapy with her, what does that mean?”

The girl lifted a slender hand, tapping her mouth with a red fingernail.

“I’d say she’s definitely going to sleep with you.”

“Really?!”

This was good news.

“Eventually,” the barista amended.

“What do you mean… eventually?”

My heart sank.

“Well, she’s gonna be the talky kind, right? First, you have to talk about the crap that happened years and years and years ago. What she wants, what she feels …etc. etc.”

“What a turn-off,” I said.

The barista laughed.

“Hey, you wanna go with a crazy chick, that’s the shit you’ll be dealing with.”

A crazy chick?

---