Bad Behavior [Confuct Series #2]

by Jennifer Lane

  “I’m going to dinner with my dad,” Sophie reminded him.

  “Oh, that’s right. Where’re you going?”

  “Some Italian place my dad likes.”

  “Italian, huh?” He pulled her body into his, resting his long fingers on the curve of her hips. “Stay away from the mobsters, Bonnie.”

  She smiled up at him, and the warmth dancing in her eyes was irresistible. He planted a soft kiss on her lips and she closed her eyes, reveling in the ripples of pleasure surging through her body.

  When Grant finally released her, Sophie was the befuddled one. Eyeing Grant’s dark Italian features, she teased, “But I like the mobsters. Especially this one.”

  10. Confidential

  “After you, madam,” Grant said, making a sweeping gesture toward the restaurant with one hand while the other held the door open for his date.

  Sophie gave a warm smile, admiring the length of his tall, lanky body. His graceful leanness was emphasized by the pale blue dress shirt tucked into crisp black pants. She smirked. “Thank you, sir.”

  As she passed in front of him, he paused to appreciate her appearance. Sophie always had a knack for elegance, even in gym clothes, and tonight was no exception. Her long hair hung in loose curls, cascading over her shoulders, and her mini-dress, complete with embroidered embellishments, showcased her shapely legs, which ended in funky brown gladiator sandals. Sensing a hint of autumn in the air, Sophie was sneaking in one last outing for her open-toed shoes.

  As they made their way into the Brazilian steakhouse, they were greeted by samba music, and the smooth underlying beat gave Sophie an itch to dance. The restaurant was hopping—Grant had told her about its growing popularity—but fortunately they had reservations. The host led them past the salad bar, and as they strolled to their table, Sophie enjoyed the comforting presence of Grant’s hand at the small of her back.

  As soon as the host left them, Sophie leaned in and said, “That’s the most amazing salad bar I’ve ever seen!”

  Grant smiled and also leaned forward. “It is amazing, but promise me you’ll try some meat too. They’re known for their steak, according to Rog.”

  “I’m not one of those girls who only eats salad, Grant,” Sophie quickly clarified. “Filet mignon’s one of my favorites.”

  Amused by the indignant glow of her cheeks, he brushed his long fingers lovingly down her temple. “Ah yes, Will Taylor’s daughter is certainly accustomed to fine dining. I bet that Italian place you went to was much nicer than this.”

  Sophie demurely declined to respond. Her father had indeed taken her to a very fancy restaurant inside his buddy Alex Remington’s hotel—a gorgeously ornate setting where the two of them generated an almost-three-hundred-dollar bill, which Alex promptly waived when he came to visit them at the table. “Actually, my family wasn’t always wealthy,” Sophie said. “My father worked extremely hard in the construction business to get where he is now. He persevered through some difficult times.”

  “I’m sure he did,” Grant agreed. “He has that, um, tenacious bulldog quality about him.”

  Sophie blushed. At dinner a few nights ago her father had once again attempted to dissuade her from dating Grant, and she’d once again refused to listen. She wasn’t going to let go of Grant, no matter what her father said.

  Redirecting the conversation, Sophie asked, “So, how was work today?”

  “Pretty good. At least there weren’t any arguments between Ben and Rog. I told Ben he almost lost the privilege of going out with his friends tonight because of his disrespect for our boss.”

  Sophie gently stroked Grant’s hand. “He’ll be okay, Grant. He’s sixteen years old. You can’t supervise him around the clock, and Ashley agreed with you that he could go out tonight, right?”

  He nodded distractedly. “You’re right—it’s just that I know him. I know that look in his eyes. He wants to self-destruct.” Grant sighed, then spoke more quietly, “He wants to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

  “I guess Logan and Ben are alike that way—trying to rebel to get back at their fathers for leaving them too young,” she said wistfully.

  Grant stared at her intently and she continued, “Logan was thirteen when your dad was sent away?”

  Grant nodded.

  “And Ben was only sixteen when he lost his dad.”

  They were quiet as the waiter filled their water glasses and explained the steakhouse menu. When he departed, Sophie’s eyes pierced Grant’s.

  “But Grant,” she said, clasping his hand in hers once again, “there’s one big difference between Logan and Ben.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You.”

  Sensing his confusion, she explained. “Once Logan ran away from Joe’s, he lost you. He lost his one reason to fight against your dad’s family—he lost the one reason to become a good man. He no longer had to protect you. He lost his sense of purpose, and we all know where that led him.”

  “But no one forced him to leave! He chose that himself!”

  She was surprised by the sudden anger in Grant’s voice and nodded sadly. “Logan made many mistakes, but leaving his eight-year-old brother was the one he regretted most.” She remembered sitting on her office sofa, holding Logan as he was wracked with sobs. I hurt him. Sophie remembered the pain in his voice. I left my little brother all alone. He’ll never forgive me.

  Sophie gazed at the younger, less hardened man across from her. “He loved you,” she insisted. “He hated himself for not being there for you. But you had your uncle, who taught you so much. And now Ben has his uncle. Ben has you in a way Logan never could.”

  Grant’s jaw clenched against unexpressed emotion. His focus had been trained on Sophie’s voice for several moments, but now the lively Brazilian music once again entered his consciousness, and he glanced around him at the brilliant red hues of the restaurant’s décor.

  Sophie sensed a new topic would be helpful. “Let’s not talk about him any more tonight, okay?”

  Nodding readily, Grant took a deep breath and attempted a smile. “How about trying out that incredible salad bar?”

  They rose and headed toward the long granite slab, heaped with everything from colossal shrimp and hunks of mozzarella to artichoke hearts and jicama. The maître d’ was heading their way, escorting another couple to their seats, and Sophie gasped.

  Grant glanced up and found none other than Dr. Hunter Hayes walking in their direction, followed by a tall, brown-haired man with a high forehead and intelligent blue eyes.

  Hunter was zoned in on their table, and he’d practically passed Grant and Sophie before he was even aware of their presence. He jumped upon catching a glimpse of the couple. His personal and professional lives had just intersected.

  Behind him, Dr. Bradley Washington noticed his partner’s startled reaction, and he too glanced at the couple gawking at them from the salad bar. The woman was quite attractive and the man was smoking hot, with intense blue eyes that met Bradley’s with a sparkle of curiosity.

  The man was just an inch or two shorter than Bradley, and for some reason the plastic surgeon felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. He didn’t know if he wanted to fuck him or to fuck him up, but he was definitely intrigued.

  This interaction lasted less than one second before Hunter regained his composure, averting his eyes from the couple and coolly resuming his stroll to the table. He felt Bradley’s large hand on his back, guiding him firmly. Typically that gesture was reassuring, but in front of his clients his partner’s touch seemed possessive, controlling, and embarrassing.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Grant whispered when they’d passed. “Dr. Hayes didn’t even say hi to us.”

  “He’s not supposed to,” she whispered back, selecting a plate from the stack and using tongs for the arugula. “When therapists run into their clients in social settings, they try to protect their confidentiality. They only acknowledge them if the clients say hi first.”

 
; Grant grunted, suspicious of this secret world of shrink etiquette.

  “I wonder if that’s his partner,” Sophie quietly mused.

  Grant stole a glance behind them, finding the tall, brown-haired man staring intently back at him.

  “Whoever he is, he looks pissed off,” Grant replied, quickly returning his gaze to the salad bar.

  Across the room, the two men settled in at their table. “Do you know that couple?” Bradley asked.

  “Who?” Hunter played dumb.

  “That buzz-cut guy with the blonde at the salad bar—you seemed to recognize them.”

  Hunter glanced over his shoulder. Thankfully Grant and Sophie had turned their backs to him. “Umm, nope. Never seen them before.”

  Bradley’s blue eyes narrowed. Hunter had never been a good liar. Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, Bradley continued glancing back and forth between his partner and the couple, who were now taking their seats at a nearby table.

  From the corner of his eye, Hunter noted where Grant and Sophie were sitting. “What’s wrong, stud?” he asked Bradley. “You look uptight.”

  Bradley reluctantly peeled his eyes from Grant and rested them on Hunter, whose royal blue button-down brought out a cerulean hue in his warm hazel eyes. Bradley loved that color—the gem tone really played up Hunter’s tanned face and cropped blond hair. Inhaling deeply and smelling roasting chicken, sausage, and beef, Bradley gave his partner a crooked, knowing smile.

  “Nothing’s wrong, Hayes. I just realized why you’re acting so weird: They must be your therapy clients.”

  Hunter blinked rapidly and attempted to keep his facial expression neutral. He would’ve tried to deny it, but running into Grant while out on a date had thrown him. He chose nervous silence instead.

  “Relax.” Bradley chuckled. “I know you can’t say anything.” He stole another glance at the couple. “Though what that beautiful couple has to argue about, I’ll never know.”

  You’d be surprised, Hunter silently replied.

  “Her cheekbones are structurally flawless,” Bradley marveled, his voice clinical and detached. “I don’t know if I could ever get that result surgically.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you could,” Hunter said, but Bradley was still absorbed.

  “Even though the guy’s nose isn’t perfect, it suits his face. The shape of his head is exquisite, and those plump lips… I wonder if he does collagen injections—”

  “Good evening,” the waiter said, and Hunter exhaled with relief. He’d been clenching the draped tablecloth with both fists.

  Meanwhile, over where the “beautiful couple” was sitting, Sophie was giggling between bites of her salad.

  “What’s so funny?” Grant asked.

  “I’m thinking of this article about confidentiality we read in my Professional Issues class.” She grinned. “It’s about when therapists run into clients in public. The authors interviewed therapists and clients about the chance encounters, and they found that the therapists were much more freaked out than the clients.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, the therapists were all worried about protecting confidentiality, so they went out of their way not to acknowledge the clients, but sometimes the clients felt really hurt that their therapists ignored them.”

  “I get that.” Grant nodded. “It felt like he was giving us the cold shoulder or something, but I guess that makes sense. Did you ever run into your clients downtown?”

  Sophie shrugged. “Sure, a few times, but it was never that big of a deal. We’d talk about it in session afterward, and I told my clients I’d take their lead—if they wanted to ignore me, that was fine, but if they said hi, I’d reciprocate. Most of the time I was out with Kirsten or another therapist, and we just learned not to ask each other questions if we ran into people on the street.”

  Sophie stopped short, thinking about one of her clients in particular. She wanted to reassure Grant that she’d never encountered Logan in public, but she didn’t believe it would be wise to bring up his name.

  She sighed. “Frankly, I wasn’t practicing long enough to experience many awkward public encounters with my clients.”

  Grant gave her a wistful look, thinking about their lost careers.

  “What about you?” Sophie asked. “What was it like when you ran into your Navy colleagues out in public?”

  “Well, typically there was a salute involved.” Grant smirked. “So ignoring each other was out of the question.”

  Eventually the waiter cleared their salad plates, and Grant picked up a round cardboard coaster from the table. One side was green, indicating that the diner was ready for waiters to approach the table with a succulent cut from the slab on their skewers. The other side was red, communicating that the diner was full for now—or at least completely occupied by a plate full of meat.

  “Ready?” Grant asked, looking playfully at Sophie.

  She nodded.

  “Okay,” he replied, cautiously flipping both of their coasters to green. “We’re going in.”

  Immediately two waiters swooped over, one offering roasted chicken and one presenting pincaha sirloin. In just a few moments, their plates were full, and Grant mercifully flipped their coasters back to red.

  About an hour later, Bradley offered Hunter a succulent bite of filet mignon. He protested while clutching his distended belly.

  “Oh, but I’m too full.”

  “C’mon,” Bradley coaxed with a coy smile. “You have to taste this. We’ll work out extra tomorrow.”

  Groaning, Hunter reluctantly opened his mouth, allowing Bradley to slide in his fork. As he chewed on the tender bite of steak, Hunter smiled dreamily. “That is delicious, you’re right.” He sat back in his chair, pushing his half-filled plate away from him. “I’m in a food coma.”

  Suddenly a shadow covered the table, and Hunter looked up to find Sophie, with Grant hovering behind her.

  “Hi, Hunter!” she beamed, glancing back at her blushing boyfriend who clearly seemed to disagree with their visit.

  Hunter cleared his throat. “Um, hi, Sophie. Hi, Grant.”

  He got an uncomfortable “Hello, Dr. Hayes” in return as Grant reluctantly sidled up next to Sophie.

  Bradley watched the interaction with a bemused look.

  “I thought we’d come say hello,” Sophie explained. “It seemed kind of silly to sit just a few tables away and not even acknowledge each other.” Her curiosity overtook her, and she extended her hand to the man across from Hunter. “Hi, I’m Sophie.” As Bradley shook her slender hand in his, she added, “I’m one of Hunter’s clients. He’s a great psychologist, you know.”

  Hunter warily examined Bradley’s reaction. He still appeared amused and seemed to be studying Grant more than Sophie.

  “Oh, I know,” Bradley replied. “Hunter tries to analyze me all the time.”

  The four shared a tense chuckle, and Hunter realized he was being rude. “Uh, Sophie, Grant, this is Dr. Bradley Washington.”

  Having already greeted Sophie, Bradley offered a handshake to Grant. “Hunter’s partner,” Bradley added, pumping Grant’s arm vigorously.

  Hunter wanted to crawl under the table, and Grant continued blushing. Bradley seemed to revel in his partner’s squirming.

  “Are you a psychologist too?” Sophie asked.

  “Lord, no!” Hunter answered for him, finally smiling. “He’s a surgeon.”

  Never taking his eyes off Grant, Bradley inquired, “So, Grant, you’re Hunter’s client as well?”

  “Yes, sir,” Grant responded.

  Bradley’s eyebrows formed an inquisitive arch.

  “They’re, uh, they…” Hunter paused, trying not to compromise their confidentiality any further.

  “We’re one of the couples Hunter sees,” Sophie supplied, now noticing the awkward situation she’d created by dragging Grant over here in the first place. “And we should stop interrupting your dinner. It’s very nice to meet you, Bradley.”

  She at
tempted a smile and then bit her lip.

  “I enjoyed meeting you as well, Sophie.” Bradley nodded smoothly. “And you too, Grant. What a treat to catch a glimpse into Hunter’s professional life. Everything is so hush-hush, you know.”

  An awkward silence descended, and Grant fought the urge to simply run from the table. He nodded respectfully at Bradley, “Dr. Washington,” then turned his gaze to Hunter. “We’ll see you next week, sir.”

  “Have a lovely evening,” Hunter managed as Grant gently led his girlfriend away from the table.

  As soon as they were out of earshot, Bradley began laughing heartily. “That was awesome!” he cackled. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you more embarrassed—you’re totally adorable.”

  Hunter was not amused.

  Bradley’s blue eyes continued twinkling. “Does he actually call you ‘sir’? What the hell is that about?”

  “He’s, um, he’s former military,” Hunter disclosed, unsure if it was appropriate to share that information.

  “Why do they see you?” Bradley inquired.

  “You know I can’t tell you that!”

  “Oh, c’mon, Hunt. Give me something here. They freaking came over and introduced themselves to me.” He slid into a mocking, falsetto tone, “He’s a great psychologist, you know.”

  “Shut up.” Hunter’s lips pressed into a taut line.

  Bradley didn’t heed the warning and instead sat up rigidly in his chair. “See you next week, sir!” He executed a sharp salute before bursting into laughter.

  Hunter felt his chest tighten with anger. “Stop making fun of Grant.”

  Bradley’s grin vanished, and he scrutinized his partner. “You’re rather protective of him, aren’t you?”

  Hunter looked down, recalling some of the awful stories Grant had shared. How could he not feel protective of that wounded little boy who was abused by his father?

  Bradley continued to study his partner thoughtfully. “Damn, that Grant is quite a handsome man, isn’t he?”

  Hunter locked eyes with his now-suspicious partner. A hint of jealousy crept into Bradley’s tone. “You never told me you had a client who’s so fucking hot.”