“Tell me what brought you to see me.”
“There’s nothing exciting to tell.” His gaze shifted from her to the floor, then back to her.
“Oh, I’m sure there is,” she said then added, “please. I want to help you, and I won’t be able to unless I know what’s going on.”
He took a deep breath. “I met Lanie three years ago. We were the perfect couple, I thought. She had a good job, I had a good job, and we were both very successful.” He tapped his fingers on the brown couch. “We started living with each other shortly afterwards, and I thought we’d make it. She was busy with her career, and so was I.”
Jordan’s heart wrenched from the pain laced in his voice. “What is your line of work, Brock?”
He finally locked his gaze with hers. Though dulled with despair, the deep emerald hue of his eyes was beautiful.
“Construction.”
She nodded.
“Anyway, like I said, I thought our life together was going good. Sure, I came home late a few times, and some weekends I was too exhausted to do anything, but that’s normal, right?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer. “I think it would’ve been different if I had noticed a change in her attitude, but I didn’t.”
He adjusted himself on the couch, glancing down at floor. After several seconds passed, he cleared his throat. “Then a week ago I came home early from work and saw a strange car in my driveway.” His chest moved with deep breaths, and his Adam’s apple jumped twice. “I had a bad feeling. I walked into the house. The place was quiet. I crept upstairs to the bedroom, and that’s when I caught Lanie cheating on me.” His voice broke and he looked away. “I never saw it coming.”
“Did you actually see what was happening?”
“No.” He frowned. “I only heard.”
Brock Hamill intrigued her. Underneath his pitiful appearance, she sensed a different man. He might be a little more challenging, but she’d work with him to build his self-esteem. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to help him.
“Brock, tell me about your love life. Do you and Lanie spend quality time together?”
He ran his hands through his messy hair and shook his head. “Not a lot.”
“How about before…in the beginning?”
“Yeah, in the beginning.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
He raised his eyes to her. A touch of anger lit them.
“In the beginning, we couldn’t get enough of each other. The sun rose and set on her. I wanted to spend every waking moment with her, but after a while, she just lost interest in me. I would have done anything for her—given her anything she asked for.”
Jordan didn’t exactly enjoy memories popping up of her and Kenneth when they first started dating. She knew exactly how Brock felt, because that’s how she felt. “Did you tell Lanie about your feelings?”
“Yes, and at first, she acted like she wanted to work on our relationship, but then gradually, she found other interests. She met new friends and wanted to hang out with them instead of her own boyfriend.”
Jordan couldn’t believe how much his story fit with hers and Kenneth’s love life. Scary…
She pushed away those memories and concentrated harder on Brock. Adjusting on her seat, she crossed one leg over the other. His gaze snapped to her legs, then quickly dropped to the floor. His large, dark, tanned hands gripped his knees. They appeared incredibly strong. Of course, he worked in construction.
“Then all we did was argue about her friends, so I quit taking her out,” he continued. “Soon, I started working more hours, and she complained about how much I slept when I was home. The arguments got worse and we spoke rudely to one another. Rarely did we say ‘I love you’.” He let out a breath. “I guess things weren’t as good as they could have been, but I still didn’t think she’d go behind my back and cheat on me.” He swept a hand over his face. “It’s all my fault. I drove her to it.”
“Now, Brock, you shouldn’t blame yourself.” Jordan leaned forward.
He sat up. His fingers dangled over his knees. Deep green eyes captured her attention, and she couldn’t believe how expressive they were. Underneath the stubble, his face was rugged—a square jaw, yet smooth lips. If he wore clothes that fit him, combed his hair, shaved, and got rid of those ridiculous glasses, he’d be one handsome man. Quite a hunk, in fact.
She inwardly cursed and shoved that thought out of her head. It didn’t matter what this man looked like. He was her client.
“It takes two to tango.” She smiled when he gave her a confused look. “Have you ever heard that old-fashion expression?”
“Sure, but what does that have to do with me?”
“That means it takes two to fight, two to make up, two to fall in love, and two to break up. You’re not totally to blame, and I’m going to help you realize that. Lanie had a part in disrupting your relationship, so don’t think all of it is your fault.”
His gaze moved over her face, from the top of her head, over her eyes, nose, coming to rest on her mouth. A quiver rippled through her stomach. She adjusted her reading glasses, uncomfortable at the close scrutiny. It was as if he could see right through her and read her thoughts. Thoughts that wouldn’t leave her mind no matter how hard she tried so dispose of them.
Suddenly, he flashed a crooked smile that totally disarmed her. Maybe he did know what she’d been thinking.
“Thanks, Dr. Reed. I hoped you would be able to help, and although I’m still doubtful, I can feel you actually care about my problem.”
“I do care.”
“I’m beginning to see a little clearer now. I understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
She picked up her pad and pen again, and straightened her back. She uncrossed her legs, tucking them to the side of the chair. His attention strayed to her legs before shifting away.
Swallowing, she moistened her extremely dry throat. “Brock, I have one more question. Did you confront Lanie about her affair?”
He shook his head. “After I heard what was going on, I quickly left the house. When I came back later, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. She has no clue I know.”
“Perhaps that was an isolated incident?”
“No. I’ve driven past the house several times since then, and that same car was sitting in my driveway.”
“As much as you might not like to hear this, the first thing I want you to do is bring her with you to your next session.”
“What?” he shouted, rising to his feet. “I don’t want her coming here with me.”
“I understand how you feel, but in the long run—”
“And what next? Do you want her lover to join us on the third session?”
Although his anger disturbed her, she needed to calm him down. “Brock, you’re upset. Please have a seat and let’s talk about this calmly and rationally.”
He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry, Dr. Reed, but I don’t think I can do it. Not yet,” he said in a much calmer voice.
“What can’t you do, Brock?”
“I don’t think I can tell her that I know.”
“Do you want to bring her next time and tell her in front of me?”
He shook his head. “That would be too uncomfortable.”
“I understand.”
He glanced at his wristwatch, then at her. “I think my time is up.”
“If that’s what you want.” She stood.
“I’m sorry for blowing up like that. I’m still very touchy on the subject.”
“It’s to be expected.”
“When do you want to see me again?”
“It’s up to you. I’m available anytime you like.” Inwardly, she groaned. Now why did she say it that way with her voice pitched lower than usual? And didn’t she have other clients to help, too?
“Let me think about what you said, and I’ll call for another appointment.”
“All right.”
He stepped to the door, but stoppe
d when he touched the doorknob. “I’m glad I came today,” he said over his shoulder, then opened the door and walked out.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Funny, but in the three years she’d been a therapist, no male client had ever made her uncomfortable. It must be those images of him wearing nicer clothes having a clean-cut look. What other reason could there be?
Jordan strolled back to her desk to write a few notes, but those images of him that she’d created bothered her more than she was prepared for. Not only that, but she could put herself in his shoes and she knew exactly what he was feeling.
“Go away.” She growled in frustration and slammed her hands on the desk, trying to become the professional she knew was hiding for some reason.
It was hard to relive those years when her heart had been shattered. Since she’d left college and started her practice, and after the painful relationship with Kenneth, she’d all but sworn off men. Of course, it didn’t help when most of the men in her life accused her of trying to read their minds — simple as they were, and trying to act like God. Being a psychiatrist wasn’t just her job. It was her life. It was who she was. She couldn’t just turn that off on a whim.
She pushed away from the desk and stretched her knotted limbs. She hurried to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and took out a bottle of water. The cool liquid refreshed her cotton-dry mouth.
Why was it that she could cure her patients, but she couldn’t fix her own life…her own feelings? If she kept this up, her clients would suffer.
Perhaps she was the one who needed a doctor.
* * * *
Jordan walked up to the Medical Arts Building where she had an office space. The bright sun glared off the snow-covered roof, making her squint. She reached for the doorknob, opened the door, and hurried in. Five more steps took her to the reception area, and she opened another door that led her to her office. When Jordan stepped inside, Erica’s head snapped up, and she put down the paperback novel she’d been reading. She met Jordan’s stare and smiled.
“Good morning, Jordan.” Erica’s voice dripped with sweetness. “You look pretty this morning. Is that outfit new?”
Jordan bit her cheek, so as not to grin. What was Erica up to now?
“No, Erica, this outfit is not new.” She marched to the desk and leaned over, slapping her hands down on the heavy oak to rest her weight on her palms. “And I thought I told you not to read those books if you have work to do.”
Erica tossed her a challenging grin and shrugged. “I don’t have anything to do this morning.”
“Did you get the files of my new clients put together?”
Erica pulled back a strand of her blonde hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I had that done two days ago.”
“Did you contact those insurance companies to see when we’ll get paid?”
“Yes.” She slid some invoices her way. “As you can see, I’m on the ball with that, also.”
“Did you call and reschedule all of my appointments so I’m free on Christmas Eve to visit with Serena and…her husband?” Jordan had to nearly spit out those last words.
“Yes, Jordan, and although I know you’re not looking forward to seeing your stepmother or her husband, I went ahead and rearranged your schedule. You’ll take Serena and your ex to brunch at the country club, then the three of you can spend a lovely time swimming in the indoor pool. Or, if you’d rather, I can arrange to have you all go skiing.”
The corners of Jordan’s mouth turned into a grin. “Not even if my life depended on it. You know how much I hate to ski.” Unless, of course, she couldn’t find a man through the advertisement, then she’d have to do something—anything to make Serena and Kenneth think she didn’t stay home all the time.
She straightened and folded her arms. “I owe you an apology, Erica. I’m sorry for being cranky. You’re a good secretary, which is why I keep you around.”
Erica leaned back in her swivel chair, clasping her manicured hands over her flat stomach. “And because of the romance novels I share with you.”
Jordan scowled. “Yes, thanks for the reminder. Now I’m thinking you should not share them with me. Reading those books makes me long for things I’ll never have.”
“Don’t say that. Everyone can have a happy-ever-after. They just have to find it.” She smiled wide, her big brown eyes sparkled. “And one day you will find it.”
“Thank you, I think.” Jordan heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. This whole business about seeking a man to play my new love interest is driving me insane. Most of the calls have been pranks, and I’m almost ready to throw your idea out the window. Sad thing is, I can’t think of anything to replace it.”
“Do you want me to set you up with one of my friends?”
Jordan tried to end the conversation by picking up the mail from the end of Erica’s desk and sorting through it. “No. They wouldn’t be the right fit, anyway. I need a certain kind of man or Serena and Kenneth won’t believe me.”
“Give it a few more days, Jordan. I’m sure something will turn up.”
“Let’s hope so. I don’t have very long to decide.” Jordan turned toward her office. “Let me know when my next appointment arrives.” She hurried into her office and closed the door before Erica could try and convince her to go out with one of her friends.
Sighing, Jordan relaxed against the solid oak. Erica meant well, but starting another relationship didn’t interest Jordan. She’d been down that road, and she didn’t want the complications that came with meeting men.
Erica would never understand, and Serena surely wouldn’t. Jordan hoped the advertisement in the personals would be the key to getting her stepmother off her back. According to Serena, Jordan would never be complete without a man on her arm.
“Serena.” Jordan grumbled the woman’s name and marched to her desk, throwing the mail on top. Why did her stepmother find it necessary to treat Jordan as if she were still a child? Was it because Serena still worried that Jordan had inherited her father’s mental illness? How many times had Jordan told her stepmother that she was fine?
Although Jordan understand—and forgave—her meddlesome stepmother for worrying about Jordan’s mental being, she still hadn’t forgiven her for betraying Jordan in the worst way. If her stepmother hadn’t been such a great friend to her all those years, Jordan would tell Serena to take a flying leap off the tallest bridge. But Jordan wanted to impress Serena. She always had.
Trying to forget her disturbing past, she unbuttoned the hip-length forest green jacket, slipped it off her shoulders, and draped it over the chair. She turned and studied herself in the wall mirror. The sleeveless white silk blouse hugged her bosom, and the shorter-than-usual forest green skirt cuddled her hips. She glanced down at her legs and tugged at the hem, but her knees still showed.
She swallowed hard, moistening her throat. Today she would remember her professionalism, and whenever she started to react to Brock’s intense, heated stare, she would push aside the sensations and ignore what he did to her. That was the only way she’d be able to make it through the meeting.
It was not healthy for her career to have those kind of stirring feelings while with a patient.
Jordan swiped a stray lock of wavy hair off her forehead, blending it back in with the rest of her usual tight bun, but the stubborn wisp wouldn’t stay. Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought her hairspray, so the piece of hair would just have to go free for now.
Relaxing behind her desk, she leaned back in her chair and opened her mail. Nothing exciting. Usual bills, normal complaints from families of clients who figured their loved-ones should be well by now.
Oh, here’s an interesting letter. Jordan rolled her eyes as she read the envelope from one of those Clearinghouse companies. “You may be a winner....” Right, she was a winner. She chuckled and threw the letter in the trash. For once, she wished something exciting would happen in her normal, humdrum life. And no, Clearinghou
se, not from you.
Another letter caught her eyes. Addressed simply to Jordan Reed, it had no return address. She ripped apart the envelope with her letter opener and pulled out the single piece of paper. Once she unfolded the letter, she gasped. Oh, no! Not again!
Frantic, she blew out a breath and skimmed over the cutout magazine letters that formed the words: “I’m watching you. Soon you’ll be mine.”
She gnashed her teeth in irritation. This was the second letter like this. The one she received last week she talked herself into believing was a joke. Certainly not a very funny one, but she hadn’t taken it seriously. Erica had suggested calling the police or even hiring a detective. At the time, Jordan hadn’t thought it necessary. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She couldn’t imagine any of her clients sending such missives. They had all expressed their gratitude for her help. No, whoever put together this letter was sick. Mentally sick.
After putting the letter back into the envelope, she placed it under her book in the bottom drawer. She’d contact the police later, once she’d finished with her appointments. Her clients came first.
Her gaze fell on the voice recorder, and her thoughts switched to Brock. She quickly played back their last session, although she didn’t need any reminder. She’d played it over and over in her head since their last session. She had to focus on his problem.
Today, she’d try again to get him to confront his cheating girlfriend. The sooner she released his pain, the sooner he’d be on the road to recovery.
The buzz from Erica came quicker than Jordan expected, and she jumped.
“Dr. Reed, your appointment is here.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Jordan readied her notepad, pencil, and the recorder. She stood and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath for control, she reminded herself to act professional.
When she stepped out of her office, Brock rose from his chair. His appearance hadn’t changed, except he wore different colored clothes. His jeans and flannel shirt were still baggy. His hair and facial stubble still looked as if he’d rolled right out of bed. Next week’s session, they’d concentrate on building his self-confidence. But today, she’d just get to know what made him tick.
Finding the Perfect Man Page 2
