Five Years

by Brooklyn Knight

  Five Years

  Brooklyn Knight

  Edited by

  Rebekah Dodson

  Illustrated by

  Kelly Martin

  Contents

  **Reader Alert**

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Thank You

  Also by Brooklyn Knight

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Brooklyn Knight

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This work is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  In Honor of Mental Health and Wellness

  **Reader Alert**

  This story contains language, and extremely passionate and descriptive sex scenes.

  Not suitable for readers under the age of 18 years, or those who may be offended by somewhat graphic descriptions of sexual encounters.

  This story also contains mental-health related subject matter, which may trigger some readers.

  Brooklyn's characters exhibit real emotions and desires, and though she is their creator, she is also very sensitive to their needs and wants, and works in partnership with them to create their unique HEAs.

  This book has emojis in it; however, the translation to the KDP platform didn’t work out as planned. If you are reading this on an eReader and would like a version which includes the colorful emojis, contact Brooklyn at info@brooklynknightauthor.com. She’ll send it to you!

  1

  Maverick

  “Listen, Mav, I know you’re pissed as fuck about this.”

  “Honestly, pissed as fuck doesn’t seem like a strong enough term, Mitch,” I grumbled, resting my ankle on my knee in the manliest of fashions. “Are you serious? Fucking therapy?’

  “It’s counseling,” Mitch came back, as if the clarification made the appalling situation any better. Shit, what was the difference?

  I scoffed and dragged my fingers through my hair. “I don’t need therapy or counseling, Mitch; and what’s more, the hell if you or any of the Big Boys up top think I’m going.”

  Mitch leaned forward and zeroed his stern gaze in on me. “Well that’s the thing,” he began his counter. “This is exactly what the Big Boys want, and if you think you’re getting anywhere close to making partner, you’re gonna want to comply with their wishes. And we all know how your mother would feel about that.”

  I hissed through my teeth but wouldn’t deny his comment had gotten to me.

  Fuck me.

  “What exactly is the problem?” I asked, now uncrossing my legs and leaning forward to match him. “What’s the issue?”

  “It’s your attitude, Mav. Your manner. Your anger.”

  “My attitude and my manner are what land me the million-dollar clients,” I informed him, as if he didn’t already know this. “And as for my anger… I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific.”

  “Fine.” He slammed his back against the chair. “Yesterday, Dawn Laughlin went home early because you pissed her off.”

  “Dawn Laughlin needs to get a backbone if she’s going to work on my team and be as incompetent as she is,” I retorted without batting an eye. “It’s a dog eat dog world. My dog ate hers.”

  “Then there’s Danny McConnell,” he continued, ignoring my argument. “He filed a complaint to human resources. He says you’re aggressive and unyielding in meetings.”

  “Refer back to my previous comment,” I snapped. I shook my head. “Mitch, like I said, I really don’t see what the issue is,” I admitted. “I’ve been working here for four years. I remember my interview clearly.”

  “So do I,” Mitch agreed. A nostalgic smile dropped onto his lips. “You were ruthless and unforgiving even then. We hired you on the spot.”

  “My goddamn point exactly,” I said, throwing my hands out at him. “Everything I am is what makes me successful. Shit, it makes us and this company successful,” I preached. “So, because a few colleagues can’t handle the heat, my ass is the one being reprimanded? It makes no sense.”

  “It makes sense if you’re looking to make partner,” Mitch inserted.

  I groaned.

  “Mav, people want a leader who is fearless and authoritative. They want assurance that their leader will wage war and come out victorious.”

  I sighed.

  “They also want a leader they can trust, a leader they believe cares.” Mitch shrugged. “And that’s where you fall short,” he jabbed at me. “You don’t care, and you have no qualms about letting people know that, and to be completely transparent, I'm a little concerned.” He narrowed his eyes. “You're not going home.”

  “There's shit to do.”

  “You practically sleep at the office.”

  “There's shit. To do,” I repeated. I shrugged. “I'm not following.”

  “You're changing, Mav. Sure, you’ve always been hard-nosed, but this is different. I’m a little concerned about your mental health.”

  My mouth wrinkled at the term.

  “So!” Mitch lifted himself from his seat and handed me a business card. I plucked it from his fingers and glared at it.

  “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s the number to the Center of Counseling and Diagnostic Services.”

  “So I need a diagnosis now?”

  Mitch pursed his lips and rocked his head from side to side.

  “Fine,” I barked, raising from my own chair, “but only because you and the Big Boys want me to do this to prove my worthiness. Trust me, I’d never do this shit otherwise.” I peered at the card again, this time taking note of the details. “Who is Amaris Flowers?”

  “That’s the name of the woman who runs the place,” Mitch said. “She’s a clinical mental health therapist, and apparently, she’s pretty good.”

  I hmphed and flipped over the card. “Tomorrow at two o’clock? Sorry, Mitch. No can do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I have a meeting with Berringer at two-thirty, and I’m hoping to land the account. There’s no way I can miss it.”

  Mitch approached me and clamped a hard hand on my shoulder. “Your secretary already took care of it,” he advised. “Blaine’s gonna handle it in your stead.”

  “Blaine?” I whined.

  “Blaine is your buddy and your partner in crime,” Mitch reminded me. “If he lands the deal, so do you.”

  “If he lands the deal, we go sixty-forty on commission,” I grumbled, and then I huffed.

  Mitch was right. Blaine was my buddy. In fact, he was more than my buddy. He was my brother from another mother. He knew all of
my shit, even the shit, shit I’d never told anyone. I was giving Mitch a hard time, but the truth was, if Blaine was going to run the meeting in my absence, I had full confidence that he would land it. Besides, if the Big Boys wanted me to… go to therapy to secure my spot as partner, the way my mom wanted me to, I’d end up making a helluva lot more than the forty I’d make with Blaine.

  “Fine,” I agreed, turning for the door. “Two sessions.”

  “Four.”

  “One,” I countered.

  Mitch laughed and scrubbed his jaw. “Let’s see what Miss Flowers has to say,” he decided. "If she thinks you’re good with one, management will back off; but if your issues are more severe than either of us can imagine and you end up needing ten sessions…”

  “You’re a funny man, Mitch,” I grinned, wagging my finger at him. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  I left Mitch’s office and headed towards my own. The feel of heavy weights clamping around my ankles made it seem as if I was walking slower than I was, but I collected myself and picked up the pace.

  When I passed the threshold of my own office, I wasn’t surprised to find Blaine posing in one of my leather chairs with his leg draped over the overstuffed arm.

  I headed for the bar and grabbed a tumbler. It was Thursday, the unofficial start of the weekend. For me, anyway.

  Time to start the alcohol.

  “Therapy, huh?” Blaine muttered.

  “So you heard all about it?” I grunted. “What the hell ever happened to confidentiality?” I sealed the carafe and took a slow swig of my bourbon, savoring the feel as it warmed the back of my throat.

  “I could be wrong, but I think that only happens in therapy, which is where you’ll be going…” Blaine suggested easily. He lifted himself off my chair and headed for the bar to make his own drink. “Don’t worry about the Berringer meeting,” he advised with a shrug. “I’ve got it.”

  “Good,” I muttered, “because, to be honest, I haven’t had a chance to look at the file yet. Between dealing with that weak-ass Laughlin and McConnell, I’ve barely thought about it.”

  Blaine broke out into a hearty laugh. “Yeah, I heard about that too,” he commented. “That’s why they’re sending your ass to therapy – because you need to get a handle on your anger.”

  “It’s counseling, not therapy.”

  Blaine shook his head.

  “And secondly, I’m not angry, Blaine. What the hell would I have to be angry about?”

  Blaine rested his beverage down and lowered his gaze. “You really wanna go there? Right now?”

  I hissed through my teeth.

  “How about we leave that particular discussion for you and your new therapist to wade through. For now, back to my lady friend, Nichola.”

  I groaned and didn’t bother to inform Blaine that the term ‘back to’ implied having already been on…

  He picked up his glass. “The woman is a quarter, Mav.”

  “A quarter of what?”

  “A twenty-five, Mav. As opposed to a ten? A ten doesn’t even begin to do her justice.”

  I rolled my eyes, wondering for the millionth time in the four years I’d known Blaine, how he was so popular with the women with fucking lines like that.

  I sipped my beverage and walked to my desk. “So who is she? What are her details?”

  Blaine dropped in another seat. This one was directly in front of my grand desk. “I’m not surprised you’re asking. You have yet to meet her. You call yourself my main man, but the minute I find a woman to settle down with, you go ghost.”

  “Settle down?” My brows drew. “It’s that serious?”

  “Hell yes,” Blaine blurted. “I told you – a quarter.”

  I leaned back in my seat, thinking. So, the untamable Blaine Lincoln Rogers had found the girl of his dreams. If he was trying to introduce me to her, she had to be a catch.

  We didn’t do that shit. We fucked women all the time. We were surrounded by them. Both of us were too busy to be introducing the other to random bitches.

  “What are her specs?” I asked Blaine.

  He responded eagerly. “Thirty-one, African-American.”

  “Hmm. Didn’t know you were into black girls, Blaine.”

  He grunted. “I’m into any woman that looks good,” he responded, emphatic. “What’s that thing they say about the berry?”

  “I have no fucking idea,” I laughed, though the question intrigued me.

  “That means you’ve never been with a black girl,” he considered, “because if you had, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about.” He finished his drink and set his glass on the edge of my desk.

  “So what else?”

  “Leggy. Slim-thick….” He took a breath. “Big, brown eyes and tits to match; long hair.” He muttered a curse. “But it’s more than her body, Mav. It’s her brain. She captures me completely.” His eyes were squinted, and he was staring into the distance. “We talk about real shit: politics and art.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “She’s an amazing artist, Maverick. She’s hosting her first art show pretty soon. You’ve got to be there.”

  “I’ve got to meet her first,” I considered.

  Blaine grinned. “I’ll talk to her tonight and let you know what works.”

  I finished my drink and turned to the files on my desk. “I need to tend to this work, but keep me posted about Berringer… and Nichola,” I requested.

  “Oh, I most definitely will,” he agreed as he left.

  2

  Maverick

  I arrived at CCDS fifteen minutes early. If I was gonna do this, I wanted to get it over with. It was bad enough that I’d agreed, but visions of seeing my name on the front of the building were running through my mind like sugarplums.

  It would only be one session. After that, Mitch, the Big Boys, Laughlin, and McConnell could kiss my creamy white ass.

  Suddenly, the door eased open, and the middle-aged woman who’d been manning the desk peeked in. “Mr. Dangerfield, your therapist will be with you shortly,” she announced. Her tone was sweet, as if God had designed it to match her face. It didn’t matter though. Her saccharinity did little to erase my irritation.

  I tried to fight it, but my eyes rolled, and my fists tightened around the magazine in my hands. “Thank you,” I snapped. I cleared my throat. “My appointment is at one, right?”

  “Yes sir.”

  I cut my eyes to my watch. “It’s five minutes to the hour. Will this counselor be on time? I have a very busy schedule and there’s no way I’m staying here for more than an hour.”

  “Miss Flowers is very meticulous about time, Mr. Dangerfield,” the woman assured me. “She won’t be late. And for your reference, clinical sessions are only forty-five minutes. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

  My jaw tightened.

  “But Miss Flowers will go over all of the details, including your paperwork, once she arrives.”

  An undefined silence filled the room.

  “Did you have any other questions I could try to answer before she arrives?”

  “No,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  The woman smiled and backed out of the room, sealing the door in front of her.

  I pressed my back against the cheap, leather seat and slid my hands down my thighs, just as my cell phone buzzed. I ripped it out of my pocket, surprised to see Blaine’s number on the screen. “Aren’t you supposed to be meeting with Berringer?”

  “I’m about to go in,” he assured me. “Just wanted to check and make sure they hadn’t committed you to a ward yet.”

  “Is that really what you’re calling me about?” I demanded. “Because if it is, I’m hanging the fuck up.” I scrubbed my hand over my face. “You know what, never mind,” I grumbled. I glared at my watch again.

  12:59.

  “My session is supposed to start at one o’clock.” I said to Blaine.

  “It’s 12:59.”

  “Exactly,” I bit out
. “If this bitch starts the session even one minute after one o’clock, I’m walking my fucking ass right up out of here. Me being here is a mistake,” I fussed. “Whatever issues I have, they’ve served me well. This entire thing is ridiculous, and if Mitch thinks a goddamn counselor is going to pick me apart and put me together again, he’s got another thing – ”

  A knock interrupted my heated diatribe, and the door slid open; but it wasn’t the knock or the sliding that forced my lips to pinch closed.

  It was the woman who stood at the threshold of the confidential room, with eyes so big and bright, they seemed to light the place up more than it already was.

  And she was smiling at me, something I figured she’d been trained to do, and did with everyone she saw, yet it still unnerved me.

  My gaze slipped over her petite frame, clad in a modest designer pants suit embracing curves which should have been fucking illegal. I pulled my eyes back up and cleared my throat.

  Blaine called out to me. “Mav? You there?”

  I jerked my focus back to the conversation I was supposed to be having. I cleared my throat and checked my watch again. “It’s one o’clock,” I muttered. “The… counselor is here, so I guess I’ve got to go. Call me when you’re done with your meeting.”

  I didn’t wait for Blaine to answer before I hung up.

  When I looked up, the woman was standing there, her hands now clasped demurely in front of her. Her smile brightened. “Mr. Dangerfield?”