“Really?” I squeal, my palms pressed together. I had hoped to pick his brains for guidance on navigating this industry and charting the best way forward. But what he’s suggesting is beyond my wildest dreams. A mentorship with him is like winning the lottery. I’m certain thousands of students must compete for the opportunity to have him as their mentor.
“Yes, I’d be delighted to help. If you’re serious about study, I’ll arrange a meeting with the university’s entrance board. Our psychology course is considered the best in Australia. You’ll need to come prepared with any previous university transcripts, a résumé, and a letter of recommendation. It wouldn’t hurt if you’ve done community service work as well.”
“Oh my goodness. Thank you so much!” I shake my head, placing my hands on my cheeks to cool them down. I’m flushed—I never get flushed.
His phone begins to ring and he pulls it out of his jacket pocket, lighting up when he sees the caller’s name. “I’m sorry, I need to take this,” he says. “My daughter is pregnant, and it’s almost her due date. Do you mind?”
“No, not all. Please, go ahead.”
He nods his thanks and steps away.
I take the opportunity to compose myself, still barely able to believe my luck. I had an undeniable feeling of being in the right place at the right time when I arrived here today. It’s all coming together: I’m finally doing something for myself. Not for Beth, not for my clients. For me.
Being a psychologist is probably similar to being an escort, I muse. I’ll still be providing emotional support and connection—except I’ll be keeping my clothes on. Fanning my flushed face, I glance around the restaurant looking for Aiden. A loud cackle of women laughing draws my attention to their table.
My eyes go wide, and I slowly lower my hands to the table, freezing in place. Every muscle in my body goes still as my brain struggles to comprehend what I’m seeing.
The three women at the table are beautifully made up, their plumped faces animated in conversation. As one finishes her story, the others cheer and clink their champagne flutes together. It looks like a regular ladies’ lunch—except that these women, who shouldn’t know each other, are laughing like lifelong friends.
The world around me blurs, and my vision goes black around the edges as I narrow in on the table. The only thing I can hear is the steady thud of my heartbeat in my ears. As the pieces of the puzzle fall into place, I release a rush of breath, followed by a sharp intake of oxygen.
Suddenly Aiden appears in my line of sight, cutting off my view of the table.
“Are you okay, Hailee?” he asks, his bushy white eyebrows pinched together.
“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, did you say something?” I manage to recover, swallowing roughly.
“I was just saying that I’ve got to head off; my daughter is in labor.” He’s still holding his phone in his hand, and his smile is infectious at the prospect of being a grandfather.
“Oh, congratulations!” I force a smile, though I doubt I’m fooling anyone, especially someone as perceptive as Dr. McKamey.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Not really, but I will be.” I blow out a breath and nod.
“Alright, then. I am sorry I can’t stay, but I’ll call you soon with the meeting details.”
“Thank you again for your support; you have no idea what this means to me,” I garble, my mind firmly planted on the women across the restaurant.
“Take care, Hailee. I’ll be in touch.” We shake hands, and he disappears out of the restaurant.
Should I leave? Should I stay? Or should I go over there and confront them?A server interrupts my musings. “Would you still like to order, ma’am?”
For fuck’s sake.I need a minute of uninterrupted silence to wrap my mind around this.
“Yes, thank you.” I open the menu and frantically scan the first page, selecting a dish at random. I don’t care what it is, as long as she pisses off and leaves me alone. In a way, she’s made my decision for me. I can’t simply leave without ordering something, it would be rude, especially in a five-star restaurant. And sitting here like a weirdo without eating or drinking is out of the question.
“And to drink?” the server asks.
Kill me now.
“Coke, please.” I smile politely and hand over the menu, reminding myself she’s only doing her job.
As soon as she leaves my head snaps back to the women’s table. Their entrées have arrived, but they’ve barely touched them—they’re too busy chatting.
What the fuck is happening?
A fourth woman appears and sits down, and it’s then that I realize there was an unoccupied seat with a half-drunk champagne and a napkin neatly folded on the table. She must have been in the bathroom. Though I don’t recognize this woman, there’s a nagging sense of familiarity about her. While I know the other three women well, there’s something about this newcomer that I can’t quite put my finger on. I discreetly take out my phone and snap a quick picture of the table and send it to Cora.
