“I’ll make an appointment tomorrow with a therapist.”
She tensed in his arms. “I already have one.”
“Not one that you can talk to about what you are.”
“But–“
He pressed his lips against hers to stop her protest, then pulled back with a small shake of his head. “You need to let me take care of you.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “All right. I’ll meet with your therapist.”
His heart pinched with the pain he saw in her expression. What he wouldn’t do to take that hurt away, to kill and castrate the bastard that had put it there.
Zoe placed her head against his chest and let out a long, uneven sigh.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said tightly. It had to be. He couldn’t lose her.
Jack stroked her hair and stared into the darkness. Acid burned in his throat when he looked back at the charred dresser. He needed to take care of this quickly–and there was only one person he knew could help her.
Jack cursed under his breath as he realized what he had to do.
Chapter 28
Zoe sat in Jack’s car in front of a building on Park Avenue, while Jack’s driver, Hands, stood impatiently by the open passenger door.
“I can’t do this.”
Hands’ eyes darted up and down the street. “I can’t keep you safe, out in the open like this. Get into the building. Quickly.”
“This is Park Avenue, right? My insurance won’t cover this. Take me home, okay?” A line of cars began to pile up behind their idling car. From the sound of their honking, people were getting impatient.
“Mr. Fialko will take care of you, Miss Burton. C’mon now. Be brave.” He gently pulled at her elbow to where a uniformed door attendant stood and opened the door for them.
The attendant’s kind eyes crinkled, “Give your name at the front desk, Miss.”
She managed to mumble a thank you.
Her mouth fell open and she stared in astonishment at the elegant foyer. She swore the gilded room was more lavish than the famous Waldorf Astoria. The walls were upholstered, the floors polished marble. Four ionic columns held up a ceiling which loomed miles overhead. She would pivot on her heel and run like hell if it wasn’t for Jack’s driver. Sure, she needed to get the bad dreams under control, but not here. Not this way. What was Jack thinking?
An impeccably dressed lobby attendant sat at a deep mahogany desk. He eyed her up and down with an imperious sneer. “Can I help you?”
Her brain had shut down somewhere halfway across the lobby. She reached deep into her pocket and pulled out the wrinkled card. “Room two-oh-two. Doctor Framingham.”
Nodding, as if the room number explained everything, the attendant had her sign into a gold leafed notebook using a heavy silver pen. He texted into his computer and pointed towards the elevators.
A pristine carpet runner led to a polished brass elevator bay. She pressed the up arrow. Two women waited alongside her. Their handbags had that familiar Gucci pattern and their clothes, no doubt, were designer, too. Both women were topped with perfectly coiffed, platinum blonde hair.
Zoe glanced down at her jeans and hoodie, embarrassed at how underdressed she was in comparison.
The elevator doors pinged opened and she crossed the long hallway over the marble parquet floor. She stood for the longest time staring at the oak door with gold lettering that proclaimed the occupant,Dr. Diane Framingham.Taking a deep breath, she pressed a button, waited for the lock cylinders to click, and let herself in.
Seeing no one, she sat down in a plush white leather couch. Wooden flutes with ocean sounds played in the background from a speaker in the ceiling. Tasteful framed original art of ocean scenes and seagulls graced the walls. Oversized leather furniture was placed around the room to minimize eye contact. The place screamed,this is a therapist’s sitting room for rich, crazy people.
Her eyes watered when she thought of her own doctor, downtown. His waiting room contained blue plastic chairs and an old worn brown corduroy-covered couch, the floors covered with faded blue, industrial grade carpet. She could look up anytime, while waiting for him, and count the dots on the stained drop ceiling. Damn Jack for ruining everything. She wanted her old doctor back. Doctor Larry fit her like a worn-in pair of jeans. This one was like wearing five-inch heels, one size too small.
A woman opened the door and smiled sweetly. She looked like Scarlett Johansson on the cover of Vanity Fair. She had long legs, perfect blond hair coiled at her neck, and flawless alabaster skin. Zoe hated her immediately, yet managed to flash a saccharine-sweet smile right back at her.
“Zoe, right? Jack’s friend? Please, come in.” The doctor motioned her into a small room with subdued lighting.
