“What do you want the first one to be?”
“Driver’s license.”
She rolled her eyes then pretended to write on the board, “Improve Phoenix’s sense of humor, okay.”
A grin tugged at my lips.
She winked. Again.
“How about goal number one will be tonotdestroy my office again?”
“Done.”
“Good.” She began scribbling, squeaks on the board matching each stroke. “Goal number one will be to work on your impulsive aggression. Alright, onto goal number two. What would you like it to be, aside from your concealed carry license?”
“For you to not shove my balls down my throat. Like you threatened to yesterday.”
She smirked, thought for a moment, then drew a little box in the corner of the board. “Okay, fine, we’ll make three goals for me, too. Number one, no ball shoving?—”
“Number two can be?—”
“Oh, no, no, no. This isn’t a one way street, Mr. Steele. You’re up next.”
It was the first time ever that I liked the wayMr. Steelesounded rolling off someone’s tongue.
“Number two… let’s see…” she tapped the bottom of the marker on her chin. My gaze slid down that long, lean neck the color of porcelain.
“Ah, I know,” she said. “You went to great lengths to let me know you were sorry for destroying my desk. Above and beyond. Over the top. This leads me to believe you’re struggling with a heavy dose of guilt, and aren’t sure how to contain it. So, goal number two will be for you to recognize and then release the guilt you carry.”
Guilt. The woman had no idea.
I picked up one of her vesuvianite stones and began flipping it through my fingertips.
She continued. “Whether the guilt be from a perceived failure from letting your family down, or from having to be on the receiving end of care. You don’t like it. You don’t knowhow to handle it.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, number two—release guilt.”
I watched her scribble the second goal on the board and found myself already wondering what my third goal would be. Rose Flower was calculated, no doubt about that. She was using my military background to get to me. Lay out clear goals, one by one, black and white, no fluff, no‘tell me how that made you feel’bullshit. Sneaky, sneaky, sneaky. But regardless of her tactics, I liked it. It resonated with me. Reminded me of when my team and I would gather in a situation room listening to our orders before a mission. Felt good.
It feltdoable.
“Your turn,” I said.
“Fine.” She moved to her box. “Okay, goal number two for me should be…”
“Work on that annoying, condescending tone that comes so easily to you.”
Her brows raised. Nerve, hit.
Her lips pursed as she seemed to search for words. I’d made Rose Flower uncomfortable. Not pissed, but uncomfortable.
She turned back to the board and began writing. “Fine. Work on my tone?—”
“Condescendingtone.”
“Thanks for the example,” she muttered as she wrote.
I couldn’t fight the grin that time. She wrote the word bigger than the rest, a subtle touch of sarcasm to let me know my Rose Flower had her own way of deflection—Wit.
“Okay, number three for you?” She turned and stared at me.
