She smirks, then draws out the word, "Clinically. Is that your favorite adverb in this office?"
I answer. "Probably. It reminds both of us why you're here."
Her hair brushes her cheek as she tilts her head. "Both."
I stare at her.
"As in you need to be reminded that I'm here as your patient?"
Fuck.
"It's not appropriate to send me communication via LinkedIn," I reprimand.
She tilts her head. "So you saw the photo and got my message?"
"We're not doing this, Blue," I state.
She whines, "Am I not here so you can help me stop obsessing over Brax?"
Good. A clear opening.
"Why did you stalk them again?" I ask.
She murmurs, "You're very disciplined, Dr. Mercer. Most men would have responded immediately."
Most men are not psychiatrists with licenses they value more than the taste of whatever game you want to play.
Aloud, I say, "We're not corresponding socially. That space is not for therapy. Or for images of people who never consented to be part of your life."
Her gaze sharpens at the word never. "You mean Brax and Valentina."
I rest my hands on the arms of the chair, allowing no movement that could be mistaken for fidgeting. I need to get control of this conversation and fast. I order, "Tell me what motivated you to take that photo and send it."
She exhales, a sound threaded with practiced distress. "I saw them together outside Valentina's yoga studio."
"You mean you went there to spy on her? My assumption is that you knew Brax would go there to pick his wife up?" I question.
Her face darkens. She hisses, "She shouldn't be his wife."
"That isn't your call."
She uncrosses her legs, then slowly recrosses them. Her hem hikes farther up, and she doesn't bother to pull it down. She leans forward, asking, "What did you think about him?"
"Meaning?"
"Did you compare what he looks like to what you look like?" she asks.
A muscle jumps in my jaw. "Why would I do that?" I ask before I realize I'm falling into her trap.
She slides her hand up her calf, then lets it dangle over her knee. She twirls a lock of her hair in her other hand. "Do you like my new color?"
"Don't change the subject," I warn.
"Mmm. I kind of like it when you're bossy," she breathes.
"This isn't appropriate," I scold, but my dick commits treason, pressing against my zipper. "Tell me why you stalked Valentina right after our session."
She looks away, taking a deep breath, while staring at my bookcase.
