Olivia McDermont is a self-professed masochist who had given up her daughter when she was born. The poor woman started seeing me four months ago after an unfortunate kidnapping spree that had almost taken her, her husband, her sister, and her brother-in-law’s life. She's just now starting to come out of fits of depression, finally ready to process the grief of not raising her daughter.
I do all the things. I smile, nod, and listen to her speak. Once I get enough information, I put my head down, writing notes into my tablet. I give Olivia my undivided attention, putting my personal pain to the back of my head.
Chapter four
Different Day
Thisisjustnotmy fucking day. But I need to get it together enough to at least put on my professional hat for my employees because the show must go on. Nodding at the stragglers in thehallway, I attempt an airy feel despite my emotional discomfort; however, the smile I emit feels more like a grimace. They smile back but turn their eyes forward quickly as we pass.
It stings more than it should because when I'm like this I come across very cold, which is a character trait of mine Iloathevalidating.
Sharply turning the corner, I push through the glass door and then force myself to take a deep breath as I walk to the seat at the head of the table in the boardroom of my practice. I place my briefcase on the table, and I shove a hand through my hair as my heart pounds heavier than usual and causes me to run a finger between my collar and neck for relief.
“Why’s it so hot in here? Damn,” I mutter, stepping to the side to check the thermostat, thinking Cathy must have set it at the wrong temperature. But, nope, it’s seventy-two degrees per usual. I click it down two degrees then go back to my seat.
Feeling uncomfortably hot, I unbutton my suit jacket before shrugging out of it and draping it over the back of my seat. Opening my laptop, I wait patiently, going over my files, while my colleagues and the other psychiatrists who are under my supervision shuffle in with their folders and laptops. They come in staggered clusters, taking their seats and murmuring their hushed greetings to each other. No one speaks to me, content to talk amongst themselves.
Miserable, it doesn't take any effort on my part to put their droning to the back of my head. God, I don't want to be here, but I don't want to go home to that fucking house, either. Shit. I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. Rubbing a hand across my jaw, I nod respectfully as they all sit. A couple people eventually say hello, but for the most part, I keep my attention on my computer, preferring to not engage in chit-chat until everyone is in the room and quieted down.
Yet still, my newest hire, David, a fellow psychiatrist, pulls out the seat directly to my left. He reaches out and rudely raps his knuckles on the desk next to me just as I’m in the middle of reading an email. “What’s up, Richardson?”
Taken aback by the audacity, my hand falls softly to the table as I sharply look up and narrow my eyes, assessing the younger man with an equally as sharp greeting. “Osterkamp.”
Before he can see my displeasure, he turns to share a low laugh with his neighbor.
Discreetly, I regard him for a moment for probably the fiftieth time since I hired him. Though he's perfectly nice, he seems to never get a clue.
There's something off about him that I can't place despite two decades of experience in this field, and that'snevera good sign.
At first, my head colleagues attempted to convince me that I should be flattered that it seems he wants me to take him under my wing, but no, that's not what this is about. I do know that much. Until I figure it out, though, I have to contend with the fact he constantly inserts himself in my space. As a psychiatrist, this is worrying because the man can't pick up on the fact I want to be left alone unless the conversation has to do with work.
It speaks to a lack of boundaries, and everybody knows that irks the hell out of me.
Turning my attention from David, I nod my head in greeting to the late stragglers pouring in before looking back down at my screen, biting back a groan with effort. An incoming email from Ms. Johnson sits at the top, unread. Clicking it open, I only allow myself to read just a few lines before pinning the email, intending to come back to it after the meeting. Since my colleagues are still settling, I take a second to rub my eyes in irritation.
God, I'm so over her shit.
"Ms. Johnson. You're determined to be a pain in my ass today, aren't you?" I breathe quietly to myself.
David immediately snaps his head to look at me."SarahJohnson?" he stresses, arching a brow.
Lowering my hand, I frown, eyeing the expression on his face. "Yes. You know her?" I don't bother telling him to mind his own business.
David nods.
I contemplate transferring this client to him so that he can take it over, and I won't need to be bothered anymore.Matter of fact,maybe I can figure out how to offloadallof the clients Ms. Johnson and I share so that I can be done with this woman. My personal life sucks enough without my work life becoming a place of discontentment for me as well.
I stretch out my arm and glance at my watch, everyone’s cue that the meeting has begun.
When they're finally settled, I begin in a curt tone. "Alright, everyone, thank you for joining me. If you would please, take out your laptops and send me all of your upcoming evaluations, court dates, and where you are at on any currently completed evaluations." I eye them all in turn. "Let me know if there is any assistance that is needed with billing your clients or any insurance snags that we need to work through."
I sit back in my seat, hating how long-winded these meetings get, and click my pen in an agitated move. Everything in me wants to respond to that fucking email that's probably more than likely guaranteed to send my ass through the roof.
"Also," I clear my throat harshly, "if you are requesting time off within the next three months, please send me the dates you need covered so we can make sure your clients remain in compliance. You all know how I like to stay on top of these things." I give everyone a second to laugh before turning to David. "Osterkamp, you first. What have you got?"
By sheer force of will I make myself pay attention, but in the back of my head, I'm furiously crafting my response to Ms. Johnson.
Furiously.
