"Dr. Malcolm, while I'm flattered by the Bureau's relentless pursuit of my time and expertise, I have told you that I am not interested."
A deep, masculine voice responds. "Dr. Hadid, I understand that you’re busy but?—”
My shoulder bumps against a clipboard hanging on the bulletin board outside her office, sending it crashing to the floor with a loud thud.
"Shit," I mutter under my breath.
"Come in, Miss Jones," Safia's voice calls from inside the office. I hesitate. “I know it’s you, Miss Jones. Come in. Now.”
I step inside, sheepishly examining Dr. Hadid's office. Dozens of books line the built-in shelves. Degrees hang on the walls. A few plants. Fake plants. It’s very…sterile.
Safia's gaze meets mine, and she gestures toward the man standing across from her. "Miss Jones, this is Dr. Hayden Malcolm, a former classmate of mine. Dr. Malcolm, Emery Jones, an associate of my brothers.”
Dr. Malcolm gives me a quick nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Safia. "Please reconsider, Dr. Hadid."
Safia's smile tightens. "Goodbye, Dr. Malcolm."
Once he leaves, Safia's demeanor shifts slightly. She sighs and glances at today's newspaper on her desk. She flips it over, lip twitching.
Clearing her throat, Safia turns her attention to me and extends her hand. "Miss Jones, it's nice to meet you. I'm Dr. Safia Hadid."
I blink, momentarily mesmerized by her misty green eyes as they study me. I swallow, unable to stop my keen gaze from soaking in her striking features. Gorgeous, flawless skin. Thick, dark hair. A body that would make a killing at Lux. This is definitely not whoI expected to meet after that icy reception on the phone. The resemblance to Amir is prominent. Both siblings are inarguably attractive.
Safia nods to two armchairs in the corner of her office. "Shall we sit? Or would you prefer to continue staring at me?"
I struggle to find my tongue, feeling flustered by her presence. “We can sit.”
“Then please.” She gestures to the chairs. “Do it.”
As we settle into the chairs, Safia's gaze remains steady on me. "So, Miss Jones, what brings you here today?"
I fiddle with my fingers. “Well…”
Where do I start? Do I tell her everything? Every sordid detail? Or just the highlight reel of my grief? Of Damon’s? Should I double-check that she’ll be discreet? That she won’t say a word? Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should leave.
Safia lets out a loud sigh. “Miss Jones, I don’t have all day. If you want to talk, then I suggest you open your mouth and begin to speak. Words exist for a reason. Use them.”
I blame the hormones. That’s the only logical explanation as to why giant crocodile tears begin streaming down my face. She wasn’t mean. Or rude. I actually like her no-bullshit personality. It reminds me of my own. Except, I’m no longer in charge of my emotions. Not for the next several months, at least.
Safia winces, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I-I apologize. I didn’t mean to…” She reaches for a tissue box and walks it over to me. “Here.”
“It’s not you, I’m just?—”
“Itisme,” Safia says, retreating back to her seat. She crosses her legs, the hem of her pencil skirt riding up. “I told Amir this was a bad idea. I closed my private practice for a reason. Evidently, I am not great with people. I-I understand their minds, their behavior, but I can’t… I can’t necessarily apply that knowledge to my own interactions.” She pauses, shrugging. “And that is why I teach.”
Sniffling, I wipe the snot from under my nose. “I’m pregnant, Dr. Hadid. I promise it’s not you.”
“Congratulations?” It comes out as a question.
Stabilizing my breathing, I skim Safia’s various degrees. “What do you teach?”
“Behavioral and criminal psychology.”
I stiffen. “Oh.”
A ghost of a smile spreads on her face. “I gather whatever it is you wish to talk to me about isn’t particularly…legal?” She cocks her head when I don’t respond. “Miss Jones, I took this meeting as a favor to my brother. You work with Amir. Do you honestly think that man hasn’t crossed some illegal thresholds in his life? Do you seehimin jail?” She leans back into the chair. “I have fifty minutes left before my next meeting. I would advise you to use those fifty minutes wisely.”
Our eyes connect for several charged beats as I attempt to ascertain her intentions, whether or not I can trust her. I try and try to find hints of deceit, of malice, but all I find is honesty with a flicker of annoyance.
