I felt some dampness forming as the memories came flooding back. He had such a manly presence. A manly scent, even. He had commanded me to take off my top while on stage. He had commanded me to dance for him in the Cherry Pit, the back room of the club where private lap dances, and more, occurred. And had I offered him more?
I closed my eyes and pushed my fingers into the fabric of my panties. “Mmm.”
There was a call on the phone system.
“Mrs. Davenport? This is Penny. Can you come to the intake room?”
“Yes, Penny. I’ll be right there. What’s going on?”
“Your next client has some papers for you to sign.”
“My next client?”
“Yeah. You’re 11:30.”
My 11:30 appointment? I double-checked my calendar and there was no appointment. I remembered Penny mentioning my new client, though.
This was odd. Usually, clients had a handful of documents to sign before I would see them.
“I’ll be… right there,” I replied with a confused expression.
I strode to the intake office. It was a simple room with a table and three chairs. Penny or I would sit with a client in this room, go over all the papers that needed to be signed.
HIPAA policy.
Agreement to pay their bill if their insurance didn’t cover the expenses.
Agreement that they would provide us with any additional medical records needed.
Indemnity agreement that they would not hold me or my practice responsible if they refused to follow my advice.
Followed by two or three other agreements that the state, insurance companies, or my lawyer insisted I have signed. Between government regulations and lawsuit issues, it took a lot of signatures before I would accept someone into my practice. Also, since most insurance didn’t cover my type of therapy, I had to have assurances my clients could pay.
When I entered the room, I found Penny, an older gentleman dressed in a gray pin-striped suit, sitting across from her, and two people standing on either side of the sitting man. They both held briefcases and seemed to have suits made of the same material as the older gentleman’s.
The woman wore a dress suit and had her brunette hair pulled back into a bun and her hazel eyes stared out from behind some fashionable glasses. The young man had dark black hair, slicked back, with thin aquiline features, observing everything going on in the room with darting eyes. Those eyes settle on me for a moment, before his pupils expanded, and then he looked anywhere but at me.
The older gentleman had a beard with gray running through it as well as his well groomed black hair. He was a heavy man, but not overly so. He looked as if he might once have been quite muscular, but had let his body go a bit. His sharp black eyes took me in like he a predator and I was his next prey.Maybe I am?
“This is Mr. Warren and his assistants, Banks and Croft,” Penny said, motioning to the woman, who must be Banks, and the young man, who must be Croft. They all nodded and I couldn’t help reflecting that Mr. Croft seemed so much like a bird with his mannerisms.
“Mr. Warren has some papers that he says you and I must sign before our next patient will see you,” Penny explained. Her tone was very matter-of-fact and contained a hint of sarcasm you recognize after working with a person for seven years.
There was a stack of papers on the intake room table and Mr. Warren extended me a pen. I couldn’t help but notice that it looked like a very expensive pen.
A million thoughts seemed to flutter around inside my head like a bunch of birds flushed from bushes by a hunting dog. I tried to compose myself before speaking.
“Mr. Warren, what kind of papers do I need to sign?”
“Well, Mrs. Davenport, my client, Mr. Baxter, and I must insist that you sign this non-disclosure agreement before he will agree to see you.” The man had a low voice—the type you’d expect from some English gentleman. It reminded me of Dr. Watson from the old Sherlock Holmes movies. The bird man assistant nodded his head vigorously while the brunette woman just cocked her head slightly and examined me.
“Miss Davenport,” I corrected him.
“Yes, Miss Davenport.”
“A non-disclosure agreement? I’m confused, Mr. Warren. The very nature of my business depends on non-disclosure.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m quite aware of the nature of your business. However, my client requires a bit more discretion than any of your documents provide.”
