She stared at the screen. “I don’t know what your fee is, but I figured that would cover it. That’s all the cash I had on hand.”
“My fee?” Oh, screw that noise. Anger sparked bright and his voice boomed as he stepped closer to her. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
She turned his way, the haughty, above-it-all expression back in place. “Do you charge more?”
He scoffed, amazed at the gall of this woman. “This was a hookup, McCray, not a job, and you know it. What are you trying to do here? Is this part of your game?”
“What I’m doing here is making things clear. This isn’t an anything. I wanted sex. You were available and provided. This keeps it neat and doesn’t leave any questions going forward. And I know you have no qualms about charging for your services. You do it every day.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Unbelievable. You’re screwed up, doc. You know that?”
She looked away.
“You want to label me a whore because it’s easy to dismiss me. You can box me up neatly instead of treating me like a person—or God forbid, a colleague. You think this is what I do with clients?” When she didn’t answer, he charged on. “Yeah, you probably do. Better to assume instead of asking and finding out that I don’t even get off with clients, that I help them work through anxiety or trauma or self-esteem issues and the focus is one-hundred percent on them. That it’s not sexy. Or fun. Or a paid fuck. It’s work. It’s therapy. But instead of asking, you just let yourself believe the stereotype. You don’t want to know because then you might actually have to consider that I’m not an enemy and that you liked what happened tonight. That I’m just a guy you talked with at a party, who had kind of a shitty day himself and who tried to make small talk with a co-worker so that she didn’t have to sit there alone on a night that was probably kind of difficult for her. And that it turned into more. And that you wanted it to.”
The words made her posture stiffen, but she didn’t turn his way.
“Stop bombing allies, McCray. There’ll be nothing left but wasteland.” Exhaustion washed over him, his bad day sinking in deep now. If he thought he was getting through to her, he was fooling himself. And he’d been made a fool of enough for one day. “Enjoy your night, doctor.” He leaned down close, bracing his hands on the arm of the couch. “And for what it’s worth, I charge a hell of a lot more. And what I just did to you in there? Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be able to afford that even on your fancy salary. It’s not for sale. Now you can go to sleep knowing you’ll never get it again.”
She glared at the TV so hard, he was surprised the screen didn't melt.
He tossed the money onto the floor in front of her and walked out.
What a fantastic fucking day.
Elle rose from the couch and watched through a slit in the blinds as Lane strode down her walk to his black sports car, his anger still crackling in the air of her living room.
His words echoed in her ears, and her body still thrummed from his touch, but she stayed glued to the spot. Maybe she should be the type of person who would go after him, apologize, try to get to know him and make a friend. But what then?
Yes, sex with him had been explosive and more intense than she’d bargained for. But that was all there was. She wasn’t equipped for more than that, and she definitely couldn’t date someone who slept with other people for a living—therapeutic or not.
No way.
Plus, he was a world-class, egotistical jackass.
She stepped away from the window, feeling a rush of self-righteousness, and collected the dollar bills that were strewn across the floor. But before she’d gotten all three of them, she felt wet warmth tracking down her cheeks.
Goddammit.
All the air sagged out of her and she sank down to the carpet, lett
ing the money fall from her fingertips and the despair she’d been fighting take over.
He’d asked her if she knew how screwed up she was.
She hadn’t responded.
They both knew the answer.
Chapter 4
“She needs to be naked in front of you and learn how to be comfortable with you touching her body.”
Lane hooked his ankle over his knee, considering Marin’s words while relaxing on the couch in her office. “But she doesn’t have issues with intercourse?”
Marin set her steno pad aside and turned fully toward him. “No. Do you need something to take notes on, by the way?”
He shook his head and tapped his temple. “I’ve got a good memory. I’ll just lose a notebook.”