She smiled. “If I didn’t have my notepads, I’d lose my mind. I’ll email you the case file. But sex isn’t the issue for Carlotta as long as it’s done in the dark. The issue is more about being observed and feeling confident in her body when a man is looking at her.”
“What triggered that?” he asked, already formulating some preliminary sessions in his head.
Marin sighed, the move ruffling the bangs of her short dark hair and making her look more college student than psychologist. “She started acting when she was really young. She had a gig on a long-running kids’ show, and there was all this pressure to stay looking like a child in order to keep the job because she was supporting her entire family. So when her body started to change as a young teen, she tried to keep the curves away by restricting her food and it morphed into an eating disorder.”
Lane frowned, empathy brewing. He knew what that kind of pressure was like, to need money so badly that you would do anything to stay afloat. He rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a lot to put on a kid.”
“Yes, it’s not surprising that things went downhill. Thankfully, she moved past the food issues with some pretty extensive therapy and got to a healthy weight in her early twenties, but she still has trouble believing that her body is good enough. The upcoming role she’s landed is the biggest of her life and she’s committed to making it work, but she’ll be playing a spy that has to go undercover as a stripper. There will also be love scenes that require nudity with Bradley Chastain. The first time they tried to do a topless scene, she had a massive panic attack. They’re shifting those scenes in the production schedule to give her a chance, but she only has a few weeks to get over the fear. If she can’t get past it, she could lose the role.”
“More pressure on her.”
“Yes, but I think she wants to move past this for more than just the role.” Marin tapped her pen on her pad. “She sees this as her last hurdle. She’s motivated to do what it takes, which is why I think she’s a good candidate for sessions with you.”
He nodded, pleased to hear the client was ready to work. That was vital, especially with the kind of therapy he did. Gray areas weren’t acceptable. People were either one-hundred percent on board or he didn’t take them on as clients. “When would she be able to start?”
Marin checked her notes. “How quickly do you have room in your schedule? Are you taking a lot of classes this semester?”
Marin was one of the few people he’d told that he was back in school, trying to get his degree so that he could become a clinical social worker. But he hadn’t shared with her that he was struggling with his classes. He thought he’d figured out ways around the issues he’d fought with in high school. He’d done fine with the first two years of courses because he was good at retaining information he’d heard in lectures. But now that the classes were getting more intense and specialized, the amount of required reading and term papers was drowning him. He was a breath away from flunking out and had already dropped one class. He was beginning to think it was a pipe dream. “I have room. I could see her as soon as tomorrow afternoon, if needed.”
Marin smiled. “Awesome. That’s perfect because she’s on a deadline. I’d suggest letting her get comfortable with you but not too comfortable. She needs to be able to replicate the behavior on set with Bradley, who is only a casual acquaintance.”
“So don’t make it too warm and fuzzy.”
“Exactly.” She jotted down a note and then turned back to him. “You have a natural talent for putting people at ease, and I want her to feel safe in therapy, obviously. But she's going to be doing scenes in front of a crew, and she’s not going to have the chance to get comfortable with each person. She has to be confident enough to be that vulnerable in front of strangers. Confident enough to do those stripping scenes on stage with other actors catcalling her.”
“Does she understand what she’s getting into?” Lane asked, a thorn of worry poking at him. “I don’t want to do anything to trigger a relapse with the eating disorder.”
Marin’s brow wrinkled and her lips pursed, her thinking face on full throttle. “I dug into a lot of that with her. No role is worth risking a relapse, but she’s determined and she’s been on track with her health for over four years now. I believe that she’s moved past it, but I need you to pay close attention. Any hints that things are going south and you come to me.”
Lane sat forward, feeling the weight of that settle over him. “You trust me to be able to recognize that? I don’t have that Ph.D. in my pocket like you do.”
Marin tilted her head and smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve had training for what you do, and you’re very observant with your clients. Plus, you’ve been doing this a while now. I have no doubt you’d recognize warnings signs. I’ll be seeing her weekly to continue that portion of her therapy, so I’ll be monitoring her closely as well. But trust your instincts and if you have any questions, call me.”
Lane rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off that kick of insecurity. He could do this. Of course he could. Understanding people and reading in between the lines had always come easily to him. It’s what made him a good dominant and why he wanted to be a therapist. It was goddamned school that was making him doubt himself.
Some things never changed. He should probably give it up and stick to what he was good at.
He thanked Marin and headed out of her office, mentally recording all the information he’d gathered about Carlotta and arranging his schedule for the week. He was supposed to go to an afternoon statistics class, but he needed to grab some lunch first.
He headed toward one of the employee lounges to see what he could snag out of the vending machine. The Grove had a vast dining hall with lots of gourmet choices for employees. Everything was top notch here since they catered to celebrities and the wealthy. But he wasn’t in the mood to socialize, and really, he always felt a bit like an imposter. He was a contractor here, not a full-fledged employee, not a doctor. And though he wasn’t ashamed of what he did for a living, he knew a lot of the staff had their own opinions about his line of work.
Like one Dr. Elle McCray.
He hadn’t seen her in over a week, but he’d thought about her more than he'd wanted to. Half the time he got hot over those thoughts, remembering exactly how she’d looked pinned down by those sheets and tossing challenges at him. The other half of the time, he got pissed all over again, thinking of the money she’d tried to give him. No sex was great enough to make it worth putting up with that kind of bullshit.
Last night, he’d gone to the kink club he belonged to in an attempt to exorcise thoughts about her, but he hadn’t found anyone he was interested in spending the evening with. A few of the women he casually played with had offered, but they all seemed too…submissive. Which was just a fucked-up thought because that was what he was normally drawn to. That was what had turned his crank since getting out of the escort business—all that control. But last night, the prospect of scening with one of them had seemed…too easy. Boring.
He groaned under his breath as he pulled open the door to the lounge.
Fucking Elle McCray. Now he had another reason to be pissed at her. She’d screwed with his head on top of everything else. She’d
tainted what he normally enjoyed.
When he stepped inside the lounge, he found Oriana Wallace, a social worker who worked with Elle on the rehab wing, and a nurse—Joleen, if he remembered right—deep in conversation. A platter of frosted pink cupcakes sat between them. He lifted his hand in silent greeting.
Ori smiled his way, her halo of curly black hair backlit by the window behind her. “Hey, Lane. How’s it going?”
Joleen peeked at him and gave a shy smile. He’d caught her openly checking him out one day in the hallway when he’d helped her with some supplies she’d dropped. Joleen had blushed to her red roots when she’d realized he’d noticed her ogling him. She’d tried to play it off at first, and then had attempted to flirt a little, but he’d kept it polite. She was pretty and seemed nice enough, but she was young and had that tang of innocence about her.