Page 44 of The Dark Before Light

Mia tears off another piece of her croissant, mumbling, “He’s right, but whatever. Still romantic.”

Leo sets down his coffee. “Do you want my advice as your friend or as your colleague?”

“Colleague.”

“Either fire him or restore the working relationship.”

“I can’t fire him.”

Leo nods. “Thought so. Then let me remind you that you’ve made a career out of unorthodox therapy methods. Your client wants something from you. Why don’t you use that as currency to get what you want—namely, his investment in the process?”

Mia shifts in her seat. “Whoa. As hypocritical as this sounds, that seems risky. Professionally speaking.”

I glance at her, a smile tugging my mouth. “I don’t think he’s suggesting I use sex.”

“I’m not,” Leo confirms with a wry glance at his wife. “Head out of the gutter, Amelia.”

She flushes and laughs. “Never mind, then. Continue.”

“That’s not to say this isn’t without risk,” he tells me. “The tightrope you’d be walking is a narrow one. You’ll have to be vigilant. The closer you get to him—the more you give him—the greater the intimacy will feel. You might lose perspective.”

“And your heart,” chirps Mia.

Leo asks gravely, “Can you handle that?”

Can I handle that?

I spend the next four days asking myself the question and don’t come up with a definitive answer. Not that having an answer would change the path in front of me.

Whether or not I can handle the aftermath of emotional intimacy with Kieran, I’m going to attempt it. The potential payoff is worth the risk. And I’m not without support. At Leo’s insistence, we now have a standing phone appointment Thursday mornings. He’s my safety net, bound by a promise to tell me if he thinks I’ve lost balance on the tightrope.

Wednesday evening, I wait for Kieran outside my office door. I know he’s coming because since Saturday, Sven has taken it upon himself to send me daily updates. The texts are unsolicited and I don’t respond to them, but I don’t tell him to stop sending them, either. It’s because of them I know Kieran trashed all the booze and drugs in his house when he woke up on Saturday. He spent the weekend cleaning, napping, and eating. He returned to work on Monday.

The back door opens. My pulse jumps as Kieran strides inside, his presence instantly sucking the oxygen from my lungs. He left his suit jacket and tie in the car this time. His hair looks like he’s been running his hands through it all day, but he seems well rested and sober.

Pacific blue eyes find mine, a touch wary. Good.

“Mr. Hayes,” I greet him dryly.

His lips twitch. “Dr. Stirling.”

I look past him. “We’re going to be in a different room tonight, Sven. Do you want to check it out first?”

He nods. “Thanks.”

I lead him to the door opposite my usual office. As I unlock it with a six-digit code on the mounted keypad, I almost smile at the sudden focus from the men behind me.

“The door will lock behind us,” I tell Sven. “Did you see the code?”

He nods again. I hold the door open just enough for him to enter. It takes him approximately five seconds before he returns.

“All clear,” he says in a too-dry tone, then stations himself against a wall and stares pointedly at a painting mounted opposite him.

“After you, Mr. Hayes.”

With visible hesitance—and a parting glare at Sven—Kieran walks into the room. I follow, letting the door close and auto-lock behind us.

Kieran wanders around the space, dimly lit and scented heavily with aromatherapy. He finally turns to me. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this isn’t it.”

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