Page 31 of Beach Reads
Her fingertips brush mine as she hands over the tablet. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And surely it’s all the static in the air, making my skin jolt like that. Making it feel like we’re throwing off sparks.
“No fountain nudes.” She’s triumphant, nudging my chair with her foot. And…really? None at all? That makes no sense. I frown down at the search results, scanning the innocuous mentions of Poppy Elizabeth Lennox.
There’s a high school spelling bee medal. Her name listed in special thanks for a gala. Several photos of her standing behind her father as he shakes hands with politicians and investors, the Poppy in each of those photos looking well dressed and faintly bored. Prissy head shot bun: activated.
No messy drunk photos. No salacious hook ups. Nothing that her medical notes would suggest.
I roll my stiff neck, my heartbeat picking up speed.
“I…”
Poppy stares down at me, gripping the edge of the desk tight. Her body has curled forward, bowing toward mine, like she’s willing me to believe her. She’svibratingwith how badly she wants it.
And fuck, every instinct in my caveman brain is screaming at me to please her. To satisfy her every whim. Pathetic.
“I need to look into this.”
Just like that, the spell is broken. My patient slumps against the desk, the hope fading from her eyes, and when she drags herself back around to her own chair—Imissher. So messed up.
“Fine.” That dark ponytail shifts as she turns to stare out of the window. “Let’s get this over with. Ask me about my breakfast, Dr Whitaker.”
I clear my throat… but for once, the questions won’t come.
She’s got me. I’m rattled.
Poppy
The doctor leaves me at the poolside, depositing me on a sun lounger and all but ordering me tostaylike a naughty puppy. He’s unsettled, rubbing at his strong jaw like he might unearth the answers in his stubble, and his shoulders are rigid beneath his white coat as he strides away.
Three sun loungers over, a woman guffaws. “What did you do to Dr Whitaker? I’ve never seen him so scrunchy.”
I squint in the sunshine, craning my neck to peer at her. Palm fronds wave around the pool, making shadows dance across the ground, and my heckler is stretched out next to a stack of beauty magazines.
She’s older than me—in her fifties, maybe. Bleached blonde curls dance around her cheeks as the woman laughs, shaking her head. “Did you see that vein throbbing in his temple? Ha! What I’d have paid to be a fly on the wall in that room. You should give me tips for my next session, hon, because that man is asightwhen he’s all riled up.”
So he is.
Um. “I’m Poppy.”
The woman beams, flashing a smudge of lipstick on her front tooth. “Janice. Welcome to Honey Cove, chicken. We’ve been wondering about you.”
What do you say to something like that? How does a person respond toanyof this? I have no idea, so I breeze right past it.
“He’s in a mood.” I wave after the doctor, glancing at where he disappeared down a garden path in a flurry of white coat. “I told him I’m being held captive here against my will and he didn’t like that.”
Janice’s eyes are round as saucers. “Nooo.” She wriggles, getting comfy in her black and white striped swimsuit. “No, I bet he didn’t.”
She waits for an explanation. I don’t offer one.
As an awkward silence stretches between us, I scan the courtyard. Better that than inviting any more questions. The pool is lined with deep blue mosaic tiles and filled with sun-dappled water; a stray leaf floats in one corner, spinning around the filter. It looks blissfully cool. Like sliding into that water would be a path straight to heaven—especially after the way my temperature climbed near Dr Whitaker.
I’m still flushed. Stupid hormones.
All around the pool, loungers are scattered beneath large umbrellas, half of them filled with dozing sunbathers. Down one of the garden paths, there’s a yoga group in session on a patch of grass.
Okay, I’ll admit it. It’s pretty nice here. So nice that if Iwereon vacation, I’d think I’d won the jackpot.
But this is no trip. The overlords have spoken, and Poppy Lennox can’t control her own life.
