Page 19 of Dance with the Devil
Not just anyone, either.
Thelastperson I want to see right now.
“Francesca?”
I inwardly groan as I look up at Dr. Kincaid, who appears to be walking in the same direction with a couple of colleagues. One of them is holding his leftovers in a brown paper bag, and they all stare at me with concerned expressions.
I hate it.
I hate when people look at me with pity, I’d had enough of it to last a lifetime.
I swipe at my wet cheeks. “Hi,” I say quickly.
His brows pull together and he looks around, as if the reason I’m crying is nearby. I want to tell him that it’s worse—that I’m crying over something that might not happen again.
Something thatalmostwas.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him. “It’s just allergies.”
The screeching brakes of a nearby cable car down the street catches our attention, and we both quickly walk over to board the cable car together. I choose the outside where I have to hold on because I enjoyed it on the way here, and Dr. Kincaid and his colleagues take the nearby bench. To my surprise, Dr. Kincaid settles right in front of me. His legs are so long that his knees bump into mine, so he spreads them slightly to accommodate me. It takes me a second to realize that I’m essentially standing between his legs now.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, green eyes flicking between mine.
And fuck, I want to tell him. I want to talk about how a little over three years ago, I thought I was living my happily ever after. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine that I had with dinner, or maybe it was seeing that young family. My mouth opens and Ialmosttell him everything.
But something stops me.
I’d been hired on the spot during the interview process, and this job—while vexing most of the time—had saved my life. I’d been spiralingbadlywhen Ari saw the job posting and had applied for me in the midst of my grief journey. But I was living with my mom in Encinitas and I was declining mentally every single day. After everything happened and Jake—my ex—asked me to move out, I had almost no money to my name. I’d quit my job and had planned on staying home since he made enough money to support us.
Dr. Kincaid had offered me more than Jake’s yearly salary to start, and I couldn’t say no.
Not when it was my one chance to start over.
Several months later, I’d saved enough for a minuscule down payment and I bought the house I currently own. Day by day, I started picking up the pieces of my life.
What if I told Dr. Kincaid what had happened to me and he fired me for oversharing? I hated my job most days, but I needed it.
Still, the way he’s looking at me…
I decide to offer him a half-truth—a vague morsel of my past.
“I’m not, but I will be tomorrow. I just saw something that spooked me.”
His eyes are so bright, green, and intense. It makes me wonder if he can see all the way down to the bottom of my soul.
It certainly feels like that with the way he’s looking at me.
“Your ex-fiancé?” he asks, his voice low enough so that only I can hear it.
I huff a laugh. “Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?” I swear I see his eyes flick to my wrist, where my small, pink orchid tattoo is peaking out.
Does he know what it means?
His brows are pulled together as he awaits my response, like he’s genuinely curious.
