Bluegrass Seduction (The Bluegrass Billionaire Trilogy Book 1) by Alice Ward, Jessica Blake

I got a second kiss.
    She handed them off to someone behind her and then led me through a maze of the kitchen, hallway and into a large room that was banked by floor to ceiling windows. A grand piano was guarding one corner and I saw the backs of a man and woman seated on a floral upholstered sofa.
    “Mother, Dad, this is Worthington LaViere, III. Worth, I’d like you to meet my mother and dad.”
    Auggie’s dad stood and came toward me. I shook his hand. He looked a bit pale and overwhelmed, the sort of fellow who wears that look indefinitely.
    I wasn’t prepared for what came next, however. Auggie’s mother began to stand and then fell back against the cushions, her face robbed of a smile and any shade of human color. I felt a jolt and fought to keep control.
    The woman whose extended hand just dropped into her lap was none other than Jervis’ Jezebel.
    Auggie
    I couldn’t believe Mother’s reaction. You would think Worth had just slapped her. Of course, I noted that he had an odd look as well. Had they met before? I’d better not have any trouble out of her over this. She would not win. Her days of running my life have come to an end.
    I sensed trouble was coming so I quickly said, “Night!” and tugged at Worth’s sleeve to come with me. We got into his Porsche and the poor man behaved as though the devil was at his heels.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “Not a thing,” he said shortly and without conviction.
    “You’re lying. Have you met my mother before?”
    “She just reminded me of someone I knew once. Took me a minute to realize it wasn’t the same person,” he said. I chose to believe him… for now, that is.
    We were at the restaurant in no time. I liked my car, but I liked his better. Everything about him had his personal sense of style. He was sleek, fast, smart, witty and self-possessed. His car fit him well. I wondered if he felt as good as he looked and then blushed for my own benefit.
    We had a quiet table in the corner with a linen tablecloth, real silver, and china… at least we did. I noticed other tables had simpler settings and when I picked up my fork and looked at it, he said, “Only the best.” I was blown away by his attention to detail.
    “So, why did you become a psychologist?” I asked him.
    “To play with peoples’ heads,” he said without hesitation.
    My head jerked back a little at that response. “What… like you’re entertained by what people think?”
    “No, because people are essentially malleable. They become what you suggest they are. They are what they think they are.”
    “And how does that help them?” I was confused.
    “Doesn’t, not every time,” he said coolly while cutting the lasagna he ordered. “They come to me because they think they’re broken. They’re generally not broken at all. If I let them go home thinking they’re still broken, they will be. It’s that simple.”
    I swallowed, needing to know the answer to the next question, but dreading his answer at the same time. “So do you? Do you let them go home feeling broken?”
    “Depends.”
    “On?”
    “Whether they’re a good person. I let bad people go home broken.”
    “Wait,” I said, setting down my fork. “Are you saying you mess with people’s lives and don’t legitimately help them like your oath compels you to do?”
    “You’re living in a bubble, dear Auggie. People don’t come to me to be fixed. They come to me to hear it’s alright to be a total screw up, or to use others, or to cheat on their spouse. I’m sort of the medical version of a confessional priest.”
    “That’s wrong,” I said, and felt the flatness of the words.
    “Why?”
    “Because you’re supposed to make them better.”
    “So,” he said, laying down his knife and looking at me. “You think a priest listens and helps or does he simply give his parishioner the illusion that he’s forgiven and the guy goes right back to what he was doing?”
    I frowned. “Never really thought of it