to schmooze about her past life. “In 2004.”
Hunter rubbed his cheek pensively. “Do you know Chris Dowd? He went to DePaul.”
She shook her head.
He glanced at her smooth, alabaster skin and long, toned legs clad in youthful navy shorts. “Oh, he was probably before your time. I’d already been practicing ten years by the time you graduated.”
Her mental calculations put his age near forty. At least she was getting an experienced psychologist.
“So, you were a psychologist, but you were never in therapy yourself?”
“I never had time. I was trying to hold down another job in addition to classes, research, and practicum. Even with the extra job I still came out with some hefty student loans.”
“You’re in a lot of debt?”
“Yeah, about sixty thousand dollars’ worth. Officer Stone told me I need to get a job soon, but I have to find something that pays well enough, or I won’t be able to make my loan payments.”
“Can’t your parents help you out?” Hunter asked casually.
Sophie froze, shame clenching in her chest. She recalled her father’s cold stare at her mother’s funeral, his frosty blue eyes laying blame that sliced through her like an icicle. Then an earlier memory emerged of those same eyes filled with fury when she was only nineteen years old. Her father had screamed incessantly upon discovering her plans to study psychology instead of joining him in the family construction business. He had groomed her for years to be his protégé, but she wanted nothing to do with his world. You ungrateful girl! You want to be some namby-pamby shrink? You’re on your own, then! Shocked by his words, she had fled their house, vowing never to return.
Hunter carefully studied the beautiful young woman, whose sorrow was evident. She eventually returned his gaze and feebly requested, “Can I pass on that question?”
“Of course,” he nodded. She seemed relieved to be given a reprieve.
Glancing down at his notes, Hunter cleared his throat. “Let’s see … I got us off track a bit. You were saying you made a huge mistake?”
She worried what might happen if she continued to evade his questions. How many passes would he allow? She had to share the reason she went to prison or she would never begin to heal. Hunter seemed trustworthy enough.
“It was about two years ago. I had just passed my licensing exam, and I was thrilled that I no longer had to report to a supervisor. Well, thrilled and a little nervous, I guess. Anyway, I was renting office space over on State Street, trying to start a practice. But insurance companies were giving me a hard time, and it was tough to get clients.”
“Insurance companies giving you a hard time?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. “Say it ain’t so.”
Sophie gave a wry smile. “Going to battle with managed care is one thing I do not miss about being a psychologist, that’s for sure.” She swallowed hard before she continued. “You can imagine my relief when I picked up a client who said it was no problem to self-pay. He said he didn’t have health insurance anyway. He was in a similar situation as I find myself now—mandated by the court to attend therapy. He had a gambling addiction that got him into trouble.” Sophie recalled the flutter in her heart upon meeting him.
He had strode confidently into her office, wearing a tight royal-blue T-shirt that showcased the musculature of his arms and chest. On the tall side of six feet, he was a formidable presence. Sophie could not help but allow her eyes to drift down the length of him, taking in his dark jeans and black boots.
“Dr. Taylor?” his deep baritone rang out in the room. She glanced up at his cavernous cerulean eyes, hardened and mysterious. His jet-black hair bled into the stubble of a five o’clock shadow lining his chiseled jaw. The man exuded sex.
“Yes, it’s Sophie,” she corrected, offering her hand.
He grasped it and shook robustly, causing the muscles of his
Hunter rubbed his cheek pensively. “Do you know Chris Dowd? He went to DePaul.”
She shook her head.
He glanced at her smooth, alabaster skin and long, toned legs clad in youthful navy shorts. “Oh, he was probably before your time. I’d already been practicing ten years by the time you graduated.”
Her mental calculations put his age near forty. At least she was getting an experienced psychologist.
“So, you were a psychologist, but you were never in therapy yourself?”
“I never had time. I was trying to hold down another job in addition to classes, research, and practicum. Even with the extra job I still came out with some hefty student loans.”
“You’re in a lot of debt?”
“Yeah, about sixty thousand dollars’ worth. Officer Stone told me I need to get a job soon, but I have to find something that pays well enough, or I won’t be able to make my loan payments.”
“Can’t your parents help you out?” Hunter asked casually.
Sophie froze, shame clenching in her chest. She recalled her father’s cold stare at her mother’s funeral, his frosty blue eyes laying blame that sliced through her like an icicle. Then an earlier memory emerged of those same eyes filled with fury when she was only nineteen years old. Her father had screamed incessantly upon discovering her plans to study psychology instead of joining him in the family construction business. He had groomed her for years to be his protégé, but she wanted nothing to do with his world. You ungrateful girl! You want to be some namby-pamby shrink? You’re on your own, then! Shocked by his words, she had fled their house, vowing never to return.
Hunter carefully studied the beautiful young woman, whose sorrow was evident. She eventually returned his gaze and feebly requested, “Can I pass on that question?”
“Of course,” he nodded. She seemed relieved to be given a reprieve.
Glancing down at his notes, Hunter cleared his throat. “Let’s see … I got us off track a bit. You were saying you made a huge mistake?”
She worried what might happen if she continued to evade his questions. How many passes would he allow? She had to share the reason she went to prison or she would never begin to heal. Hunter seemed trustworthy enough.
“It was about two years ago. I had just passed my licensing exam, and I was thrilled that I no longer had to report to a supervisor. Well, thrilled and a little nervous, I guess. Anyway, I was renting office space over on State Street, trying to start a practice. But insurance companies were giving me a hard time, and it was tough to get clients.”
“Insurance companies giving you a hard time?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. “Say it ain’t so.”
Sophie gave a wry smile. “Going to battle with managed care is one thing I do not miss about being a psychologist, that’s for sure.” She swallowed hard before she continued. “You can imagine my relief when I picked up a client who said it was no problem to self-pay. He said he didn’t have health insurance anyway. He was in a similar situation as I find myself now—mandated by the court to attend therapy. He had a gambling addiction that got him into trouble.” Sophie recalled the flutter in her heart upon meeting him.
He had strode confidently into her office, wearing a tight royal-blue T-shirt that showcased the musculature of his arms and chest. On the tall side of six feet, he was a formidable presence. Sophie could not help but allow her eyes to drift down the length of him, taking in his dark jeans and black boots.
“Dr. Taylor?” his deep baritone rang out in the room. She glanced up at his cavernous cerulean eyes, hardened and mysterious. His jet-black hair bled into the stubble of a five o’clock shadow lining his chiseled jaw. The man exuded sex.
“Yes, it’s Sophie,” she corrected, offering her hand.
He grasped it and shook robustly, causing the muscles of his
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