Chapter 3
THREE
STORM
A mixture of dread and excitement regurgitated through my stomach. As much as I wanted to put it off, I knew I had a job to do. I needed to grow back my old spine: the one that oozed resilience, and maintain a professional distance, no matter what.
Opening my laptop, I wiggled the mouse to wake the screen and then brought up my schedule for the day.
Reed’s name was typed against my nine o’clock slot in red.
I knew it wasn’t a good idea to accept him as a client, even on a trial basis, but professional courtesy had kicked in.
‘I was good at what I did, and if there was some way I could help him, surely, I had to try?’ I mused in reflection.
Reed’s recent outbursts on the field were not like him at all.
Something had to be going on, a sudden event that had pushed him over the edge.
I wondered if it was connected to the news of the date of my wedding.
At least he wouldn’t be shocked to see me.
Reed would know that the Doctor Summers on his appointment card was me.
Nix informed me that what I did for a living came up in conversation all the time between the brothers.
I suppose working for a living wasn’t really the way to describe my choice of career.
I was already wealthy. I worked as a counselor because it provided a challenge in what would otherwise have been a mundane existence.
My clients (or patients, as they were often referred to) were mostly sports professionals.
They were highly strung individuals who lived life in the fast lane and, as a rule, were needy when it came to their emotional well-being.
Occasionally, there were a few bum referrals, young guys who were new to the profession, who just wanted an appointment so they could check me out.
And I wasn’t being vain. I heard what the sex-starved players said about me in the locker rooms. But what they failed to realize was that beauty and brains did occasionally come as a set.
I remembered how hard I’d tried to hide my smarts in school.
Because guys don’t like a female who is cleverer than they are, my mother used to say.
Now I had no problem unleashing my brain, and I took no sexist shit from anyone.
Well, apart from my fiancé Jasper. I didn’t rise to the bait he set anymore; I just blocked him out when he was behaving like a misogynist jerk.
Like the time he’d told me he didn’t want a working wife.
I’d soon told him where he could stick that suggestion.
Some of my clients looked at me like I could fulfil their wildest fantasies, others like I was a master manipulator.
Then some misjudged me, believing I could hit them up with black market steroids.
They only lasted the first half-hour consultation and then never came back.
I wasn’t a medical doctor and so couldn’t prescribe drugs, but not everyone knew that.
In my therapy sessions, I tried to be everything they needed me to be. But what I could not be was myself. I wasn’t even sure who she was anymore, that girl who disappeared around four years ago. And that’s the problem with hiding the truth: eventually, you forget what that looks like.
As I clicked into the file linked by Reed’s name, I started to scan the notes I had been given by Lance Rogerson, his previous team’s Coach. He was the only other professional who knew Reed inside and out.
As a bold knock sounded on the door of my office, I slammed my laptop closed and pushed to my feet, suddenly flustered.
If that was Reed, he was ten minutes early.
I had imagined he’d be late or not turn up at all.
How wrong I was. Reed had refused therapy several times when he was with the Giants.
So why had he accepted the appointment with me? Because he had been forced to.
Smoothing back my hair, I squared my shoulders and walked over, my heels clicking with each step. I was wearing my usual power-dressing outfit, which consisted of a black tight pencil skirt that fell to the knee, and a pale pink blouse.
And then… fuck! I omitted a squeak, yes, an actual squeak. God clearly saw an opportunity to make me squirm as I tripped and literally face-planted.
My body sensed him before he spoke. “Teacup, is that you?” That voice I remembered so well bled in through the barrier.
Ramming my palms flat to the floor, I pushed myself back onto my knees and glanced up through a curtain of hair.
Hearing the ruckus, my first appointment of the day, opened the door.
And there he stood like every woman’s wet dream. Each muscle in my body clenched tightly simultaneously.
Reed, the gunslinger Prescott. He was called the gunslinger due to his recent aggression on the field.
“Falling for me again already?” my ex needled with a sexy smirk. I felt a twinge of annoyance at his ‘again’ comment, the arrogant dick. My insides fluttered; I was suddenly a ball of nerves. I almost leaned towards that voice, like a flower seeking the sun.
I didn’t miss how the muscles in his neck and shoulders were pulled tight. As I scanned that area, I saw a tattoo wrapped around one side and leading up towards his jawline. He hadn’t had that one years ago.
Fuck he looked hot in faded jeans and a green button-down; the tats on his arms exposed.
Even the chunky watch he wore on his wrist added to his fatal attraction.
Reed was more tanned than usual. I had seen some images of him on Instagram in Saint Moritz, so go figure.
His hair was still a rich dark brown and was messy like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times.
It tended to curl against his forehead, and I remembered sticking my fingers through the tendrils as I’d lie against his naked chest.
Reed’s astute, striking eyes peered down his strong, straight nose as he took in my position. His eyelashes had always been ridiculously long, almost pretty, but his mouth; that was where he held the most power.
I shook back my hair and glared up at him. “V—Very funny,” I stammered, feeling like a moron.
He tilted his head and watched me with an arrogance only the uber-rich could deliver. I understood that look as I saw it all the time in the circles I moved in. “That’s quite the welcome, Teacup.”
“Please don’t call me that,” I muttered, attempting to stand with dignity. My words rang around the room.
He raised his eyebrows and pulled the door open wider, stepping inside. “What should I call you? Doc?” Fuck he smelled good. He was like a solid wall of muscle above me, my eyes almost level with his crotch.
“Doctor Summers would be my preference,” I replied tartly, shuffling backwards and trying to find my footing.
“Why so formal? It’s not like we don’t know each other.”
“I get that, and that’s why I’d prefer to keep things as professional as possible between us, considering our past.”
“You’re the one on your knees,” he pointed out. His sexual expression was porn encapsulated. If I joined him in that headspace, I would be in trouble, fast.
Dragging my foot forward, I placed my stocking foot on the floor, “Indeed.”
As I went to stand, Reed stepped forward, the door resting on his back as he extended his hand. “Here.”
I placed my fingers in his, ignoring that bolt of electricity that shot up my arm.
Once I was on my feet, I scanned the floor for my missing shoe. Reed beat me to it, bending over and grabbing my stiletto from the floor before handing it over.
“See. I can be a gentleman.”
“Thank you,” I replied ungraciously as I snatched the heel from his hand. His scent hit me again, and I wanted to bury my head against his neck.
Reed’s smile turned wolfish as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It was on the tip of my tongue to say ‘while you’re down there.”
Rolling my eyes, I took a step back and slid my shoe onto my foot. “Nice. Well, I’m glad you restrained yourself.” My tone of voice was far from its usual level of assertiveness.
I pulled my skirt down and rightened my blouse as he stepped fully into the room and the door closed behind him.
“Baby, you have no idea,” Reed added smoothly, looking me up and down.
Was it my imagination, or did he look taller?
He’d bulked out more, but I swear I never had to crane my neck that much to keep eye contact.
I was of average height, but in heels, I had expected our heads to be much closer.
Twisting away, I moved to the window which overlooked the lot, before turning back to face him. He was lounging by the door, looking extremely relaxed, and I hated how composed he was compared to me.
“Why don’t you take a seat? We should get started, we only have thirty minutes,” I explained, still flustered.
His brow crunched, “I don’t need thirty minutes, I’m not that fucked up.”
“Really? From the VT I saw, I beg to differ.”
“What? What did I do that was so terrible?” he stated, walking towards me.
“You attacked a guy in the middle of a game,” I pointed out with a head tilt.
“So, he was a dirty player.”
“He was on your team! You also threatened a member of the press with sticking their mic where the sun doesn’t shine, if what I read is true.”
“So,” Reed grunted moodily.
“Well, that type of behavior doesn’t exactly scream, well-adjusted beacon of contentment and emotional maturity now, does it?”
He didn’t reply straight away, just stopped a few feet away, rolled his shoulders, and then rubbed the back of his neck. Reed then raised his eyes back to mine.
“Point taken.”
He then undressed me with his eyes; it was as blatant as fuck.
“You look good, Storm, even after all these years. But I knew you would. And the buttoned-up style suits you.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Although you do look like you haven’t been fucked in years.”