6. Andrie
Andrie
After Steve left, much more at ease about seeing the men from his unit that weekend and promising to come back Monday, I decided to tackle cleaning my office.
I kept everything ruthlessly organized, both out of necessity as well as personal preference.
Because most of my clients were military, it was reassuring to them that everything had a proper place as well.
I unplugged my external hard drive, putting my laptop in the floor safe before I put the hard drive in its own hiding place in the bookshelf.
Other than a few pens, a notepad I used for doodling more than actual note taking, and a desk phone, nothing else remained.
Even the bookshelf behind me held few books in favor of some knickknacks that were easy to clean.
The only sign of personality in the space was a few drawings some of my youngest patients had presented to me over the years.
I’d framed them myself and hung them above the couch.
It was cliché—a couch in a therapist’s office—but after a few sessions when new patients began to relax in my company, most preferred it to the two oversized chairs across from it.
Pulling out the cleaning supplies from my small closet, I got to work dusting, taking my time to even do the walls and wash and dry most of the items on the bookshelf.
I was stalling, and I knew it. Still, I couldn’t help but keep my hands busy while my mind whirled.
Steve and his nervousness at seeing the rest of his unit this weekend—a unit he’d led and who’d come back to rescue him—had kept me focused off of my own problems, even if it was for a short time.
But now, alone and with nothing to occupy me, I let the freak-out I’d staved off that morning come.
How could I have been so stupid? Regardless of who the bartender was, I was responsible for knowing when I’d had enough to drink.
Why hadn’t I stopped earlier? Even if I hadn’t wanted to break up the brotherly reunion and ask Vik to take me home, it wasn’t like I didn’t have choices.
Car services might not brave coming into that side of town, but I knew any of the MC members would have given me a ride—any of the Accardi’s as well, even though they only knew me professionally.
I was temporarily mortified at the thought they’d seen me that drunk but vaguely remembered them leaving before I had.
Had Xander been right? Was I subconsciously looking for a relationship?
He’d had a point about me taking him back to my house.
I remembered him asking where we should go, and when we’d gotten to my house, he’d asked again if it was all right if he stayed.
Had I wanted the safety of my home, knowing he was a stranger and wanting the familiarity, or was it because I wanted him there so I could pretend he belonged with me?
I shook my head, putting away the cleaning supplies in favor of the vacuum.
The building had a cleaning service, one carefully vetted as several of the companies in the building had government contracts that required clearance levels.
Still, I didn’t feel comfortable letting anyone aside from my patients into my office.
I didn’t even let them into the sitting room.
After my office was clean and smelling of the lemon polish I used on the furniture, I moved onto the front room.
The sitting room was supposed to hold a secretary’s desk and a small waiting area for patients, but since I was a one-woman operation, I’d turned the entire room into two sitting areas.
Decorative screens—lightweight but solid fabric—were placed just inside the door so no one from the hall could get a glimpse of the room or anyone else in it.
Another section of screens was placed to separate the two areas, one purposefully light and airy, while the other was not as well-lit and held darker chairs and décor.
Most of my patients had experienced trauma, whether it be through war, torture, rape, or kidnapping.
Some found comfort in the dim, while others feared it.
On paper, my patients were military—active or former Tier-One operatives—there to talk about and process their fears and worries for their loved ones.
And soldiers, especially elite soldiers such as SEALS, DEVGRU, Delta Force, Raiders, and the like, needed someone they could come to in order to keep their heads on straight, balancing what they had to do in the name of protecting their country with what their human psyche could deal with.
They had my counterparts in the military, of course, but knowing those they talked to ultimately had to submit reports to their superiors about each soldier’s mental status didn’t exactly allow for free conversation.
Fortunately, the military realized it as well, and I was their solution.
In addition to counseling military members, I counseled their families.
Plus, I was available for the people the MC rescued from human trafficking—those who’d been taken as POWs in war, along with other men, women, and children who’d had to face the horrors mankind inflicted on one another.
I put the vacuum away with a sigh, then looked around the room, at a loss as to what I should do for the rest of the day. If I went home, I was sure to run into Vik at best, Xander again at worst. Not that I wasn’t going to have to face the music at some point, but I didn’t want it to be now.
A soft knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts. “Andrie, it’s Lessia. Open up!”
I hurried to open it, surprised to find Gideon Accardi with his sister.
“Is Gia all right?” I asked in alarm, waving them in.
I’d been working with Gia and Gideon ever since the little girl’s abduction.
Gia was getting better each and every day—one of the benefits of children was their incredible resilience—but her father was actually the one I was most concerned about.
He’d been so focused on his daughter that he hadn’t really processed his own feelings.
“She’s fine. At a friend’s house, in fact,” Lessia said with a knowing look at Gideon. “We’re here to talk to you.”
I blinked. “I kinda figured that, seeing as you’re in my office. How did you know I’d be here?”
“Well, seeing as you went home with Xander last night, I played the odds and thought you’d likely bolt to your office as soon as you could sneak out of the house.”
“Lessia,” I gasped, looking to Gideon with wide eyes.
“What? You asked?” she said, acting as if she couldn’t understand why I was upset at her commentary in front of another patient.
Gideon frowned at his sister, then turned to me. “I’d apologize for my sister, but we all know if I did that, I wouldn’t have time for anything else in my day. I promise not to hold the fact that you’re human and have a private life against you.”
Lessia just rolled her eyes and waved a hand at one of the couches, indicating we should sit. “We’re here with a job offer.”
“I think you know more than anyone that I already have plenty on my plate as it is,” I answered wryly.
“Actually, that’s part of it,” she began to explain.
“This office is secure, the military made sure of that when they provided you the space. But I know I’m not the only one who feels a little …
exposed … coming here. It’s not like someone couldn’t set up surveillance down the street.
I’m sure your military personnel have mentioned something similar. ”
I froze. “No, actually. What do you mean?”
She shared a knowing look with Gideon. “The underground parking garage is secure, but anyone tailing a car or watching the building will know who’s coming in and out.
There are only a handful of offices in this building, and all have to have some sort of clearance.
But most are low-level office jobs. The people going in and out don’t exactly look like military types. ”
“Is that why you always look like you’re coming from the office when you meet me here?” I asked Lessia. “To blend in with the rest of the building?”
She nodded. “But others can’t exactly go unnoticed, and I don’t have to tell you that your active military often have body language that screams Special Forces.”
I ran that over in my mind, realizing that most of the operatives—military and black-ops alike—did seem to take longer than I’d expect to settle into sessions.
They often arrived on edge, though I’d always attributed that to their current mental status, not the trip into my office.
I looked at Lessia with a critical—and expert—eye.
“Are you just saying that for some hidden agenda or because you have legitimate concern over the safety and comfort of the men and women who come and see me?”
“I wouldn’t say hidden,” Lessia hedged.
I narrowed my eyes at her. But before I could speak, Gideon beat me to it. “It’s more of a two-for-one. At least, for us.”
Turning my attention to the oldest brother, I settled back in my seat. “I’m listening.”
Twenty minutes later I was staring at them, slack-jawed. “You can’t be serious?” I asked Lessia.
Gideon’s lips twisted into a rare smile. “I’m pretty sure I said something similar when she filled me in on her plans.”
“How did you even accomplish all of that?” My eyes darted to Gideon, but he still looked amused more than upset.
“Oh, well. When you have the right access, connections, and brothers who let you do almost anything you want without looking too deep, it’s actually pretty easy.
Ow!” Lessia said, rubbing her side where her brother had poked her in the ribs.
I bit back a smile at the teasing, especially from the oldest and most serious of them all.
“What do you want from me in exchange?” I asked, still suspicious of Lessia’s motives.