Chapter Nineteen
“I’m sorry. There are no leads yet, Dr. Lin.
But rest assured, the local chief of police is coordinating the search,” Laura, the personal concierge assigned to me, says apologetically through the phone.
I called to her after my last patient appointment—a patron who had an anxiety attack on board—ended early.
A lump forms in my throat. The Leica is irreplaceable. I had plans for the pictures I took with the camera, plans I would carry out at Las Fallas. And now, those photos, along with my memento from Mia, are gone.
I’ve failed her and lost another piece of myself.
“Thanks for looking into it. Please keep me posted.”
Laura murmurs more apologies before hanging up.
It’s only a camera, Olivia. You could’ve lost your life.
When I was in elementary and middle school, my parents enrolled us in a Saturday Chinese school. Boy, did we complain. Other kids got to sleep in, watch TV and have fun, but we needed to be up at eight and go to class. We’d practice a language I didn’t use except with my parents, and do homework.
Tons of homework.
But now, as an adult, I’m appreciative. There are things I’ve learned—the culture, the idioms. One of which is qian cai nai shen wai zhi wu, which roughly translates to “money and possessions are things outside of oneself.” Possessions and wealth can come and go, but they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
Because what’s most important is ourselves and our loved ones.
But what if those loved ones are gone? What if you’re alone in the world?
You aren’t alone, Olivia. I remind myself of my girls.
Lana called me right after the attack, worried about me.
Taylor and Grace video chatted with me. Taylor waved her fists in the air, promising wrath and fury at whoever did this to us.
Belle and Alexis called from the Anderson Estate, with Belle showing me Silas the husky, saying dogs make everything better.
I talk back to my negative thoughts, knowing I should be grateful I survived the attack when someone knocks on the door.
My head snaps up and I glance at my phone. Two thirty-five.
Of course he’s late.
“Come in.”
Raking in one more fortifying breath, because I know I’ll need it, I pull out my notebook and pen, ready for another game of chess with the most infuriating Anderson of the bunch.
The devil strolls in, a lazy grin on his lips, his sky-blue shirt half-buttoned, revealing a swath of sun-kissed skin, his hair sticking out in multiple directions like he couldn’t be bothered to comb it.
It all works on him somehow—the handsome, I don’t take life seriously billionaire.
Too bad it’s fake though.
“He hurt you. I’ll kill anyone who hurts you.”
His fervent vow from that day causes the swarm of butterflies taking residence in my gut to flap their wings.
He looked murderous then. Unhinged.
He was utterly glorious.
He threw himself on top of me to save my life.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this. I shouldn’t be attracted to this behavior.
He’s your patient. He’s mentally unwell. This is ridiculous.
“My little Olive. Were you waiting for me? Sorry. Popular man, lots of appointments.” He winks and shrugs.
He reminds me of how pit bulls show you who they are with their menacing barks, but those fluff balls, Chow Chows? They may look like a stuffed animal but are among the most aggressive dog breeds in the world.
I press my lips together and tamp down my impulse to yell at him.
Calm. Professional. Poise. Don’t let him rile you, Olivia.
“Thanks for coming,” I say, making sure my voice is sweet. “Have a seat.”
His eyes widen, like he’s surprised I haven’t called him out about his tardiness.
Nope. Everything he wants me to do, I’ll do the opposite.
“You like your meat? Long, thick, and juicy?”
Argh! I bite my cheek as my face flames. The devil.
He arches his brow, and I take a deep breath, quashing down my inappropriate thoughts.
“So, I’m here. What’s on the docket, Doc?” He chuckles. “Docket…Doc, nice rhyme to it. Would make a good marketing slogan.”
Rex pulls up a chair across from my desk, sits down, and slides his hands behind his head. “It’s exhausting to be a genius sometimes.”
“I can imagine how tiring that can be, not being able to turn off your brain.” I return his perusal with a small smile.
A muscle twitches in his forehead and his eyes narrow slightly before relaxing.
“You look ravishing today, Olive. Not everyone can pull off the serious doctor look with that bun of yours. But you just look like a sexy librarian to me. Do you dress like this to tempt your patients?”
My smile strains against my lips. You asshole, you’re on.
I grip my pen tighter. “Are you tempted?”
“Definitely.” Those startling gray eyes darken.
“To do what?” My pulse shoots off to a rickety start. Don’t goad him. Disengage, dammit.
Rex leans in slowly, his hands flattening on the desk. “You don’t want to know, little Olive. It might corrupt your innocent mind.”
“My patients suffer from an array of mental illnesses. Trust me, I’m not easily scared. And sometimes, I find discussing someone’s fantasies reveals a lot about the workings of his or her mind.”
Angling the notepad toward me, I jot down a few sentiments.
Rex Anderson is the devil. He’s infuriating, makes me want to throttle him, but I’m a goddamn professional!
I circle “goddamn professional” for good measure. I sigh. I feel better already.
He stares at my pen scraping against paper, the furrow between his brows deepening. I cock my head and purse my lips, pretending I’m uncovering earth-shattering secrets from him and jotting them down.
A low growl rumbles from his throat.
This works every time.
“And you’re here, obviously not because you have a problem, as you’ve previously mentioned, but because your behavior back in New York City has caused concern for your family.
So, let’s unravel your heart and your mind.
And together, we can identify the threads you previously missed but are showing through your actions. ”
After flipping to a new page to hide the evidence of my frustrations, I set the notepad down.
Then I smile at him again and wait.
His jaw works, his gaze skating over my face, my neck, to the simple white sheath dress I have on, then back up.
I force myself to remain still and let him look, or intimidate, his fill.
The seconds tick by and the stark silence only fans the invisible flames in the room.
The world can burn around us, but I’m willing to play a game of chicken with him again, and this time, I won’t lose.
Finally, his nostrils flare and his lips twitch. “Stop it.”
Checkmate.
“Stop what?”
“Playing my game against me. I’ve practiced my entire life, and trust me, you can’t outplay me.”
“I wasn’t aware we were playing a game?” I tap one finger on my notepad—the click, clack sound akin to a leaky faucet dripping throughout the night.
Enough to drive you nuts.
“What do you want from me?” he rasps. “What the hell do you want with me?”
To save you from self-destruction. To save your family from bottomless sorrow and guilt when they find you dead somewhere. To save them from spending their lives seeking atonement, to search for answers, the same questions rattling inside their minds night after night.
Why didn’t I see the signs? Why didn’t I do something sooner?
I see your signs. I need to save you like you saved me.
“I want honesty, Mr. Anderson,” I murmur.
My chest twinges when I see resignation in his eyes.
“There’s nothing to tell. And all the talk in the world won’t change anything in the past.” His throat vibrates, and he glances away. A haunted heaviness threads through his voice. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Let’s start with something easy, then. One truth that no one knows, and we’ll go from there.”
Rex stills, and for a moment, he doesn’t appear to be breathing, but I know he heard me. After a minute or two, he returns his gaze to me.
This time, there’s a hardness in them, a glimpse of the damaged Anderson behind the playboy prince the world sees.
“A truth for a truth, then. Final offer, Doctor Lin.”
A truce. He’s calling me by my title.
I ignore the red flags in my mind, needing to focus on the white one he’s waving. My pulse scatters and hairs rise on my forearms. “Fine. A truth for a truth then.”
Why does it feel like a trick? Like I’m giving him far more than I’ll receive?
I’m a professional. I can guard my secrets, even if it’s the last thing I do.
He stares at me, his eyes unflinching. Then he sits back in his chair and clears his throat.
“I have insomnia. I can’t sleep for more than three hours a night.” His shoulders slump, like the confession took something out of him.
A chink in his armor.
It makes sense—the dark eye circles, the erratic moods. Chronic insomnia will do that to you.
I collect this scrap and store it away in my treasure chest. As much as the insufferable man drives me up a wall, he’s giving me a piece of himself he’s never shown others.
“And why do you think that is?”
“I don’t want to share that.” He cocks his brow as if daring me to berate him.
But I won’t. I recognize a breakthrough when I see it.
“That’s fair. We don’t have to talk about that right now. How long has it been going on?”
“Decades.”
He doesn’t elaborate. If it’s been going on forever, it can’t only be insomnia causing his recent spiral then. There has to be something else.
“It must be exhausting to function with so little sleep. How do you deal with it?”
Slowly, Rex sits up, then he leans toward me, inch by inch, the shrinking distance sucking all the oxygen out of the room. I force myself to remain still when the flames I thought were snuffed suddenly reignite and lick up my body.
His gaze drops to my mouth, and his lips hitch into a sensual half-smile. “I fuck.”
My clit pulses. I feel those two words like a caress.
He stares at me, his attention unwavering. “I fuck a lot. Until I’ve wrung out every single orgasm from my partners. Until I’m exhausted.”
Strangled breaths reach my ears, and belatedly, I realize they are from me.
His words are barely above a whisper, but I feel them—the tendrils of lust, desperation, agony singeing my skin. My core throbs as I watch his eyes take on a mad haze, his tongue dipping out to wet his lips.
Like he’s imagining us in the bedroom.
“Scared yet, Doctor? That’s just the tip of the iceberg.” His eyes suddenly flare. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Chew on your lip. Waving the red cape in front of a murderous bull.”
My breath rushes out of me. I release my bottom lip I didn’t know I was mutilating with my teeth.
Straightening my shoulders, I reply, “Bulls are partially colorblind. It’s the motion of the cloth that gets them. They don’t see red. The color is only for the spectators.”
The spell breaks, and he jolts as if I’ve electrocuted him with a factoid I picked up watching late-night documentaries on the Discovery Channel when I, too, was tormented by the past.
“Does your family know about your insomnia? Have you seen a doctor about it?” I steer the conversation back to safe waters.
“No. I’m not the only one suffering from lack of sleep. They have enough troubles on their plate. No need to worry them.” He chuckles, but there’s no merriment, only more resignation. “Casey’s worried though, but then, he’s worried about everything.”
“And he is?” I wasn’t aware of an Anderson with the name of Casey.
He stares at his hands. “My best friend. My oldest friend. I honestly don’t know why he puts up with me.” The words are barely audible, but they ring the loudest of everything he’s said today.
Shame. He’s dealing with shame and doesn’t want to burden anyone.
Then, he shifts in his seat and glances at his phone. “Time’s up, Doc. But since our conversation has gone so well, I’ll throw in a freebie.”
Rex reaches into his pocket and pulls out a vial half-filled with white pills. He gives it a shake. “I’m sure you and my family are dying to know, and I can put your worries to rest. These are caffeine pills. I take them because of my insomnia.”
With a mock salute, he stands and strides to the door, the earlier laziness in his frame nowhere to be seen.
“Is this why you don’t want psychiatric meds?” I ask.
Not that I can prescribe any to him yet. I need to figure out what’s going on first. And I don’t believe in forcing people to take medication if they aren’t ready for it.
He stops mid-stride.
“I don’t think meds will work on my problems,” he murmurs.
The muscles in his back flex and bunch when he grips the doorknob.
“You owe me a truth, Doc. I’ll collect one day.” He doesn’t turn around as he says, “You can’t save me. I need to have something worth saving first.”
His pained words echo in the room when the door snicks shut.
My lungs draw in a few frenzied inhales, like I’ve been running a marathon for the past hour. I pick up my pen and write, my movements barely quick enough to keep up with my thoughts.
Best friend Casey knows him better than his family.
Insists on relying on caffeine pills instead of addressing the root cause of insomnia. Overreliance or addiction? Note to self: research the newest pills on the market and side effects.
Shame is a primary factor in erratic behavior. Appears to be tied to someone he’s lost. But why now?
Claims to use sex to fall asleep, but it’s a lie.
I don’t know how I know it. Perhaps it was the fascinated glint in his irises when he was telling me about his exploits, like my reaction was the high he was chasing.
But the statement rings false.
Rex Anderson is a party animal, a relentless flirt, and supposedly a king in the sack, but I haven’t seen him in the news with a woman for almost half a year until Bree, and even then, they both imply their relationship isn’t like that.
Their interactions are also strangely respectful, not at all how lovebirds or friends with benefits would behave.
Like you would know, Olivia. You had one boyfriend in high school and you had sex three times.
And it was wholly uninspiring, to say the least.
I jot down another question.
Who is Bree to him?
Then I drop back into my chair and close my eyes. I’m equal parts frustrated and invested.
But deep down, I’m afraid I’ll never unravel the puzzle that is Rex Cassius Anderson.
And perhaps I’m watching history replay itself, once again experiencing the same emotions.
Desperate. Frustrated.
Useless.