Chapter 14 Rose
ROSE
“…Did we have an appointment, Phoenix?”
“No.” He shifted his focus to the monitors on the floor, then crossed the room and kneeled by the boxes. I watched, stunned, as he unpacked each one with quick, practiced movements—like someone who’d done this a hundred times before.
I was… speechless.
Well, almost. “Is this… all this, from you?”
He grunted. A yes, apparently. Then he carried one of the monitors to my desk.
“You sent this here?”
No answer. Just fingers moving fast—clicking buttons, unplugging cords like he owned the place.
I lunged forward. “Wait… wait… I—”
“I saved it. Don’t worry.”
“Wait, Phoenix. Stop. What are you doing? You can’t just replace all my stuff.”
“This is a hundred times better than what you had. Trust me.”
Maybe it was. But what the heck?
I yanked the monitor from his hands. The same flash of quick temper I’d seen the day before surfaced in his eyes—hot, electric—but this time, it didn’t boil over.
Instead, something shifted behind his expression.
Like he caught himself. Controlled himself.
His jaw tightened. Then he clasped his hands behind his back and stepped away.
Whoa.
That… was unexpected.
I blinked. “Did you really do this?”
He dipped his chin.
“I can’t accept this, Phoenix.”
“Why not?”
“It’s… too much.”
“It’s fine.” He took the monitor from my hands and resumed working.
I stood there, awkward and off-balance, still trying to wrap my head around what was unfolding. This version of Phoenix—calm, composed, almost generous—wasn’t one I recognized. He confused me. Infuriated me. Intrigued me. And underneath all of it, I was disturbingly, undeniably attracted to him.
He moved past me—close enough for me to catch the warm scent of his skin—and grabbed another sleek piece of equipment.
“Is this your way of apologizing, Phoenix?”
“Does that condescending tone come naturally to you?”
“Does your ability to deflect anything involving real emotions come naturally to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then, yes.”
He knelt beneath my desk again, and despite every warning bell going off in my brain, my gaze drifted—yep. Levi’s perfection. Thighs like tree trunks. That jeans-to-muscle ratio? Unfair.
Heat crept up the back of my neck.
What is wrong with me? I was a professional. A psychologist. And I was ogling a patient who’d destroyed my office twenty-four hours ago.
He stood, eyes flicking to mine. Caught.
I snapped my attention to the scattered papers on my desk and began stacking them like they were the most fascinating things I’d ever seen.
“I want you to know you didn’t need to do this,” I said, my voice tighter than I intended.
“Yes, I did. I damaged your equipment, so I replaced it.”
Black and white. No room for nuance.
“Well…” I repositioned the tissue box, grabbed a tissue I didn’t need. “Thank you.”
And that was that.
“Well.” I repositioned the tissue box and fluffed one from the top. “Thank you.”
And that was that. Within minutes, my janky old computer system had been replaced with a shiny robot that made me want to do backflips.
He pressed the power button and the system beeped to life. The screen lit up, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, I felt a flicker of joy. It was a command center, right there on my desk. Beautiful. Stunning.
His large, calloused hand rested on the mouse—steady, sure—as he clicked through a few setup screens. My gaze lingered on his fingers, thick, strong.
“Need your password.”
I stepped beside him and leaned over. He didn’t budge. Our arms brushed, sending a rush of warmth over my skin.
I glanced at him. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” His eyes weren’t on the monitor.
They were on me. Specifically—my hips.
Oh God.
I nudged him aside, typed in my embarrassingly long password, and pretended not to feel his gaze lingering.
He nudged me back and regained control. A few more clicks, and he stepped away. “There you go.”
“Wow. It’s amazing.” I looked at him—longer than I meant to. “Thank you. Again. You didn’t have to do this.”
“Yes I did.”
I turned back to the screen. Because I didn’t know what to say next. Because part of me wanted to ask why he did it. And the other part… didn’t want the answer.
“So… how do we do this?” he asked behind me.
“Do what?”
“Do I need to set up another appointment or something?”
I turned. Eyebrows raised. “You’ve decided to move forward with therapy?”
“My doctors decided that for me.”
“Perhaps I should rephrase that. You’re ready to continue? Now?”
A slight nod.
“With me? I mean—I know a lot of great therapists. Male. If that would feel more comfortable—”
“Here’s fine.”
Not you’re fine.
Just here’s fine.
Of course.
“Okay… well, another option would be to put it off a few more weeks, although—”
“Now’s fine.”
What? I was shocked. Honestly, I hadn’t expected to see him again—at least not voluntarily. And even more shocking?
The strange pulse of relief that bloomed in my chest at his return.
Because as much as he needed help—desperately—there was something about him I wasn’t ready to let go of, either.
“Okay then,” I said slowly.
“When’s your next open spot?”
I narrowed my eyes, testing him. “Let’s start now.”
He blinked. Like that wasn’t the answer he expected.
Although I’d only had one session with Phoenix Steele, I could already tell—he was in rare form today. Quiet. Cooperative. Even… submissive. Maybe it was a bruised ego. Or maybe he’d finally accepted that I was a key to getting his life back.
Whatever the reason, I knew this window—this moment of openness—wasn’t going to last.
“Right now?” he asked.
“Unless you have something else you need to get to?”
His gaze slid to the couch. His jaw ticked.
I’m losing him.
“Let’s start now,” I repeated quickly.