Chapter 25 Rose
ROSE
By the time I parked in front of Kline and Associates, I was the human equivalent of a ticking time bomb.
If there were an image next to the term in the dictionary, I’d be it—wired, frayed, and seconds from combustion.
I’ve never functioned well on little sleep, but throw in a dead body and a fight with a jealous, short-tempered control freak (that I was still hopelessly attracted to) and I wasn’t just tired—I was on the edge of a full-blown breakdown.
In short? Hot mess.
The only silver lining was the weather. After days of relentless rain, the sky had finally opened to a bleak but dry stretch of overcast calm—the kind of eerie stillness that always came before a storm. The weatherman promised more chaos tomorrow.
My hand trembled slightly as I pushed through the front door.
Zoey popped up from behind the front desk, her box braids bouncing on her shoulders—some of which jingled with tiny bells. “Rose, are you okay?”
Well, that answered that. Word had spread.
She rounded the desk and gently took the coffee and briefcase from my hands. I clung to my purse like a lifeline.
“I’m okay,” I lied.
But as I got a good look at her, I frowned. The usual trendsetter was dressed down in a slouchy sweater and faded skinny jeans, her eyes puffy and bloodshot.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah. Irish car bombs.”
I blinked. “What, did you spend the night at a frat house?”
“Pretty much.”
Despite the weight in my chest, I smiled.
“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said, walking around the desk. “You should’ve called in sick.”
Truth was, I’d considered it. But nothing was going to soothe my nerves, so I might as well channel the anxiety into something useful. Work had always been my distraction. My safe zone.
“Seriously, though,” Zoey continued, brushing a comforting hand over my back, “are you okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Did you really… see him?”
The image of Andrew—bloodied, lifeless—flashed behind my eyes like lightning. My stomach flipped.
“Sorry, that was a terrible question,” she said quickly. “God. I can’t believe it. Do they know who did it?”
“I don’t know.”
“I heard it was a break-in. What were you doing there, anyway?”
“Picking something up.” I cut her a look. “Can we not talk about this?”
“Yeah, of course. I’m sorry. It’s just… after that guy was found in the woods last week—what was his name?”
“Carl.”
“Right. Crazy Carl. Two murders in one week. In Berry Springs. Unreal.” She shook her head and leaned in. “Also, I’m sorry I didn’t answer when you called last night. I was, um… kinda on a date.”
My eyebrows popped. “A date? With who?”
Right then, Cameron breezed through the door, coffee in hand, sporting a grin bigger than the hoops dangling from Zoey’s ears.
Zoey’s cheeks flushed. My brow arched.
Well. That answered that.
“What a beautiful day, huh?” Cameron announced.
Zoey and I stared at the gray, bleak sky out the window.
Cameron sipped his coffee, oblivious to the tension in the room.
“Someone was murdered last night,” Zoey deadpanned.
“Doesn’t mean it can’t be a nice morning.” He raised his mug—Thunder Cunt printed across it in bold white letters.
I wrinkled my nose. “That mug’s wildly inappropriate for a professional setting.”
“Hey, my dad gave me this.”
“Explains a lot,” Zoey muttered.
Cameron balled up a food wrapper and lobbed it into the overflowing trash can. “Gross. Whose week is it to take that out?”
Zoey pointed at me. I pointed back at her.
“Fine,” she groaned. “It’s my week. Sorry I got distracted hearing about another murder.”
Theo appeared in the hallway just then, concern carved into his usually unreadable face. His gaze swept over us as he crossed the lobby in his usual brown, three-piece suit.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m okay. How does everyone know?”
“I ran into Tabitha after leaving Frank’s last night,” Zoey said. “She told me everything. I assume she told everyone everything.”
“Tabby-talks-a-lot strikes again.” Cameron mocked.
“Anything for a story,” Theo muttered. He looked at me. “Seriously, Rose. You can take the day off. I sent you an email—I'll cover anything you can’t reschedule.”
“I’m good. Really.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I want to be here.”
And I did. Because the last place I wanted to be was my house—where the silence felt too loud, the shadows stretched too long, and according to Phoenix, I was a sitting duck. But more than that, it was where he was. Not physically, but in every room. Every thought.
His rage.
His jealousy.
The way his voice broke when he saw the flowers.
The way my chest tightened in response.
I didn’t want to see him again. I didn’t want to feel again. Not like that. Not when everything in me was frayed and overworked and one emotional gust from splintering completely. I couldn’t afford it. Not now. Not with two murders, a break-in, and the whole damn town whispering.
So, somewhere between the fogged-up windshield and my first sip of coffee, I’d made a decision.
I was going to refer Phoenix Steele to another therapist. Cut ties. Wipe the slate clean. Reclaim my control—my peace.
It would be the first time I’d ever terminated a patient. The first time I’d admitted I couldn’t handle someone. And that realization stung more than I wanted to admit. Because it wasn’t just about him being difficult or volatile or unpredictable.
It was about me. What he pulled out of me. The emotions. The instincts. The want.
Phoenix Steele would be the first patient who’d gotten under my skin—and I hated him for it.
And hated myself for letting him.
It was… a lot.
I straightened my shoulders, forced the tremble from my fingers, and reached for my briefcase and coffee.
“I’ve got a full morning.”
“Okay…” Zoey said. “Let me know if you need anything, girl.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
As Zoey and Cameron drifted away, I turned to Theo. “Any update on my Equine Assisted Therapy proposal?”
“I’ll have an answer by tomorrow night.”
I bit back a sigh. “Thanks.”
With that, I headed into my office and settled behind my computer. Ten seconds later, Cameron knocked.
“Yes?”
He strolled in and dropped a stack of envelopes on my desk. “Mail.”
“Thanks.”
“You really doing okay?”
“Stop asking. And FYI, if you and Zoey keep hooking up, Theo will send you packing.”
He smirked. “Maybe you should say that to yourself.”
“What?”
“Miss Talks-a-lot mentioned a certain billionaire playboy—your client—was at the scene last night. With you.”
I rolled my eyes, masking the feeling of my stomach dropping to my feet. Shit.
“Aha!” He pointed dramatically. “So it’s true.”
“He needed a ride.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Real mature. And anyway, Zoey’s my friend, so if you’re going to keep seeing her, don’t talk like that.”
“Seeing her? It’s not like that. And besides, she ditched the date before happy hour ended. Couldn’t handle her booze. We didn’t hook up last night.”
“You didn’t?”
“No.” He paused, then added, “It was probably a good thing she left early. Not long after that, the news broke about Andrew.”
His tone shifted slightly, darker. “What were you doing over there anyway?”
I looked away. “Picking something up.”
“What?”
“My privacy.”
He held up both hands. “Okay. Message received.”
The front door chimed.
Cameron tilted his head toward it. “That’s my nine o’clock. But hey—be careful with Mr. Steele.” He lingered in the doorway, a shadow of something dark crossing over his face. “That guy’s no good.”
Then he was gone, but his words stayed behind, heavy as a verdict.
That guy’s no good.