14. Andrie
Andrie
I’d splurged on the way into work, running through a drive thru and getting jumbo iced coffee and blueberry bagel with cream cheese.
Anything to try to keep my energy level up and boost my mood.
I was grateful I hadn’t had time to sleep.
For the last two weeks, I’d spent every waking moment not in my office with the women the MC had rescued.
And what little time I had in between, I’d spent with Xander.
Despite my attempts to keep him at arm’s length, he was always …
around. And heaven help me, I enjoyed his company.
So much so, that time and time again, I’d let him talk his way into my days.
Though, so far, I’d managed to keep him out of my nights.
I couldn’t seem to help myself from letting him talk me into spending time with him.
Xander wasn’t just sexy; he was caring and sweet and made me laugh.
I had fun with him, which I hadn’t had for so long.
We’d gone back to the zoo—he proclaimed I couldn’t have spent enough time to learn all there was to know—and he’d surprised me with an animal encounter with some Fennec foxes and a feeding experience with a giraffe.
We’d also gone to the opening of a new exhibit at the science museum, and to the art museum too.
Despite his grumbling about dead painters, he’d been as engrossed in some of the pieces as I’d been, and I’d seen him sneak a copy of the museum’s schedule of events for the rest of the year.
Deep down, I knew I was being a coward. I was letting Xander distract me.
Talking with the rescued women—listening to their stories—dragged up so many of my own memories.
The rapes, the terror, all came tumbling back.
With my choice of job and specialty in trauma studies, I often came across people with backgrounds that had threads in common with mine, but rarely did I see so many women, day after day, hour after hour, mirroring encounters I knew all too well.
My gut tried to make me fall back, to close into myself, but my brain knew better.
And if that meant allowing myself to use Xander as a crutch, to let him steamroll me into getting out of my head and spend even a few minutes forgetting about everything else, well, who could blame me?
While I was grateful I’d been keeping busy, my nights weren’t restful.
I might have allowed the distraction during the day, but I wasn’t going to let things go too far, and taking Xander to bed, when I knew he wanted more than I could give him, was crossing a line.
If you were completely honest with yourself, my internal voice chided, you’d admit it wasn’t your morals keeping you to your promise to Demi.
It’s guilt. I promised him forever, and there I was spending time with the very man I’d broken that vow with.
No wonder my dreams were filled with mixtures of my patients’ retellings, my memories, and Demi.
I woke that morning tangled in sheets and damn near another panic attack only to see Xander had messaged me about plans for the day.
I knew then I had to stop it. It wasn’t fair to either of us, me using him this way.
I wasn’t sure why or what he saw in me, but it was clear he was getting the wrong idea.
Friends, I kept telling him. But could I fault him when I was sure I was giving off mixed signals?
Ignoring the pang in my heart at the thought, I’d texted him that I was going to be extraordinarily busy for the next few days, and I’d check in with him when I had the chance.
We both needed some time apart. Xander needed to settle into his new life without his neighbor constantly at his side, and I needed to remind myself that I was a professional who could handle her shit.
After I pressed send, I called my gym and signed up for two of their hardest classes after work—back-to-back.
With any luck, I’d be so tired after putting in yet another full day, plus two hours of hardcore exercise, that I’d crash without nightmares for at least a few hours.
My first few appointments were the easiest of my bunch—more of a checkup than actually needing to work through any real trauma.
Which was fortunate because, even with the extra help, I was dragging and struggled to keep my mind on the person in front of me when I was worrying about the women.
It was their last few days before being moved, and they would either return home to loved ones or be absorbed into other cities for a fresh start.
I knew Grimm and the rest of the men would make sure they had clothes and food and would reassure them about their safety.
But it would be hard for the women to be around that many intimidating men during the move, with what they’d gone through, and none of the MC members had girlfriends or wives to help.
Looking covertly at my watch, I tried to mentally account for traffic to see if I had time to sneak over to the club’s headquarters during my hour-long lunch break.
Sure, I’d only be able to stay twenty minutes, but a friendly face—and reminder I’d be back in the evening—might soothe some of their nerves.
Mind made up, I grabbed my purse as my patient and I stood, intending to lock up right behind the Special Forces’ wife and rush over, when I drew up short.
“Hardy,” I said, surprised to see him in my waiting room.
Hardy, my military contact, worked for the Pentagon.
I’d never gotten his rank, let alone his first name, but it didn’t matter.
As he’d rudely told me the first time we met, it wasn’t information I needed to know.
Still, other than checking in from time to time and getting routine emails about personnel concerns regarding my active military patients, I barely saw him.
Resisting the urge to curse over my now-ruined lunch plans, I pasted on a neutral smile as Janice, my patient, rushed out after seeing the typical suck-lemon’s expression on Hardy’s face and deciding it was in her best interest to clear out quickly.
“Dr. Demming,” he said when we were alone. “We need to talk.” He bit out the words as if it pained him to even speak to me, turning to brush past me to take the seat across from my desk.
Rolling my eyes behind his back, I took a steeling breath. I wasn’t about to let Hardy get the satisfaction of upsetting me, even if I had a sinking feeling he was going to try to do just that.
“Please come in,” I said dryly, my voice almost monotone. “You didn’t have an appointment, so I’m assuming there’s a time-sensitive issue you need my assistance with?”
He snorted, his back still ramrod straight. “Time sensitive is one way of putting it. Tell me, Dr. Demming, do you take your job seriously? Do you think your security clearance—which is crucial for you to get me to sign off on your military patients—is a joke?”
I wanted to lean back, stunned at his accusation, but I wasn’t about to give him an inch. “Are these rhetorical questions, or are you accusing me of something, Hardy?”
“Are you or are you not dating a convicted felon? A man who was released from prison barely a month ago after serving time for murder? And why the hell am I hearing you want to move offices? Do you have any idea how much work goes into vetting a new location? And what for, because you want a change of scenery? The answer to that request is an unequivocal no.”
I sighed, partly for show, partly because I was tired, and partly because I hated that Hardy, while being my contact for my active military patients, did not have the clearances for my black-ops clients, let alone the rest of my undercovers.
He wasn’t even aware I saw anyone aside from those he cleared, their families, and my pro-bono human trafficking victims. If he had, he’d have been well aware that Xander was as much a murderer as the SEAL I’d counseled earlier that day.
And I hadn’t told Hardy I wanted another office location yet.
I’d just saved a drafted email that morning, planning to inform him I was looking at renting an office at A.T.
, leaving out that it was so I could expand my client-base and that it had been requested I change locations for my government-contracted patients.
But I hadn't sent it yet, more because I'd assumed I'd get a rather obnoxious phone call, and I hadn't been in the mood to listen to the man yell.
Had I known putting the email off would have brought the man here in person, I would have sent it last week.
“No.” I sat back, crossing my arms and legs, looking bored and unaffected, though I wanted to be pissed. The only way Hardy could have known about Xander was if he had me under surveillance.
“No, what?” he asked suspiciously.
“No to your first two questions, to start. I am not dating anyone, let alone a felon. And the man you are referring to was not convicted of murder, but manslaughter. At least, before he was exonerated. He's also my neighbor. Someone in your line of work really ought to do their research before taking the time out of their busy schedule to fly all the way down here with the intention of reprimanding a contractor. If you’d have bothered to fact-check, you could have saved yourself the trip. And regarding the second office, it was requested by another branch. Surely, as my handler, that request would be passed around to y’all before it would come down to me.
If you have an issue with it, you’ll have to go through your counterparts.
” I played dumb, pretending that last bit in the hopes it would keep his attitude to a minimum if he thought it came from another military office. Especially since it was kind of true.
His face rivaled the color of a tomato, but I continued before he spoke. “I think the more interesting question is who you had surveilling me and why they did such a piss-poor job? After all, a quick web search would have given you better information.”