Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Hannah glanced up from her computer as her eleven o’clock appointment strode into her office and sank onto the couch with an insolent sigh. Pasting on a polite smile, she swiveled her chair toward him. “Hello, Steve.”
“Hi, Hannah, how have you been?” he replied.
She tipped her head toward the man. “It’s Dr. Whitmore, but fine so far, thank you. How about you?”
Steve Iverson was known for taking liberties, and he was both pompous and overbearing. He was far too familiar sometimes, and it grated on her nerves.
He’d first come to counseling about eight months ago when his mother had passed away after a long, difficult battle with cancer.
He’d recently taken it upon himself to start calling her by her first name, which irked her.
She insisted on keeping a professional distance from her patients, and she didn’t encourage his familiarity. Still, he persisted.
He let out another beleaguered sigh and allowed his head to drop back on the couch. “Exhausting. I have to drive down to San Antonio tomorrow, and I won’t be back until the beginning of next week.”
“What are you working on this time?” she asked.
“I have a project for a new client.” His mouth kicked up in a haughty smirk. “He said my designs are the best in the state.”
“That’s fantastic. Work seems to be going well—what about everything else?” She bit back a sigh. He was the most self-important man she’d ever known, and she’d foist him off on someone else in a heartbeat if she could. Unfortunately, the weekly appointments paid well and put food in her fridge.
Nearly an hour later, Steve leaned forward and lowered his voice. “So, I ran into Ashley on my way in.” He emphasized her name with no little amount of distaste. “What a mess. How’s the transition coming?”
Despite the tension in her shoulders, she kept her face impassive as she responded. “You know I can’t talk about other patients, Steve.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Aren’t we past that?”
She merely blinked at him, unwilling to rise to the bait. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we wrap up for today?”
Steve studied her for a moment, his eyes raking over her from head to toe, and a shudder of revulsion threatened to overtake her at his intense perusal.
“You know, Hannah, you’ve really helped me these last few months.”
She forced her mouth into a semblance of a smile. “That’s wonderful, Steve. I’m glad to know our sessions have been productive.”
“How about you let me thank you?” A sinking feeling gathered in her gut as he continued. “Let me take you to dinner tonight.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t date patients.”
“What if I stop seeing you professionally? Would you go out with me then?”
Not in this lifetime. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just wouldn’t feel right about it.”
His face fell into a mulish expression, and she smiled as gently as she could. “I really am flattered, though. You’re smart and successful, Steve, and you’ll find a woman who’s perfect for you.”
His lips tipped up in a tight smile, and he stood to leave. “See you next week, Hannah.”
“Can’t wait,” she mouthed silently as Steve strode from the room.
She let out a little sigh as she jotted down a few final notes from their session to enter into the computer later.
Her mind whirled as her pen scratched against the old-fashioned notebook she used during sessions.
Something about putting pen to paper was oddly cathartic, and it helped to seal details in her mind better than tapping letters on a screen.
She really had no idea why Steve kept coming back, except obviously to bother her.
She hated to judge her patients, but he didn’t speak of anything of substance during their sessions.
He’d initially opened up to talk about his relationship with his mother, but it seemed that her battle with cancer and subsequent death didn’t compare to his constant need to speak about himself—his job, his success, his wealth.
Steve had basically spent the last few months bragging to her once a week.
She cringed at the direction of her thoughts. He paid well, and she really shouldn’t judge. He just made it so darn hard.
A faint stirring in the lobby caught her attention, and she followed the litany of raised voices. Her receptionist, Fiona, stood between Steve and her next patient, Rachel Dawes.
“Good afternoon, Rachel,” she said warmly. “Is there something I can help with?”
Rachel turned a pained look her way. “This jerk”—she pointed a finger wildly at Steve—“needs to mind his own business.”
A cocky smile flitted across his lips as he held up his hands in a show of mock surrender. “I was just trying to be helpful.”
“You know nothing about my life,” Rachel shot back. “So feel free to keep your questions and ‘advice’ to yourself.” She glanced back at Hannah. “He’s antagonizing me.”
Hannah turned her gaze to Fiona. "Did you happen to hear anything?”
Her receptionist nodded. “Mr. Iverson here”—she narrowed her eyes at the man, who in response just rolled his own—“was asking Ms. Dawes personal questions.”
The way Fiona stressed the word sent a niggle of worry down Hannah's spine. “Mr. Iverson, may I please see you in my office for a moment?”
With a smirk at the two other women, he preceded Hannah into her office. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, she tipped her head at him. “I’d like to hear your side of things, please.”
He lifted his hands in a shrugging motion. “I was merely offering some advice.”
“Such as?”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “Rachel’s a bit high-strung, don’t you think? I mean…” He began to walk a circle around her office. “Don’t you ever think that she just keeps coming here for the attention? Do you really think she’s depressed?”
“I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours,” she bit out. “I am your doctor as well, Mr. Iverson, though one could argue that you need me as little as you seem to believe Ms. Dawes does.”
His eyes jumped to hers. “Maybe I keep coming back because I want to see you.”
Unease caused the hairs on the back of her neck to lift, and she stiffened.
“Mr. Iverson, I believe I’ve been quite clear on the matter.
I cannot in good conscience date patients, either present or former.
Regarding other patients,” she ground out, “you may not interrogate them or pry into their lives.”
“I merely suggested she take a chill pill,” he laughed. “A Valium, actually. I think it might help mellow her out a little.”
At his flippant statement, a red haze filled her vision.
“You are in no position to counsel my patients on any matter. In fact”—she strode to her desk and rifled in the top drawer for a moment before extracting a card and holding it out to him—“I believe you will find Dr. Chandler more helpful than myself.”
His mouth dropped open in shock. “You’re… dismissing me?”
“I’m referring you to a colleague. On account of today’s events, I believe it’s best if someone else were to treat you.”
His face flushed with anger, and he ripped the card from her hand, knocking it to the floor. He took a step toward her, his gaze dark and menacing.
Despite her heart racing in her chest, she squared her shoulders and stared up at him. “I strongly advise you step away before you do something you’ll regret.”
“You can’t do this.” His eyes burned into hers, and she almost shivered at the hostility lurking in their depths.
“Please, Steve, take my advice and speak to Dr. Chandler.”
He stared at her for another moment before spinning abruptly on his heel and striding for the door. “You’ll be the one who regrets this, Hannah.”
With those final parting words, he swept from the room, and seconds later, she heard the outer door slam, punctuating his dramatic exit. With a shaky breath, she sank into one of the plush armchairs and dropped her head into her hands. A soft touch to her shoulder made her jump.
Fiona stared down at her, concern etched into her features. “You okay?”
Hannah patted the older woman’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I’m fine, thank you. Just a bit shaken up.”
“Do you want me to have Ms. Dawes reschedule?”
She shook her head. “No. She probably needs to speak with someone now more than ever. Can you please just give me a minute before sending her in?”
“Of course.” The receptionist offered a soft smile and retreated soundlessly from the room.
Hannah closed her eyes, allowing the warmth of the sunlight filtering through the window to wash over her and thaw the ice streaming through her veins.
She’d dealt with disgruntled patients before, but for some reason, Steve Iverson had gotten to her on a more personal level.
There was something about him that made her uneasy, reminding her of someone long ago.
Looking around the room, she contemplated her present—and her past. This was a far cry from the place she’d come from, and she was no longer the na?ve young girl who trusted too easily. She had to wonder sometimes, did people like Steve even want help? Or was he here for something else?
Pushing the thought from her mind, she rose from the chair and walked to the doorway just in time to meet Rachel.
She shot her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry about that.”
The young woman made her way over to one of the chairs and sat gingerly. “It’s fine. He just… put me on edge.”
Hannah closed the door, then settled into the seat next to her. “I know, and I truly apologize. Just so you know,” she continued as Rachel opened her mouth to speak, “Mr. Iverson will not be back. What he did goes against our ethics here, so I’ve recommended him to a colleague of mine.”
A watery smile lifted Rachel's lips. “Thank you. You have no idea how much you’ve helped me, you know?”
Hannah smiled. Rachel had struggled with depression for several years, even trying a variety of medications at the urging of her family and friends.
She hadn’t liked the way the drugs had made her feel, though, and she’d opted for a different solution.
The barb coming from Steve that morning must have stung, making Rachel feel insecure and incompetent.
Since coming to Hannah nearly six months ago, Rachel had been making significant strides.
“So tell me, Rachel. How have you been?”
“Great.” She smiled. “I took your advice and joined a gym. I think the exercise has really been helping my mood. There’s, um…” She glanced away for a moment and bit her lip. “There’s this guy there.”
“Oh?” It was good and bad news, in Hannah's opinion. While getting out and meeting new people could be good, she wasn’t quite sure that Rachel was ready to get involved romantically.
“Yeah. I haven’t… we haven’t gone out or anything. But he seems really nice.”
Hannah nodded. “Well, just don’t forget what we talked about.”
“I know.” Rachel smiled. “For the first time in a while, I feel really good like everything’s exactly the way it should be.”
“That’s wonderful.” Hannah smiled at her. “You’ve come a long way, Rachel. I’m really proud of you.”
“Thanks. Me, too.”
Rachel smiled, and a lightness filled Hannah's heart. Rachel seemed far more content than she’d seen her in months. After everything she’d been through, she deserved to be happy. Hannah just hoped it would last.