“You’ve lost it, you f**king idiot. Take your crazy somewhere else. And leave Eva alone. You want to make an enemy out of me, screwing around with her is the way to do it.”
He stared at me for a long minute, then laughed harshly. “Does she know what you’re doing to Brett?”
I winced through a deep breath, a dull ache in my side from a forming bruise. “I’m not doing anything to Kline. I’m protecting Eva.”
“And the band is just collateral damage?”
“Better him than her.”
“Fuck that,” he snarled.
“Fuck you.”
Christopher stalked toward the door.
I should’ve let him go but found myself speaking instead. “For Christ’s sake, Christopher, they’re talented. They don’t need a gimmick to be successful. If you weren’t so damned eager to make me pay for something you’ve imagined I’ve done, you’d be concentrating on better angles than making them into a one-hit wonder.”
He rounded on me with clenched fists. “Don’t tell me how to do my job. And don’t get in my way or I’ll shove you out.”
I watched him leave, escorted by security. Then I went to my desk and checked my message log. Scott had noted that two of Vidal Records’ board members had called over the course of the day.
I opened the line between Scott and me. “Get me Arash Madani.”
If Christopher wanted a war, I’d give him one.
—
I arrived at Dr. Lyle Petersen’s office on time at six o’clock. The psychologist greeted me with a welcoming smile, his dark blue eyes warm and friendly.
After the day I’d had, spending an hour with a shrink was the last thing I wanted to do. Spending an hour alone with Eva was what I needed more.
Our session began as they always did, with Dr. Petersen asking how my week had been and me answering as succinctly as possible. Then he said, “Let’s talk about the nightmares.”
I leaned back, laying my arm on the sofa’s armrest. I’d been up front about my sleep problems from the beginning in order to get the prescription medication that made me marginally safer for Eva to be near at night, but dissecting the dreams had never been one of the topics on discussion.
That meant someone else had brought them up. “You talked to Eva.”
It wasn’t a question, since the answer was evident.
“She sent me an e-mail earlier,” he confirmed, folding his hands atop his tablet screen.
My fingers drummed silently.
His gaze followed the movement. “Does it bother you that she contacted me?”
I weighed my response before giving it. “She worries. If talking to you alleviates that, I won’t complain. You’re also her therapist, so she has a right to discuss it with you.”
“But you don’t like it. You’d prefer to choose which issues you share with me.”
“I’d prefer Eva to feel safe.”
Dr. Petersen nodded. “That’s why you’re here. For her.”
“Of course.”
“What does she hope the outcome of our sessions will be?”
“Don’t you know?”