do with that,” I tell her, and I see her shake her head out of my peripheral vision as I turn onto the road that’ll take us most of the way home.
“How can I not, Neil? I was the whole reason he was here in the first place,” she says, but when I go to counter that, she holds up her hand. “But I don’t want to get into that. This is a good night. A great one. And I don’t want to ruin it.”
I sigh, gripping my steering wheel tighter. After a moment, I reply low, “Fine, I’ll give you tonight. But only if you promise we can have another session in the study to talk this through.”
“Why not at your office, Doc?” she asks, and I can’t tell what emotion I hear in her voice. Sarcasm? Dread? Resignation?
“Because as you saw when you first visited me at my office earlier this week, we wouldn’t get much privacy from the lovely women who work for me. And since it would be unethical to put you down as an actual patient, I’d never hear the end of it if I made you an appointment. So the study it is for things like this, but you’re more than welcome to come to my office for social calls whenever you’d like,” I reply, and she nods.
“Fair enough.” She sits back in her seat, having been facing toward me all this time. I glance over to see her put the cash in her wallet, replacing it into her purse, and then setting her purse by her feet.
There’s a heavy silence between us now, and I regret that we’ve soured her excitement. Damn the fucking therapist in me who couldn’t just wait to jump on her revelation about her guilt. But then, how could I not? She has nothing to feel guilty about, and if that’s what this yearlong depression was all about, I’m going to feel like the stupidest motherfucker on the planet for letting her hang on to that for so long. This entire time, I believed she was just petrified of getting back into the world after a decade of being basically held captive, separated from all her family and friends, punished any time she wanted to do anything outside her house that wasn’t to wait on her ex hand and foot.
“So… they loved your work. Anything interesting happen? I imagine being in a room with almost twenty exotic dancers would produce some entertaining stories,” I prompt.
“I would prefer you not imagine being in a room with almost twenty exotic dancers, but you’d be correct,” she says with heat in her tone, and it makes me smirk. I love it when this possessive side of her pops her pretty green head in.
“So let’s hear it. If I must share you, at least fill me in on the gossip.” I smile over at her and wink, and she snorts but sits up more, her voice growing excited the more she spills.
“Well, apparently the makeup artist before me just like, up and quit. Left her giant-ass rolling makeup kit and everything, which the girls said is now mine as long as I use it to make them look as good as I did tonight!”
I give her a side-eye and lift a brow. “That seems… odd,” I insert, keeping what Seth just told me close to the vest while I get Astrid’s intel. “You’ve told me before how long it takes and how expensive it is for an artist to grow her tools and supplies, how you usually buy one thing at a time because the cost would be astronomical to purchase all at once.”
She’s nodding before I even finish. “Right? Super weird. But after the night I had, making over seven hundred bucks in one night? I guess she felt like she could afford to leave it if she was in a hurry to get out of here.”
“What did the ladies have to say about that? Anybody know why she quit?”
She shakes her head. “No one really knows for sure. I did the makeup of her best friend tonight, and she believes it had something to do with a guy. The previous makeup artist, Alison, mentioned something about a great opportunity that was given to her by a customer, and seeing as all their customers are men, they all came to the conclusion that she fell for someone who was visiting the club from out of town.”