Neo, but his real name is Antonio. I know where she gets her nails done, her roots bleached, and how long it’s been since her last Botox injections.”
“Heather doesn’t get Botox.”
Avery arches an eyebrow at me. “She did eleven days ago.”
I feel my pulse pounding in my jugular, but I resist the urge to tug at my collar. “How do you know all of this?”
“I pay attention. That’s what you do when you love something, Dr. Keaton. You pay attention to it.”
“So, you’re in love with my wife?” I’m being obtuse. I’m being petty and obtuse and completely unprofessional.
Stop it. You are calm. You are concerned. You are in control.
“I think you know who I’m in love with.” Avery dips her chin and looks at me with wide, innocent eyes.
They’re the same eyes porn stars make while they’re sucking someone’s dick. Wide and eager to please. I would know because I’ve been watching a hell of a lot of it lately—usually featuring redheads, for some mysterious reason.
“My point is that you aren’t in love with Heather.”
“My marriage is none of your business.”
Avery assesses me with the subtle tilt of her perfect face. Clinical. Calculating. She might be the one threatening to jump, but somehow, I’m the one who’s being analyzed.
“You didn’t even ask where she goes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Avery arches an eyebrow.
My stomach churns with dread, but I refuse to ask. I refuse to participate in this line of questioning.
“You know, don’t you?” Avery sneers.
“This is ridiculous. I’m calling the police.” I reach into my pocket for my cell phone.
“She’s fucking the barista.”
I still, my fist curling around my iPhone tight enough to crack the screen.
Heather and I have had our fair share of problems lately, a complete lack of intimacy being one of them, but we’re both just stressed out from work.
“What’s her excuse for not fucking you, Dr. Keaton? Headaches? Exhaustion?”
“Migraines.”
I don’t even realize I mumbled it out loud until the woman with her legs spread before me tosses her head back and cackles.
“She’s not fucking you because she’s getting it somewhere else. She only wants you for your money, Doctor. She doesn’t care about you. Not like I do.”
I clench my jaw, trying to hide the nausea and rage I feel over the thought of Heather having an affair. Sadly, I’m not even upset about the betrayal. It became pretty obvious after we got married last year that she wasn’t interested in much more than my money. It’s the forced celibacy I’m pissed off about. It’s been months since we’ve been intimate, and all the while, I’ve been nothing but patient and understanding. Never pressuring. Never guilt-tripping or pouty. Yet the whole time—
No. Stop it. She’s manipulating you. This is just another one of her tactics. Shut it down. Now.
“Ms. Oliver—” I warn, but the second Avery hears her own name on my lips, her eyes flare in anger and her legs clamp shut.
She spins around so that her feet are now hanging over the edge.
The crowd below screams as the phone in my hand begins to ring.
“Hello?” I grind out, immediately recognizing the number on the screen.
“What the hell is going on up there, Doc? Do I need to call in the crisis negotiator?”
Avery leans forward, glaring at the police chief down below. “I won’t speak to anyone but my therapist, do you hear me?” She yells so loud I can hear it echo on the other end of the phone. “If you send anyone else up here, I’ll jump!”
She kicks the shoe off her right foot, and the crowd shrieks as it bounces off the asphalt a second later.
“You’ve got thirty minutes before we send somebody up, Doctor. Handle it. Now,” the lead officer barks before hanging up.
I stuff my phone into my pocket and loosen my tie another inch so that I can rub the back of my neck.
Fuck, it’s hot up here.
“I told you to call me Heather.” Avery glances at me over her shoulder in sheer delight, her other shoe dangling from her big toe.
“You have my attention. Now, what do you want?”
“The same thing as you,” Avery coos, tossing another four-hundred-dollar shoe into the abyss before turning around to face me again.
The bottom of her tight dress is hiked up over her ample hips, and I’m having a hard time remembering why touching her is a bad idea.
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” I clear my throat, hoping it will help clear my head. “I took an oath…I took