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“Mr. Anderson, let’s have our session here.”
I stand from my desk and walk to the open seating area, wanting no furniture between us.
This way, I can see his body language.
Motioning to the cream recliner large enough to fit two people, I say, “Have a seat.”
He sprawls into the chair. “Is this where you hypnotize me and steal my secrets?”
“I’m not a hypnotist or a hypnotherapist. And no one is stealing anything. You can rest easy.”
Rex snickers and grabs the cup of water I have waiting for him on a side table. He takes out the pill bottle he showed me before and dumps two tablets out before tossing them into his mouth.
His corded throat ripples as he chugs the water. My face heats when I remember how this masculine throat is attached to a muscular body I saw up close and personal in Dubrovnik.
A slow smile twists his lips as he sets the cup down. “What are you thinking of, little Olive?”
I clear my throat. “DoctorLin, and nothing. Just noting how many caffeine pills you took.”
His jaw works, but the smirk remains on his face. “Bullshit.”
I shrug. “You don’t need to believe me since we aren’t here to talk about me.” Reaching over, I grab my notebook and pen. “Tell me, how many pills do you take each day?”
“You guys and your obsession with my pills.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and I look up, finding him chewing his lip, his attention on me. I can practically see the gears turning in his head.
“Come on. Do the work. Try. A truth for a truth, right?” I murmur.
I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.
His eyes flare and I know he’s thinking about what I told him in the ocean, the guilt and sadness I carry that I also see in him.
“You sure this is what you want to use it for?”
“I’m hoping I don’t have to use it at all.” That you’ll tell me more about yourself without my resorting to bribery.
Because we understand each other.
Because he’s in pain and deserves to feel better.
He deserves to be happy.
He heaves out a sigh and slouches in his chair. “Four on a normal day, sometimes six or seven on the bad ones.”
“And how much caffeine is in one of these pills?”
“Two shots of espresso’s worth? Something like that.” He stares at the ceiling and stifles a yawn. “Doesn’t seem to work anymore. Nothing seems to work.”
“And how much sleep do you get at night?”
His eyes flutter closed. “I don’t know. Three hours, four if I’m lucky.”
I stiffen, taking in his weary frame, the way even now, reclining on a comfortable chair in a quiet office, I can still see his eyeballs moving behind his eyelids, like he can’t stay still.
It must be exhausting to be on all the time.
“Do you know what chronic sleep deprivation does to someone?” I press a button next to my chair.
