Chapter 3 - Emory

The blissful comfort I had been enjoying abruptly crashed to a halt when I realized that my bedroom had room-darkening curtains and that the sunlight would not affect me if I were there.

I sat up with a jerk, looking around myself and letting my eyes adjust to the dim light. I was in a moderately comfortable bed, a slim comforter in all white covering my naked body, and next to me was a man.

A very naked man. Oh, shit.

My heartbeat zoomed up again, renewed shock taking over. I'd slept with that guy from the bar last night. Nikolai . I was still at his house, and I had my first fucking appointment with my patient in…

I grabbed my phone from the pocket of my slacks, which had been discarded on the floor.

Dammit. It's five-thirty. My appointment is in two and a half hours, and I still need to get across town, shower, and then back down to my office.

Anxiety swelled in my chest, making it feel constricted and weighed down. I needed to get the hell out of her and back home to get ready. As more of my brain came online, a booming plethora of thoughts surfaced, fueling the panic that was rising in my blood.

That was your first time, Emory. That…oh my God, you lost your virginity to a damn stranger. Christ.

Familiar embarrassment hit me as I remembered that I'd been carrying around that V-card for a long while now. I'd finally lost it, and I'd thankfully beaten my half-hearted guess that I'd probably get to my thirties and still be a virgin. After graduating college without even a boyfriend, I'd assume spinster territory was practically at my doorstep.

Oh, don't be so dramatic, Emory.

Shaking myself out of the thoughts with a sigh—closing my eyes and throwing up my hands in surrender too—I started to slip my legs out from under the covers. A gentle groan rumbled softly through the air, and I looked over my shoulder at Nikolai.

My chest pinched, a futile desire to stay in bed with him, trying to keep me from leaving like I should. That was not an option, though. I knew it when I started this. Last night…last night had been incredibly special, and I really liked Nikolai, but it was two ships passing. It wasn't designed to last.

He was still sound asleep, and I felt terrible about leaving him without saying anything. I got the feeling that Nikolai was about as familiar with one-night stands as I was. He'd been plenty confident behind the wheel but also made sure I was okay with what was happening, taking his time.

That wasn't typical behavior for a chronic player or ladies' man.

I put my hand on my chest, gazing down at Nikolai, and whispered, "I swear that was amazing. It was perfect. I'll never forget it."

He barely stirred, and I slid from the bed to retrieve yesterday's clothes and pull them on. I needed to hurry back to my place to change, and I couldn't dally anymore if I wanted to avoid being late.

Still, I felt this strange urge to leave Nikolai with something.

Once dressed, I shuffled over to his side of the bed, snagging his wallet from his pants. A small, zippered section was inside, and I opened it up to drop my ring inside. It was just a pretty piece of jewelry I'd bought for myself ages ago, the tan line on my finger glowing a paler color to prove it.

Slipping the silver band inside, I zipped the pocket closed again, happy with the knowledge that Nikolai would smile one day when he found it. Then, without another word, I rushed out of the house, closing the door gently behind me, and went straight for my car.

***

"Morning, Antoinette. Sorry, I'm running a bit behind today. Has my eight o'clock showed up yet?'

The receptionist smiled up at me, setting down her cup of coffee. "No, you're all good. Don't tell me you let those nerves get to you. You're going to do great."

I chuckled lightly, my smile a little forced as I worked to school my expression away from looking guilty. I knew I hadn't done anything wrong by enjoying myself last night, but I still wasn't going to blast it all over the office.

"No, not at all. Just overslept a bit. I'm going to head back to my office. Just buzz me when the patient arrives."

"Can do." Antoinette faked a salute, and I turned away to take the long hallway down to my office.

I locked the door to my office, relieved I'd made it on time. Crossing the room to my desk, I opened the large bottom drawer and tucked the black handbag inside. Next, it was time to fire up the old computer and prepare the room for Mr. Ustinov, who would be arriving any minute.

I liked to create as soothing an environment as possible in my smaller office, and ambiance had a lot to do with that. I knew the science was a bit wishy-washy, but what did it hurt to make the room feel comfortable?

With my agenda pulled up on my computer screen, I reached into the slim top drawer of my desk and pulled out the electric lighter. First, I lit the small votive on my desk, and then I got up to light the larger, three-wick candle on the bookshelf in the back.

The soothing lavender and tea scent slowly began to fill the room, and I turned on the salt lamps and desk lamp before walking back over to my desk.

I had two-floor lamps that provided enough light to see and move around comfortably. They transformed the room from clinical to relaxed, and I'd replaced the old plastic-encased light on the ceiling with something more stylish.

I'd also excluded those terrible motivational posters and the five abstract paintings that all clinics seemed to have. Instead, I'd hung pictures I'd taken myself of the local scenery—flowers, trees, the lakeshore on a sunny day.

I didn't want my office to feel like you were at some urgent care or something. I expected my patients to form a bond with me and open up here. I couldn't foster that kind of trust by sticking to the generic, unfeeling approach.

"Emory," the intercom on my phone called out, "your appointment is here."

With a final look around the room to be sure I was happy with it—pillows on the couch, a blanket if someone felt so inclined, my chair at the ready with my notepad and pen—I went to my desk. I used the intercom to let Antoinette know I was heading down to meet Mr. Ustinov.

I felt much more comfortable in my skin, and there was even a little bounce to my steps as I walked back to the reception desk. Getting laid had undoubtedly put me in a good mood, but I also felt ready.

I'd seen a number of patients already. Sure, there had been a supervisory counselor in the room with me, and we'd discussed the appointment afterward, but I knew what I was doing. I'd done this before, and it would be like any other appointment.

Assess, empathize, and aim to assist. You got this.

As I reached the end of the hall, I saw Mr. Ustinov standing near the reception desk. He was quite tall, and his leather jacket and black slacks were an interesting choice.

"Huh, it reminds me of—"

Then he turned around, and I nearly fell right on my face.

Shock washed over Mr. Ustinov's features, mirroring my own. I'd know that face anywhere, even if it had been longer than the two hours and change since I'd last seen him.

"Nikolai?" My voice was hushed, and the tall man crossed the room toward me.

Nearly stumbling backward, I reeled as he pulled up to a stop in front of me, his brows pinching together in a stern glare. He pointed at me, a low growl of sorts rumbling up out of his chest.

"What are you doing here?" I whispered. "How did you figure out where I worked?"

"Oh, great. Yeah, here she is. Thank you for waiting, Mr. Ustinov. You'll be in good hands with Ms. Thompson."

Antoinette's cheery voice was not meeting the tension of the room, but then I finally pieced it together.

Oh shit.

Offering a professional smile, I gestured for Nikolai to follow me down the hall a bit. I wasn't about to have this conversation in front of the receptionist. We needed more privacy than that. When we were out of earshot, I stopped and turned around, letting the shock play on my features as I met his eyes again.

"You're Mr. Ustinov?" Nikolai nodded, his glare still holding firm. "You're…. you're my patient. Oh, God."

Waves of understanding rushed over me, and for the first time in my life, I felt like a complete idiot. How could I not have realized that Nikolai was avoiding speaking? It wasn't the band or some cute move he was trying to pull. He was mute.

Because Mr. Ustinov—my fucking patient—was here to see me about his traumatic mutism. Fucking hell .

I gripped the bridge of my nose, squeezing it as I tried to take deep breaths. When I looked up at Mr. Ustinov again, I saw that he was typing something on his phone.

"You said your name was Nikolai. Your appointment said ‘Vlad.' What is that about?"

Waiting for him to finish his message, I attempted to block out the nausea that was crawling up the back of my throat. This was wildly unprofessional, and I had not given the first impression that I would have liked. Should I just cancel? I'm supposed to mention that we have a prior relationship and have him find a new provider. Christ. That's exactly what I need to do. I'll just—

And then a phone screen was shoved in my face.

"Ugh, all right. Hold on."

I took it, reading over what Nikolai or Vlad or whoever he was wrote down.

"Is this a joke? Did Ivan put you up to this? Are you even a real psychologist? Did you know last night?"

Frowning, I handed him the phone back. "No, no, yes, and no. My name is Emory Thompson, a clinical psychologist certified by the licensing boards in the state of Illinois who works with mental health patients and delivers treatment. I had no idea who you were last night. And I still want to know what was up with the ‘Nikolai' thing."

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head until, eventually, Mr. Ustinov typed up another response.

"It's my middle name. I was trying to avoid having the mute conversation. It doesn't usually go over well with ‘dates.' It wasn't like I knew I'd be seeing you again. I didn't think we'd hook up. That just sort of happened. Naturally."

I could understand what Vlad was saying because that was his name. I didn't mention my job as a psychologist to most first dates because it always puts people on edge like I am going to study every little thing about them. And yeah, turning off that part of my brain was difficult.

It was more difficult when the other person wouldn't let you forget it.

No. You're fine. You can handle this. Vlad needs my help. I'm supposed to be his counselor. But…Okay, we'll just step inside to figure this out. I'll determine what he needs and someone else can see him in the future.

"All right, all right." I nodded, holding up my hand and then wiping it through the air like I was erasing everything that had happened between us. "This was a really weird way to start our interaction, but I'm here to help you. I may not be able to do that now, but I can help to find someone who can. Would you please just step into my office so that I can get a baseline on your needs? I'll be able to find a new counselor for you that way. Okay?"