Damaged - Forbidden Lovers - Page 42

This job was exactly what I wanted. I loved it. So why had I thrown it all away? Over a slow-talking, muscle-bound piece of ass? Even as I thought it, I revolted against that description. Ty was more than that. So much more. Even if I set aside the fact that I basically wanted to be in contact with his bare skin all the time, I genuinely liked him. He was strong and gentle and funny and kind. In a world with a seeming shortage of good men, I knew he was one. I could feel it when he touched me, when he looked at me, and when he asked if I wanted him to stop. He could have sensed the answer to that one, but he had waited for me to say so. I didn’t just like him. I had stronger feelings than that. Ones I wouldn’t name. It was too dangerous to admit even to myself.

I readied myself, even jotted down a few bullet points of my achievements in this position. I was willing to resign if it saved me being fired. I might be able to get a job at the hospital. Otherwise, I would have to move someplace else. I sighed. I’d done this to myself, so there was really no room for pouting. I texted Maggie that I had a surprise meeting with the big boss and to think good thoughts for me. Then I put my phone on the charger and stuck it in the drawer. I wanted to text Tyler. I needed him to know, as if he could protect me, as if by knowing he could somehow be with me.

The desire to message him that I was anxious about my meeting unleashed all the things I’d wanted to tell him. That I couldn’t sleep and that Caroline’s lunch stank worse every day like she was working her way through a cookbook of odorous delights. That I ached for him. That there was no vibrator and no man on earth who could make me feel one tenth of what he had just kissing my wrist in a crowded diner. It gave me the shakes just to remember it. I couldn’t text him. I couldn’t.

My phone pinged. For an instant I hoped so hard it was him, that he might have felt my distress through a New Age-y psychic connection or some crap like that.

Maggie replied, Tell Tyler.

I shook my head like she’d read my mind.

I can’t .

Then I will.

I wanted to call her and forbid it, or else I wanted to tell him myself, just use it as an excuse to hear his voice or even see his name on my phone screen. But I needed to leave it alone. She could do whatever she wanted. I had to stay away from him, which meant no running to him when I was scared or mad at myself or smelled goddamn tuna casserole and wanted to tell him about it.

Don’t, was all I replied. I put the phone away and went down the hall and up the stairs like I was going to my own execution.

I waited in a plastic chair until the boss’s personal assistant told me I could go in. I didn’t want to. But I stood up and my legs carried me into her office.

“Dr. Novak,” I said by way of greeting, “good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Layla,” she said.

Dr. Novak was an award winning public health administrator. She was flawless from her designer flats to her platinum and gray pixie cut. She was a lifelong advocate for public mental health services, and she’d been my idol for years. This was going to hurt, getting dressed down and sacked by someone I admired so much.

“Please, have a seat. I hope I didn’t interrupt your duties too much with the sudden meeting. Caroline assured me you didn’t have any appointments at this time.”

“Of course not,” I lied. “I’m always glad of a chance to catch up with you.”

“I’ve been going over the report you filed on the first month of support group meetings. I believe we’re in week six now, no?”

“Yes,” I said, knowing she never asked a question she didn’t know the answer to.

“It seems you began with only five or six patients. Now the program is meeting in two sections, using another counselor as well as yourself, and serving almost forty local trauma survivors.”

I nodded, waiting for her to ask what percentage of those forty had seen me naked by now. I pressed my lips together, determined to give no hint of my anxiety. My stomach roiled and I broke out in a sweat. There was a chance I’d run out of the office and puke. I made myself take slow, calming breaths, just like I’d tell any patient on the verge of a panic attack. There was no sense trying to avoid this. My limbic system was just trying to protect me from the hell I’d brought on myself.

Tags: Natasha L. Black Romance
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