Читать книгу Past Sins - Debra Webb - Страница 6

Never count on anything to last.

From the large window in reception Dr. Olivia Mills watched uneasily as her final patient climbed into his Bentley and drove away from her West Hollywood office.

Other than talking to the dead, this particular patient was a class act. Well dressed, well mannered, wealthy. Unfortunately, like far too many Hollywood residents, his love life might never be stable. But then, that meant job security for her. As long as people needed a sounding board her calendar would stay full.

That, she mused, was the upside of high anxiety.

Though her private practice wasn’t that large, she had half a dozen or so eccentric has-been stars on her patient list as well as a few she considered to be regular civilians—in other words, not employed in the entertainment industry. Most, in or out of the business, she had inherited from the man who’d retired after four decades in this very location.

Olivia had been fortunate enough to meet him during the leasing process and they’d formed an instant friendship—an extremely rare development for her. The whole father-figure notion hadn’t been lost on her at the time.

Her new friend had recommended her to all his patients, ensuring a grand start to her new endeavor. That he’d passed away only a short time later had reiterated a couple of theories that she’d operated under for a significant portion of her life—never depend on anyone, never count on anything to last.

If she were like most in her current field of expertise she would have her own shrink with whom to discuss that very issue as well as a multitude of others. But the past sins that had formed her deeply rooted cynicism were far too great to lay at anyone else’s door.

Tearing away from those dark thoughts, she locked the front entrance and tidied the magazines on the table near the sofa. She surveyed the small reception room, noted the drapes were looking a little drab and out of date. She’d have to do something about that before long. It was hard to believe she’d been here three years already.

A tiny knot formed in the pit of her stomach when she thought about how comfortable she’d gotten with this life.

Never count on anything to last.

“Enough, Olivia,” she muttered. Looking forward was the only direction she allowed nowadays. No exceptions.

Before turning out the lights she checked the soil in the pots of salmon-colored geraniums to see if they needed water. Good to go for another day, she decided as she clicked off the light. Exhaustion nipped at her heels. She’d had a full schedule, one interesting client after the other. She had to smile as she considered some of the stories she’d heard. She did love her work. Loved her life, as well.

And that was the truly scary part.

“Stop it,” she muttered. Stop thinking stupid thoughts. Stop overanalyzing and contemplating the worst. Her period had come and gone this month. There was absolutely no reason for her to be obsessing like this. Depression wasn’t her style, no matter how hormonal she felt on any given day. The right kind of training could teach a person to block most any discomfort. And she’d had all the right training.

More ancient, irrelevant history she didn’t want or need to think about.

Five minutes was all she needed to straighten her office and dictate the results of her final session. The patient continued to experience panic attacks related to the death of his last liaison. He’d been in one of those mega-intense relationships where physical intimacy overwhelmed his entire existence to the detriment of his mental well-being.

Olivia had experienced that kind of relationship personally and could understand how one could get caught up in the incredible sensory rush. It was like a drug. The memories evoked by the thought were immediately stuffed back into their designated compartment before regret and too many other emotions to name could take root and ruin what should be a perfectly good evening.

What was wrong with her today? She hadn’t had this much trouble maintaining a proper attitude in more than two years. Listening to that last patient go on and on about the powerful bond with his lover had obviously prodded loose far too many pieces of her own past. There was simply no other explanation.

After a deliberate mental adjustment and checking of her calendar for the next day, she locked her desk and files, made her way out the side exit and climbed into her Audi. She lowered the convertible top, backed out of the alley that served as a parking lot and pointed the car toward home.

Home.

Even after three years that felt a little foreign.

In her former life she’d moved around a lot, seldom spending more than a few months in any one place. She’d had a home base, so to speak, but nothing she would have called home. Certainly not in the way she considered her small ranch-style house in the Hollywood Hills. It was her first real home. The admission brought with it another prick of uncertainty. Why all the creepy feelings of imminent doom? Apparently she needed a long, hard run to clear her mind. Extreme physical exertion would likely do the trick. Maybe she’d spent too much time behind her desk lately.

She slid her Oakleys into place and sped along Santa Monica Boulevard. The sun felt amazing and she abruptly wished she were on the beach soaking up some rays. She definitely needed a vacation. Maybe that was the real problem. It was the middle of July already and neither she nor Jeffrey had made time for an escape.

She’d have to speak with Jeffrey about getting away. It was past time. Their combined work schedules were grueling. Between his research at the lab and her high-maintenance clients, they barely had time to manage dinner on a regular basis.

Olivia glanced at her watch. Just past 1800 hours.

Her teeth clenched as she cursed and amended her assessment—6:00 p.m. was what she’d meant.

The tiny gold heart and delicate matching chain lying against her throat abruptly felt like a rock pressing down on her. She would not think about the past.

She took the turn up Mount Olympus, scarcely letting off the accelerator. The oleander and casa blanca lilies and tropical hibiscus were in full bloom. The colorful displays in pots and flower beds were eye-catching and filled the breeze with their sweet smells. She wished she knew all their names. She’d never been much of a gardener. Now that she had the time and place for it, she felt aeons behind on what she should know—what everyone but her appeared to know. Her neighbors gave the impression of having been born with green thumbs.

Maybe she’d get the hang of domesticity eventually. Meanwhile she’d enjoy the other benefits of being a “regular” civilian.

Summer in California, in particular, was nice. Very nice. She’d grown to love it here. Her love for the place had prompted a sort of nesting instinct—at least, the closest thing she’d ever experienced to one.

Braking hard, she took the turn into her narrow drive. A smile spread across her face at the sight of hummingbirds floating away from her bougainvillea. Thankfully the previous owner had cultivated a thriving landscape that required little know-how. All she had to do was remember to do the watering and occasionally pluck a few weeds.

Jeffrey’s practical Saturn was already parked in the drive. She hoped he’d started dinner. That was one of the perks to having a live-in relationship. You didn’t have to do all the cooking or cleaning.

She and Jeffrey had been living together for six whole months, dating for nine. A record for her. The realization still startled her. It was her first long-term commitment of that sort. He wasn’t the love of her life, but she enjoyed his company and the sex was quite adequate.

Memory attempted once more to intrude at that juncture but she kicked it back. She definitely wasn’t going there. Now or ever.

Once the convertible top was locked into place, she slid out of the seat and headed inside. The pleasant smell of her favorite white-wine sauce filled her nostrils the moment she stepped through the front door. Linguini and chicken, a staple of Jeffrey’s culinary repertoire, would be on the menu. In addition to the pleasant aroma, classical music greeted her, the elegant notes playing softly in the background and making her feel immediately more relaxed.

“I’m home!” She almost laughed at the cheesy way she sounded. If she’d only tacked on the “honey” she would have been a living, breathing cliché. Olivia Mills had never been accused of being a stock quotient. Had that changed in the past three years along with everything else about her life? Evidently so. But there were definitely worse things. A lot worse.

“In here!” accompanied a rise in the tempo of the brass, strings and ivory keys.

Her stomach rumbling, she followed the smell into the kitchen. Hesitating at the door, she watched Jeffrey, engrossed in the preparation of a rich green salad. He paused in his work to dump the linguini into boiling water then turned back to slice fresh tomatoes into thin slivers just the way she liked them. He had very nice hands. Long, artist fingers. But the thing she liked best about him was his infinite patience and unconditional trust.

Two things she’d never been able to master herself. Her patience had never been that noteworthy, unless she was billing by the hour. And trust, well, she’d never trusted anyone. Still didn’t…but she tried. Jeffrey made her want to try.

“Rough day?” he asked without looking up.

“Not so bad.”

He would ask her about lunch next.

“Did you have lunch with Liz?”

“She had to cancel.” Liz was a colleague with whom she lunched once or twice each month. They were about the same age, both single. The other woman was pleasant but, to be brutally honest, they had nothing in common other than profession. Still, socializing within the profession was expected. Fitting in dictated certain behaviors on her part.

With her and Jeffrey it was basically the same conversation every night. How was your day? Anything interesting happen at lunch? The only variable was whether she got home first to start dinner. Comfortable. Easy.

A trickle of trepidation seeped into her veins, making her pulse rate increase and reminding her that complacency was a weakness. Weakness was dangerous. All afternoon she’d been experiencing these sensations that alternated between urgency and hesitancy. Strange.

“Too bad. I understand she had some gossip to pass along,” Jeffrey said, tugging her full attention back to him. He glanced at her and smiled that familiar, charming smile that had drawn her to him in the first place. “Wine?”

She nodded and he stopped his salad preparations long enough to pour her a stemmed glass of chardonnay.

Annoyed that she couldn’t stay focused tonight, she moved to the island and accepted the drink. “Gossip?” she asked, feigning interest. Her heart rate’s refusal to drop back to a normal level frustrated her further.

Jeffrey placed the glass in her hand. “She’s leaving her position at Whitworth Clinic.”

Olivia made the expected sound of disbelief. “What brought that on?” She listened as Jeffrey launched into the explanation that Liz’s significant other had no doubt passed along to him. In Olivia’s experience, men did a lot more talking about secrets than women did. She found this apparently common phenomenon among the civilian population amusing—or maybe it was just that her life before had been so vastly different. Whatever the case, there were times when she actually managed to feel intrigued by the juicy gossip floating about their social circle.

For some reason, today just wasn’t one of those days. Today she had to pretend. It had been so long since she’d had to do that….

“What about you?” she asked when he’d completed his dissertation on the subject of their mutual friend’s abrupt decision to move to a rival clinic. “Anything interesting happen in the world of research today?”

Dr. Jeffrey Scott was employed by one of the country’s foremost pharmaceutical research corporations. Though the corporation was strictly private—no government affiliations whatsoever—what he did deep within the bowels of that facility was top secret. That was the part of their relationship that she related to the most readily.

He shrugged. “Nothing notable.”

She hummed a note of acknowledgment and sipped her wine. “I think I’ll change.”

He reached for the next vegetable in need of slicing. “Ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

She produced a smile and turned away from the domestic scene.

This was her life. Comfortable. Easy. But there were times, like now, when she felt out of place. As if she didn’t really belong here in this house…with this man. She downed a gulp of wine in hopes of bolstering the facade of happiness she’d worked so hard to veneer into place over the past three years.

“Don’t think about it,” she scolded softly as she tossed her purse onto the table in the hall. Allowing a patient’s session to prompt this much anxiety was not her usual response. She was stronger than this.

The journey through her home was taken slowly. She surveyed every detail as if for the first time. Anything to get her mind off these ridiculous feelings of apprehension.

She had updated the house immediately after moving in. Gutted the place, actually. Sparing no expense, she had wanted a relaxing yet sophisticated living space. The interior decorator she’d hired had taken great pains with the decor and the furnishings had accomplished that goal. Using things and everyday decisions to fill the emptiness in her life had worked as an excellent distraction at first. Eventually it was not enough. She’d turned her attention elsewhere.

Dating had proven a practical trial for occupying her time for a while. However, no one had lasted beyond date number three until Jeffrey. She tossed her double-breasted suit jacket onto the king-size bed in their room and strode into the walk-in closet to find something more comfortable.

It wasn’t that she’d fallen in love with Jeffrey. He’d simply fit nicely into the life she’d created for herself. He was reliable, kind and always considerate. He made no complicated demands. Simple was her new motto, after all.

Pink silk lounge pants and a matching camisole replaced her skirt and button-up blouse. The tile of the en suite bath felt cool beneath her bare feet, a welcome respite after wearing stilettos all day.

Once she had taken the pins from her French twist, she brushed through her long dark hair until it glistened around her shoulders. If she really took the time to consider her reflection, she would have to admit that she looked the same as before. Her hair was longer and darker, but otherwise she’d changed very little. Same green eyes. No additional wrinkles to speak of for a woman closer to forty than thirty. It was everything else in her life that had altered.

She hissed a breath of impatience. Why couldn’t she stop this? She hadn’t had this much trouble focusing since…since the beginning.

She grabbed her empty glass and headed back to join Jeffrey.

He’d set the dining table. Flowers, candles and the lovely white bone china they used every day. He placed the salad bowl in the middle of the table next to the linguini and white-wine sauce before he looked up.

“You need another drink.”

He moved to her side to remedy that situation without her having to say a word. That was another thing she enjoyed about Jeffrey. Making her happy appeared to be his single goal when they were together. She should be grateful.

She was.

“Smells heavenly.” She thanked Jeffrey for the refill and settled into the chair he pulled out.

He took his own seat directly across from her and lifted his glass. “To us.” He smiled as their glasses clinked. “And a lovely evening.”

She returned the smile and drank deeply from her wine.

Now was all that mattered.

Her new life…this moment.

The unmistakable sound of her cell phone chimed from the hall. She groaned.

“Don’t answer it,” Jeffrey suggested, looking mildly annoyed at the intrusion.

Olivia sat her glass down. “I shouldn’t.” She took a deep breath and rose from her chair. “But one of my patients is having a crisis. If he needs me…”

Jeffrey rolled his eyes but said nothing as she left the table without finishing the statement. He understood her dedication to her work even if he didn’t like it at times. He was every bit as dedicated as she was.

She walked to the hall table and fished her phone from her bag. Jeffrey was right. She shouldn’t answer. If it was one of her patients, he could leave a message.

The display flashed an icon she didn’t remember seeing before. She frowned as she attempted to remember what it meant.

Then she knew.

Never count on anything to last.