Page 11 of Taming a Menace

Five

I yla

After quitting Wyatt’s practice, I didn’t have any trouble finding another job.

That was partially because I didn’t waste any time looking due to the number of threatening messages he left about having me black balled from our industry if I continued to avoid him.

The man cheated on me but wanted me to continue to work in his office so he could harass me in person about getting back together instead of having to send emails.

I’d changed my number the same night I found out how he’d played me.

I missed the comfort and luxuries that came along with working for him but not having to see him every day made it worth it.

Even the small pay cut didn’t bother me.

I valued my peace over everything. Plus, I had saved up quite the nest egg over the past three years due to not having to spend my own money.

I didn’t let that tradition die that night.

Shopping was one of the ways I coped with pain.

I used Wyatt’s credit card to go on a shopping spree, buying more shoes and outfits than I could count.

On top of that, I furnished my bedroom and bought my sister a matching set of the luggage she’d drooled over when she and her husband helped me move.

Running his pockets didn’t make me feel better.

Maybe because he didn’t even bother mentioning the purchases in the multitude of emails he’d sent me.

I’d spent thousands of dollars, and he didn’t give a damn.

He was too busy begging for a chance to explain himself or threatening to make sure I never worked again since I wanted to play games with him.

I wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. I was just glad that he didn’t know where I lived. Wyatt only had to show up at my sister’s house once for me to realize that I had been there long enough.

My new job helped me to keep my mind off my tragic life.

I’d spent most of the morning going over the file of my new client.

The thing about working for a state funded clinic was that you never knew what kind of people you would run into.

I had a good rapport with most of my patients but some of them were plain scary.

The one I was seeing today didn’t sound like an exception to the rule.

He had been diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder as a teenager but there was no evidence of substantial treatment.

I didn’t even see enough documentation to support the diagnosis.

There were several cases of explosive bouts of violence and more than a few examples of the lack of impulse control.

I was surprised to find that there was no history of drug use.

He’d been recently released from prison which wasn’t uncommon in my line of work.

The first session was always more of a getting to know you thing, so I would find out more about him once I met him.

Pressing the button on my desk phone, I called out to the front lobby.

“Good morning, Ms. Fisher,” the receptionist greeted me after a couple of rings.

“Good morning, Janet. You can send in my eleven o’clock.”

“Yes, ma’am. He’ll be right back.”

While I waited for him to make it to the end of the hall where my office sat, I typed up a few notes.

I wanted to make sure I asked a couple of key questions to get a good feel of how to conduct our sessions going forward.

According to the notes I received, I would be seeing him twice a week for the next fifteen weeks.

The door opened and closed while I was deep in thought.

The sound caught my attention enough for me to offer my new client a greeting.

“Good morning, Mr. Glover. Give me just a second and I’ll be right with you,” I said without taking my eyes off the computer screen.

His lack of a response was unnerving, but I knew that the sessions were court mandated.

He wasn’t a willing participant, so it might not be all that easy to get anything out of him.

Once I finished the thought I was afraid of losing, I pushed back from my desk to give my new client my full attention.

“Iyla?” he asked, frowning as if he wasn’t sure it was me.

I was definitely sure it was him. The source of my nightly fantasies for months stood right in the middle of my office.

It had been three whole years since I’d seen him.

Sometimes I could still feel his hands on my body.

I could still feel his tongue flickering over my sensitive flesh.

I could still hear the sound of his voice in my ear coaching me as I came undone.

Since I was single again, my favorite toy had been working overtime trying to mimic the feeling that it seemed only he could give me.

There were nights where I tossed and turned wishing that I had given him my number that night, but I knew it was for the best at the time.

Three years with Wyatt hadn’t erased the memory of the man I tried to find for months before meeting him.

As much as I missed his touch, I knew that it was best to leave what we did in the past. That didn’t mean that a girl couldn’t fantasize about his fine, dark chocolate ass while a silicone flower brought her to orgasm.

I had never told him where I worked. I didn’t even have this job the night we met. So what the hell was he doing here now?

“You can’t be here!” I blurted, unsure of what else to say. “I’m expecting a client.”

“Does your client happen to be named Keywan Glover?” he quizzed, causing me to narrow my eyes.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because if that’s who you were expecting, then I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

As if I hadn’t seen the name a hundred times since Monday morning, I dropped my eyes and looked over the paperwork again.

“You can’t be here,” I repeated.

“According to my parole officer I have to be here,” he said, smirking as he took a seat in the chair across from my desk. “I thought I was supposed to lay on the couch or something.”

“Mr. Glover, I can’t see you. I’m sure this is a conflict of interest or something. I have to see if we can reschedule you with another therapist.”

“Nah, I would rather be with you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” I said, picking up the phone and hitting the button to call the receptionist back.

“Don’t,” he said, leaning forward and pressing the button to end the call.

“Don’t touch my phone!”

When our eyes connected, I was temporarily disarmed by his jovial smile. Why did my body pick this very moment to betray me? I swallowed hard. I wasn’t in control of my own actions as I hung up the receiver and sat back in my chair.

“I missed you, Moon,” he said, licking his full lips as he too sat back in his seat.

“My name is Iyla.”

“I missed her too.”

I shook my head, attempting to bring myself out of his trance. He had no business looking so good in a plain black T-shirt and jeans, but the way the cotton clung to his body reminded me of the masterpiece that lay beneath.

“There are four other therapists that work here. I’ll make sure you get the best one.”

“I doubt anyone here is better than you. Besides, they said something about a waiting list. It took weeks for me to get on your schedule,” he stated.

“I’m sure you don’t have a problem with that. It’s not like you’re here because you want to be. I see that these sessions have been ordered by your parole officer.”

“And he already told me that this is my last chance. If you give me the boot that will just give them an excuse to send me back to prison. I’m still trying to get on my feet, Iyla. I can’t go back down the road.”

“I’ll make sure that I convey how much it’s not your fault that you were put back on the list. I just can’t see you,” I explained.

“It doesn't work like that, Iyla. I gotta complete my therapy within a certain time period, or the man is going to violate me. They’re already on my ass due to me getting kicked out of my anger management class.”

I shook my head and held up my hands to stop him. “That’s not my problem, Mr. Glover.”

“I know it’s not. Listen, just give me a chance.

I’ve been dreading coming to do this shit ever since the moment he told me it was my last recourse.

I’ve only been home close to two months.

I’m not fucking up like you might think I am.

Until I get my business back off the ground, I’ve been working a night shift at one of the diners downtown.

Since I’m usually working until after two in the morning, I struggled to get up and be in the anger management sessions by nine.

After fifteen minutes, the counselor locks the door. ”

I sighed as I mulled over what he had to say.

I’d worked with attractive patients in the past. That wasn’t the issue.

The problem was the fact that the man hadn’t even gotten close enough to touch me, and I needed to change my panties.

The problem was he knew me intimately. I knew him in ways I had never known any of my other patients.

The problem was I wanted to experience him again.

Over the past three years, I had thought about looking up Eat Up with Key over a dozen times and talked myself out of it.

A couple of weeks after my solo anniversary dinner, I tried to book his services only to find that his website had been disabled.

I couldn’t find him anywhere. Although he was embedded in my mind, it was as if he had vanished from the face of the earth.

I took it as a sign to move on. A few months later, I met Wyatt.

Key being my new client was a disaster waiting to happen. I couldn’t risk it.

“I can’t put my license in jeopardy,” I said, shaking my head.

“There’s no jeopardy. I’ll keep it professional. We don’t have to tell anyone that we met before today. Our prior knowledge of each other doesn’t have to leave this room. You’re not supposed to discuss what happens in here anyway. Right?” he asked.