7

      

      The place used to be an asylum. Considering how crazy Marin felt for even taking this interview after what had happened in the parking lot, it seemed fitting. When she’d looked up and found Donovan West holding his hand out to her, she’d tumbled back in time for a second. Everything in her had fluttered like she was still some eighteen-year-old girl with a crush.

      But when he hadn’t recognized her, she’d slammed right back into reality. She was here for an interview, sitting in the mud, and the man she’d lost her virginity to didn’t even know her name. She didn’t blame him for not recognizing her. It’d been nine years. There was little left to resemble the girl she’d been. Her contacts were in, she’d chopped off her hair a few years ago, and she’d gained at least fifteen pounds since then. He looked different, too. Older. Broader. More of a man now, with his morning scruff and the faint lines of life around his eyes. And she wasn’t going to think about the bare chest beneath his shirt or the dark hair that had curled down a body he obviously took very good care of. She would not think about that at all. Especially considering the very obvious pink lipstick that had been all over his ruined shirt. Someone had apparently not lost his penchant for hookups.

      That wasn’t a surprise. Perversely, she’d followed Donovan’s career for a few years after they’d slept together. It’d been her secret, masochistic indulgence. Everything had been so chaotic then. She’d had to drop out of school for almost a year, had to fight for custody of Nate, had to figure out how to support a household on her own. Looking up Donovan had given her a brief escape.

      She’d watched his research get published. She’d seen the buzz that had made it all the way into the mainstream media. And she’d seen him do interviews on the talk shows. She’d been happy for him, but after a while, seeing his success had begun to sting more than comfort. The sweet, sexy guy she’d gotten to know that spring break week had changed. She could see the shift in the interviews. The limelight had made him smug. Cocky. Soon, there were rumors that he was dating actresses and Hollywood elite. The media gave him a ridiculous nickname. Marin had stopped looking.

      So she had no idea why the hell he was in nowhere Louisiana now. She would’ve assumed he was still riding his sliver of fame with some private practice in L.A. But nope, he was here. Half-dressed and helping her to her feet.

      Maybe he was a client here. Ha. She wouldn’t be so lucky. She should walk straight back to the rental car and get the hell out of here. She’d already ruined her outfit anyway. She was going to walk in looking ridiculous.

      But she’d come this far, and she didn’t have any other options that would give her a chance at the pay she needed. She needed this. Nate needed this. She took a few more steps forward.

      The chalk-white building loomed in front of her, intimidating and grand with its three-story-high Greek columns and a grove of ancient oak trees surrounding it. Gnarled branches with snaking Spanish moss seemed to hold the historic structure in their grasp. Breathtaking, really. But a pervasive sense of dread filled her. She imagined the people who were committed here back when it was an asylum had found no comfort in it either. Beauty with bite. This place seemed too grand, too ancient, too everything. She felt like an intruder at the gates.

      “Need help finding something?” someone asked from off to her left.

      She turned to find a tall, dark-skinned woman in a white coat sending her a polite smile. “I—”

      Her smile fell when she took in Marin’s state. “Oh, Lord. What happened to you?”

      Marin looked down at the splashes of mud on her skirt and her soggy papers. “I got in a fight with the lawn and lost.”

      The woman gave her a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, no. That bayou mud will get you after a rainstorm. I can show you where the bathrooms are if you want to wash out your skirt and can get you some scrubs to put on in the meantime.”

      “Thanks. I would, but I’m here for an interview with Dr. Suri, and I don’t want to be late.”

      She cringed. “Oh, wow, yeah. Being late would be a bad idea. She’s kind of stickler for time. Just tell her what happened with the fall. Why does that kind of thing only happen on job interviews? I got a flat tire when I came for mine.”

      “Guess you got the job anyway.”

      “That’s because I’m so good.” The woman brushed imaginary dust from her shoulder with playful confidence. “Two years and running. Hey, maybe bad luck before the interview is a good omen.”

      After the parking lot, Marin was thinking not. But she smiled anyway. “Maybe.”

      The woman stepped closer, her brown eyes flashing golden in the dappled sunlight that streamed through the branches of the surrounding oak trees. She stuck out her hand. “Oriana Wallace. Addiction wing.”

      She shook her hand. “Marin Rush. Interviewing for the sex therapy program.”

      Her eyebrow lifted. “Wow, the X-wing, huh? Interesting stuff.”

      “The X-wing?”

      She shrugged. “It’s what we call it around here. You know, rated X? All the departments end up with their own code names. My area is referred to as the R and R.”

      “Rest and relaxation?”

      “No, rinse and repeat. My clients are the ones most likely to make repeat performances. Nature of the addiction beast, unfortunately. Come on, I’ll lead you into the gauntlet and show you the quickest way to Suri’s office. It’s easy to get lost. They had to retrofit a lot of the offices and it can make you feel like a rat in a maze. I have yet to find cheese, though.”

      Marin smiled, thankful for the help and a friendly face. “That’d be great.”

      Oriana led Marin up the front stairs and into the building, which had been beautifully restored to period details of the nineteenth century with its wide baseboards and Greek Revival architecture, but there was a poshness to it that she doubted had been present back when it was an asylum. Expensive-looking artwork, a lobby area with fine antique furniture, and a chandelier that sent sparkling light over the marble floors. It was a lobby meant to impress. But when they went through the double doors to get to the offices, Marin understood what Oriana had been talking about. Signs pointing every which way demarcated the offices, but it was a twisting tangle of hallways and doors. She half-expected that little kid from The Shining to roll up on his Big Wheel.

      They took the elevator to the top floor and Oriana dropped her off there. She put her hand out to keep the elevator door from closing. “Dr. Suri’s office is the one at the end of the hall.”

      “Thanks so much,” Marin said, her nerves bubbling up again and making her voice shake.

      “No problem. Good luck with the interview. Just remember that if you managed to get an interview here, you’re already great at what you do. She only talks to the best, so be confident.”

      “Ha. Sure, no problem. I’m just going to walk in with my muddy clothes and wet resume and wow her right out of her chair.”

      She laughed. “How about I be confident on your behalf? When not if you get the job, you owe me a cup of coffee for being your tour guide.”

      “Deal.”

      She tapped the side of the