Finding the Perfect Man (3 page)

“It’s to be expected.”

“When do you want to see me again?”

“It’s up to you. I’m available anytime you like.” Inwardly, she groaned. Now why did she say it that way with her voice pitched lower than usual? And didn’t she have other clients to help, too?

“Let me think about what you said, and I’ll call for another appointment.”

“All right.”

He stepped to the door, but stopped when he touched the doorknob. “I’m glad I came today,” he said over his shoulder, then opened the door and walked out.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Funny, but in the three years she’d been a therapist, no male client had ever made her uncomfortable. It must be those images of him wearing nicer clothes having a clean-cut look. What other reason could there be?

Jordan strolled back to her desk to write a few notes, but those images of him that she’d created bothered her more than she was prepared for. Not only that, but she could put herself in his shoes and she knew exactly what he was feeling.

“Go away.” She growled in frustration and slammed her hands on the desk, trying to become the professional she knew was hiding for some reason.

It was hard to relive those years when her heart had been shattered. Since she’d left college and started her practice, and after the painful relationship with Kenneth, she’d all but sworn off men. Of course, it didn’t help when most of the men in her life accused her of trying to read their minds —  simple as they were, and trying to act like God. Being a psychiatrist wasn’t just her job. It was her life. It was who she was. She couldn’t just turn that off on a whim.

She pushed away from the desk and stretched her knotted limbs. She hurried to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and took out a bottle of water. The cool liquid refreshed her cotton-dry mouth.

Why was it that she could cure her patients, but she couldn’t fix her own life…her own feelings? If she kept this up, her clients would suffer.

Perhaps she was the one who needed a doctor.

* * * *

Jordan walked up to the Medical Arts Building where she had an office space. The bright sun glared off the snow-covered roof, making her squint. She reached for the doorknob, opened the door, and hurried in. Five more steps took her to the reception area, and she opened another door that led her to her office. When Jordan stepped inside, Erica’s head snapped up, and she put down the paperback novel she’d been reading. She met Jordan’s stare and smiled.

“Good morning, Jordan.” Erica’s voice dripped with sweetness. “You look pretty this morning. Is that outfit new?”

Jordan bit her cheek, so as not to grin. What was Erica up to now?

“No, Erica, this outfit is not new.” She marched to the desk and leaned over, slapping her hands down on the heavy oak to rest her weight on her palms. “And I thought I told you not to read those books if you have work to do.”

Erica tossed her a challenging grin and shrugged. “I don’t have anything to do this morning.”

“Did you get the files of my new clients put together?”

Erica pulled back a strand of her blonde hair and tucked it behind her ear. “I had that done two days ago.”

“Did you contact those insurance companies to see when we’ll get paid?”

“Yes.” She slid some invoices her way. “As you can see, I’m on the ball with that, also.”

“Did you call and reschedule all of my appointments so I’m free on Christmas Eve to visit with Serena and…her husband?” Jordan had to nearly spit out those last words.

“Yes, Jordan, and although I know you’re not looking forward to seeing your stepmother or her husband, I went ahead and rearranged your schedule. You’ll take Serena and your ex to brunch at the country club, then the three of you can spend a lovely time swimming in the indoor pool. Or, if you’d rather, I can arrange to have you all go skiing.”

The corners of Jordan’s mouth turned into a grin. “Not even if my life depended on it. You know how much I hate to ski.” Unless, of course, she couldn’t find a man through the advertisement, then she’d have to do something—anything to make Serena and Kenneth think she didn’t stay home all the time.

She straightened and folded her arms. “I owe you an apology, Erica. I’m sorry for being cranky. You’re a good secretary, which is why I keep you around.”

Erica leaned back in her swivel chair, clasping her manicured hands over her flat stomach. “And because of the romance novels I share with you.”

Jordan scowled. “Yes, thanks for the reminder. Now I’m thinking you should
not
share them with me. Reading those books makes me long for things I’ll never have.”

“Don’t say that. Everyone can have a happy-ever-after. They just have to find it.” She smiled wide, her big brown eyes sparkled. “And one day you will find it.”

“Thank you, I think.” Jordan heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. This whole business about seeking a man to play my new love interest is driving me insane. Most of the calls have been pranks, and I’m almost ready to throw your idea out the window. Sad thing is, I can’t think of anything to replace it.”

“Do you want me to set you up with one of my friends?”

Jordan tried to end the conversation by picking up the mail from the end of Erica’s desk and sorting through it. “No. They wouldn’t be the right fit, anyway. I need a certain kind of man or Serena and Kenneth won’t believe me.”

“Give it a few more days, Jordan. I’m sure something will turn up.”

“Let’s hope so. I don’t have very long to decide.” Jordan turned toward her office. “Let me know when my next appointment arrives.” She hurried into her office and closed the door before Erica could try and convince her to go out with one of her friends.

Sighing, Jordan relaxed against the solid oak. Erica meant well, but starting another relationship didn’t interest Jordan. She’d been down that road, and she didn’t want the complications that came with meeting men.

Erica would never understand, and Serena surely wouldn’t. Jordan hoped the advertisement in the personals would be the key to getting her stepmother off her back. According to Serena, Jordan would never be complete without a man on her arm.

“Serena.”
Jordan grumbled the woman’s name and marched to her desk, throwing the mail on top. Why did her stepmother find it necessary to treat Jordan as if she were still a child? Was it because Serena still worried that Jordan had inherited her father’s mental illness? How many times had Jordan told her stepmother that she was fine?

Although Jordan understand—and forgave—her meddlesome stepmother for worrying about Jordan’s mental being, she still hadn’t forgiven her for betraying Jordan in the worst way. If her stepmother hadn’t been such a great friend to her all those years, Jordan would tell Serena to take a flying leap off the tallest bridge. But Jordan wanted to impress Serena. She always had.

Trying to forget her disturbing past, she unbuttoned the hip-length forest green jacket, slipped it off her shoulders, and draped it over the chair. She turned and studied herself in the wall mirror. The sleeveless white silk blouse hugged her bosom, and the shorter-than-usual forest green skirt cuddled her hips. She glanced down at her legs and tugged at the hem, but her knees still showed.

She swallowed hard, moistening her throat. Today she would remember her professionalism, and whenever she started to react to Brock’s intense, heated stare, she would push aside the sensations and ignore what he did to her. That was the only way she’d be able to make it through the meeting.

It was not healthy for her career to have those kind of stirring feelings while with a patient.

Jordan swiped a stray lock of wavy hair off her forehead, blending it back in with the rest of her usual tight bun, but the stubborn wisp wouldn’t stay. Unfortunately, she hadn’t brought her hairspray, so the piece of hair would just have to go free for now.

Relaxing behind her desk, she leaned back in her chair and opened her mail. Nothing exciting. Usual bills, normal complaints from families of clients who figured their loved-ones should be well by now.

Oh, here’s an interesting letter
.
Jordan rolled her eyes as she read the envelope from one of those Clearinghouse companies.
“You may be a winner....” Right, she was a winner. She chuckled and threw the letter in the trash. For once, she wished something exciting would happen in her normal, humdrum life. And no, Clearinghouse, not from you.

Another letter caught her eyes. Addressed simply to Jordan Reed, it had no return address. She ripped apart the envelope with her letter opener and pulled out the single piece of paper. Once she unfolded the letter, she gasped.
Oh, no! Not again!

Frantic, she blew out a breath and skimmed over the cutout magazine letters that formed the words:
“I’m watching you. Soon you’ll be mine.”

She gnashed her teeth in irritation. This was the second letter like this. The one she received last week she talked herself into believing was a joke. Certainly not a very funny one, but she hadn’t taken it seriously. Erica had suggested calling the police or even hiring a detective. At the time, Jordan hadn’t thought it necessary. Now she wasn’t so sure.

She couldn’t imagine any of her clients sending such missives. They had all expressed their gratitude for her help. No, whoever put together this letter was sick. Mentally sick.

After putting the letter back into the envelope, she placed it under her book in the bottom drawer. She’d contact the police later, once she’d finished with her appointments. Her clients came first.

Her gaze fell on the voice recorder, and her thoughts switched to Brock. She quickly played back their last session, although she didn’t need any reminder. She’d played it over and over in her head since their last session. She had to focus on his problem.

Today, she’d try again to get him to confront his cheating girlfriend. The sooner she released his pain, the sooner he’d be on the road to recovery.

The buzz from Erica came quicker than Jordan expected, and she jumped.

“Dr. Reed, your appointment is here.”

“I’ll be right out.”

Jordan readied her notepad, pencil, and the recorder. She stood and walked to the door. Taking a deep breath for control, she reminded herself to act professional.

When she stepped out of her office, Brock rose from his chair. His appearance hadn’t changed, except he wore different colored clothes. His jeans and flannel shirt were still baggy. His hair and facial stubble still looked as if he’d rolled right out of bed. Next week’s session, they’d concentrate on building his self-confidence. But today, she’d just get to know what made him tick.

“Good morning, Brock,” she greeted, extending her hand.

He gave her a nervous smile and slid his hand into hers. Rough, calloused fingers rubbed against her skin and sent burning sensations through her arm. She withdrew in a hurry.

When he ambled past her into the room, a hint of spicy men’s cologne followed. She breathed deeply, enjoying the scent. Strange…but why had he taken the time to splash on cologne when he didn’t bother to comb his hair or shave?

Another mystery she’d have to solve involving him.

Focusing on her client, she walked into her office and closed the door. Brock waited by her desk. His heated stare made her curious. He gave her a crooked grin as his gaze slid over her body. She glanced down. Crap! She forgot to put on her jacket.

Trying not to panic, she turned away. Her matching jacket still hung on the back of her chair, so she moved to retrieve her white lab coat off the hook on the door, instead.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” she said with a calmness she didn’t feel.

She slipped on the garment before picking up her pencil and notepad. Once she switched on the recorder, she began. “How was your week, Brock?”

“The same.”

She sat in the chair across from him. “Did you talk with your fiancée?”

“No.”

“Do you still think she’s cheating?”

He sighed. “Yes.”

She placed her notepad and pencil on the small table next to her, then leaned forward and linked her hands across her knees. “Brock, what are you afraid of? What scares you about talking to her?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Think, Brock. Deep down inside there’s something bothering you. Reach for it, grab it, and let’s discuss it.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I think I’m afraid she’ll choose her lover over me.”

“Why do you feel this way?”

“Why shouldn’t I? Lanie certainly doesn’t act like she wants to be with me.”

“Hiding your feelings is not going to make them disappear.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “What do you suggest I do about it, then?”

“Talk to her.”

“I already told you I can’t.”

Sighing in frustration, she stood and walked to the window. She looked across the busy morning traffic, hoping for an answer to help him.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. She’d done role playing with her patients before, and that kind of therapy really worked. She met Brock’s waiting gaze with a smile. “Why don’t you practice on me?”