The Snow Maiden Read Free Page B

wasn’t mad at her for canceling at the last minute. But I was mad at her for believing that asshole wanted to bring her to a work event. His first and possibly second choices had fallen through, and he was trying to save face by bringing someone. I wanted to slap her silly for being so… well, silly. “No, it’s fine.”
    “See, he’s been assigned to–”
    “I said it was okay, Jenn. Don’t worry about it. I’ll live.” I always did. Just once, I wanted her to choose hanging out with me over a date.
    “Thanks, girl. You’re the best.” Apparently, I wasn’t going to be her choice tonight. I looked at my watch and groaned. It was almost time for my appointment with Dr. Lawrence.
    #
    By nature, I’m not a calm person. Type A, all the way. I stay awake nights, thinking of what I did or need to do. I go into the office early, work through lunch, stay late.
    At least I used to until I burned out. More like a flaming jet crash, smoking fuselage that looks tiny up in the air, but grows to gargantuan sheets of white-hot metal as it reaches the unsuspecting earth. The wreckage didn’t resemble who I thought I was; a tireless wonder woman. I felt more like Aquaman, useless until someone needed to talk to fish.
    I’d been making the company my life since I was twenty-five. Now, ten years later, my life consisted of meeting with a shrink two hours a week and wondering if getting sex on a regular basis could have slowed my burnout. I hadn’t made time for a real relationship since I started working. Blamed it on being too driven to do anything boring like sit at long, leisurely dinners and answer questions about my family, hometown, and outside interests.
    The few times I did date, if I was horny enough, I might force a smile and ask if he wanted to go back to my place. Most times, I had to take charge of my own orgasm. Fine. I could handle that responsibility, too. Senior Executive in Charge of Climax. It was the delegating I had trouble with.
    “Claire!”
    “What?” Dr. Lawrence’s sharp tone yanked me from the bitter memory.
    “We aren’t making much progress. Your tension is obvious. None of my relaxation techniques are working.”
    “How can they? I can’t even go to my favorite restaurant because it’s one my boss takes clients to.” No offense to Dr. Lawrence, but yoga and meditation weren’t helping. I focused on doing them perfectly instead of just doing.
    “You need a change of scenery. Get on completely unfamiliar territory.”
    “Like where? Deciding on a vacation spot would be stress enough.”
    The doctor rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose. “I know. That’s why I want you to stay at the Surf for a while. It’s right on the water. The sound of the ocean will be soothing.” He reached into his desk for a tan card with the words “Surfside Condos” embossed in hunter green copperplate. “My good friend runs it and sits on the board. We went to school together.”
    “High school?”
    “No.” He shifted in his leather swivel chair. And I knew.
    “Ah,” I said. “He’s a shrink too. Feel better knowing he’s keeping an eye on me?”
    “Yes, he’s a psychiatrist as well. I will feel better because you’ll have someone around if you need anything.”
    “Like what? A sedative?”
    “I told you before.” He tossed my well-padded file onto the spotless cherry desk. “You don’t need medication. There’s nothing wrong with you a little fun and enjoyment won’t fix.”
    “Then why do I pay you so much?”
    “Cheaper than a condo.”
    I gave him a chilly look as I stood and took the card.
    “Where are you going? We still have fifteen minutes left in our session.”
    “That’s enough social interaction for one day. I’m going to get a drink.”
    “But you can’t–”
    “Don’t worry, I’ll look up your shrink buddy.” I glanced at the business card: David Stroker. “Dr. Stroker? Good God. At least it isn’t Dr. Finger.”
    #
    Taxicab exhaust hovered in the air