Stacia Kane - Personal Demons

"But you push them anyway."

"Don't you?" His blue eyes looked directly into hers, pinning her to her chair. She looked away.

"I don't think of it that way. They pay me to ask questions, to find out what's at the heart of their problems. Sometimes to do that you have to force people to confront things they'd rather not face."

"Is that your theory, then? That your job is forcing your patients to look into all the nasty corners of their minds?"

"They are not necessarily ‘nasty corners’ and I don't ‘force’ anyone, Mr. Stone. Nor do I think confronting the truth in order to deal with problems is theory. It's the truth. If you go to the doctor with pains in your stomach, but refuse to allow an examination, you've wasted a trip to the doctor. Same with a counselor."

She hadn't expected the interview to be fun, but she hadn't expected to react with gut-clenching rage, either. Her Coke sat on the table next to her as yet untouched salad. She wished she'd ordered something stronger.

"It's not the same, though, is it? What you don't tell a real doctor can kill you. What you—"

"Hold it right there, Mr. Stone. I may not be a medical doctor, but I earned a doctorate in Counseling Psychology. I'm a highly qualified, licensed counselor, I'm not doing this as a lark."

"I know."

"Furthermore, I—what? What do you mean, you know?"

Stone smiled. "Of course I know your qualifications. You have an excellent reputation, and it's certainly not everyone who can earn a Master's and a Doctorate in eight years. But I've gotten you to loosen up a bit. You're ready to talk now, right? More than you were earlier? And to call me Brian?"

"The only thing I'm ready to do now is dump my salad on your head."

"Please don't. It takes forever to get the dressing out."

In spite of herself, she laughed. "Okay, Brian. I admit I'm not as nervous as I was. That doesn't mean I approve of your methods."

"I can only do my best," he said, taking a bite of his own salad. "You should eat."

"Desperate to take a photo of me with spinach in my teeth?"

"No, but I will if you aren't nice to me."

Megan smiled in acknowledgment and took a sip of her Coke, scanning the restaurant over the top of her glass. Her gaze stopped on two tables at the back. At one sat Don Tremblay with Jeff Howard—one of the partners in her co-practice who'd been vocally opposed to her joining—and a woman she didn't recognize. So Tremblay was friendly with Howard. She'd never known that, but it certainly made sense.

The other table was more worrisome. As the giggling waitress stepped away from it, Greyson Dante held up his wineglass in her direction. She ignored him.

"So," Brian said, after thanking the waitress for his entree, "I'd like to be in your office by ten every morning. That way our photographer can get some good shots, and I can interview some of your patients."

"You can't interview my patients. They have a right to confidentiality."

Brian shrugged. "Some of them will probably want to keep that privacy intact but still speak anonymously. But I'm sure a few of them would love to have their picture in our magazine, so everyone knows they get to see Dr. Demon Slayer on a regular basis."

Megan almost choked on her steak. "The who?"

"The demon slayer. That's what the station specified we were to call you. Part of the theme of the show."

"Oh, god." Megan buried her face in her hands. The dull throbbing ache in her head promised to get worse as this hell continued.

"I was thinking we could get a picture of you holding a pitchfork or something. Maybe a big wooden cross? Sound good?"

She stared at him. He lifted his hands and leaned back in his seat, as if he was afraid she might start spitting on him. "Hey, only joking."

"Very funny."

"Oh, I do love jokes." Greyson Dante stood by her side.

"Hello, Mr. Dante. I'm afraid this is a private conversation, so you will, of course, be going now."

His grin widened. Was there no way to insult the man? "Why, Dr. Chase, if I didn't know better I'd think you didn't want to see me."

"What makes you think you know better?"

"I always do."

Brian looked from one of them to the other. "Don't you want to introduce me to your friend, Megan?"

Dante still stood there smiling, his wineglass in one hand, looking like Cary Grant on a luxurious cruise. She hadn't been wrong in her first moonlight impression; he really was handsome, with dark hair and eyes and smooth, lightly tanned skin. She'd always liked dark-haired men, probably to contrast with her own blond paleness. Megan often thought she looked like a ghost. A dark man seemed to anchor her to earth, somehow, or perhaps it was just her obsessive childhood crush on Burt Reynolds.

Before she could disavow friendship with Dante and say no , Mr. Tall Dark Handsome and Annoying was shaking hands with the reporter.

"Dante. Greyson Dante."

Brian smiled. "Mr. Dante, then. Sit down. I'd love to talk to some of Megan's friends. Get some more personal information, you know?"

"I'd be glad to share what I know." Greyson grabbed an empty chair from a nearby table—without asking the table's occupants, Megan noticed—and pulled it to theirs.

"Which isn't much," she said under her breath.

Brian glanced at her. "What?"

Dante grinned. Megan wanted to stab him in the hand with her fork. Of course he was grinning. She couldn't say anything to him. She couldn't yell, or claim he was a crazy stranger, or be nasty to him. Brian was a reporter, a man with the power to make or break her reputation. Radio Counselor Can't Remember Names of Casual One-Night Stands ... Power-Mad Radio Host Turns Her Back On Friends Now That She's a Success ... Fame Drives Radio Counselor Insane...

"And how do you two know each other?" Brian was either trying to figure out what was wrong between them or, innocently unaware, was just trying to make conversation. Megan hoped it was the latter. She opened her mouth to speak, but Greyson got there first.

"I'm a counselor, too. From out of state. We met at a conference last year."

Megan would have bet her car that the closest Greyson ever came to counseling was recommending it for his clients in the hopes they would get larger damages in court.

If he was a lawyer. Which she had to admit she wasn't certain about. It was just a feeling she had, but without being able to read him she couldn't be sure.

"Our methods are very different," Megan started, but Dante cut her off.

"But we both love helping people. I think ‘help’ is Dr. Chase's favorite word."

"And what's yours? ‘Malpractice'?"

"Oh, no." He folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. " Sin is my favorite word, Dr. Chase. Sin."

His eyes caught hers, held. She leaned forward before she realized she was doing it, and sat back so quickly she knocked her knife onto the floor.

Dante tsked and picked it up, nodding to his pet waitress, who leapt to their table as if they were the only customers in the restaurant. Megan calmed herself and started studying the room, trying to avoid even looking at him.

Perhaps it was fallout from earlier, but the steak that had looked appetizing now made her throat close, and she made no move to use her new knife. She thought if someone made a loud noise she would jump right out of her skin, and it wasn't just the tension of the last day or so catching up with her.

The men continued chatting, unaware of her lapse into silence. "Oh, Megan is highly respected," Dante said. "She's a real counselor's counselor."

A counselor's counselor ? Where was he getting that shit?

Trying to soothe her churning stomach, Megan reached for her Coke and took a long swallow.

Something hovered in the air over the right shoulder of the woman at the next table.