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Tiara
“Do you still love her?”
Tiara voiced out the sensible question she stitched together from the sketchy answers her new client had provided within the last twenty-one minutes.
“Don’t ask!”
Hunter Chase’s bark reverberated around the four walls of Tiara’s iconic East Bay office in Emeryville, a small city in California, United States.
Getting over the initial shock Hunter was the same cruel stranger who had bumped into her last week at the park, tested her professionalism to near-breaking point. Even now, her left shoulder still hurt, an awful reminder of their first encounter. It made her wonder what his muscles were sculpted with?
Steel?
Maybe ice?
Or even from a rock!
What irked her most for days was the fact he had not apologized instead he had shot her with his savage tongue. Although he wore a pair of glasses today, giving him a serious vibe, she was not fooled.
“Hey missy, can we skip the part where you ask me endless dumb questions and you simply give me a clean bill of health?”
His icy-cold tone chilled her bones, tugging her out of her muse. With his hooded steely eyes stabbing her cleavage, she gripped her notepad tighter. Did he even recognize her? He had not flinched, or narrowed his gaze at her when he strode inside her office as if the world owed him an eternal debt, she knew nothing about. Yet, there was an intensity about him, about the way he moved as if his steps were measured. She found that both sexy and spine-chilling.
“I’m a therapist. I’m here to help you figure out–”
“Cut the bull shit! These sessions are for idiots. Like I told you when I walked in, I need to show up here for two hours each week for some weeks. Then, you’ll give me a pass.” He snarled at her and continued. “A damn pass! I don’t need to share anything with you and, you don’t need to do anything more for me. Clear enough?”
Suddenly short of breath, she rolled her pen between her fingers. Did he think for one minute she was scared of him? Hmm?
“If you walked in here yourself, it means you need me, Hunter.”
For some queer reason, she remained seated behind her desk instead of moving to occupy the space she reserved for chatting with clients in the centre of the room. Her new client also avoided the heart of the office space as if it were a booby-trap.
“Says who? The fact I’m standing here doesn’t mean a thing.”
While he spoke, he had taken confident steps away from her and was now staring out of the window.
“If you’re willing to have a minimum of five or more sessions, then, we need to outline your goals, so we can both monitor the outcome over time.”
She should mention their previous row to clear the pungent air, but sandwiched between his antagonistic responses she could not find a good opening.
“Don’t sound so self-important, missy!”
“My name’s Tiara Williams, not—”
Hunter swung his head around along with his withering gaze.
The easy words on her tongue faded into oblivion for a whole minute, or more. Her eyes went straight to his face cut with a chisel and roamed around his wildly groomed moustache and dark brown stubble which was a shade, or two deeper than his blond hair.
“Do you want to be here, Mr. Chase, or do you wish to find yourself another therapist?”
Lord, what are you trying to teach me by punishing me with this mysterious stranger turned client? She lamented inwardly. Is it humility and patience? I thought I had both virtues in abundance. Clearly, I fall short. Forgive me. Lord, if you get Hunter out of my office and my life, I would be eternally grateful.
“Let’s get this straight. I don’t need you.” He punctured her silent prayer with his suspicious gaze as he ground his jaw. “Do I need to say it in another language? Patois, perhaps? How can you be a therapist and be so clueless, huh? Tell me.”
Like many others, he had assumed she was Jamaican–a common mistake. But her job did not include correcting a client’s wrong assumption. It was also common for clients to take swipes at their therapists. But his own put-down hurt so much more, her stomach cramped. Maybe it was the frustration that she could not lash back at him. He was one lucky guy. Because there were names, she wanted to call him to dump him where he belonged—in the trash. Slanting her head, she inhaled slowly.
“Mr. Chase, do you speak Patois, or any other language?”
“A handful. How many languages do you speak?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t. What do you do, Mr. Chase? Or can I call you, Hunter?”
“Call me whatever you like, I don’t give a damn. It’s a name. I secure lives and properties while you sit behind a desk pretending to provide help for a hefty fee. I see how that makes you feel needed.”
Keeping her eyes on his rigid nose that looked as if it had been carved from granite, she tried not to grimace at his rude comment.
“What I do is certainly important, Hunter.”
“Good for you if you really believe that.”
At the heart of her office, the mustard leather seat positioned in front of a white three-seater sofa, decorated with mustard super-soft cushions looked deserted. Even the black and white horizontal stripped rug that featured in between the seats begged to be stepped on. Only one potted plant stayed out of the way at the east end of the room.
“What do you believe, Hunter?”
“You want my honest opinion?”
“Nothing less would do.”
“That people like you exist to deceive vulnerable people. There’s no cure for what disturbs the mind. Is there, missy?”
“Tiara, that’s my name. Do you consider yourself vulnerable?”
A muscle in his jaw jerked before he scrunched up half his face.
“Everyone’s vulnerable. That includes you.”
“What makes you feel vulnerable, Hunter?”
Drawing back his lips in a snarl, his ivory facial skin paled, cooling the warmth of his golden undertone. She knew her question had hit a nerve.
“Nice try, missy.”
Opting for a less direct approach, she went on the easy lane. As long as she engaged him in discussion, there was hope he would open up.
“What areas of security do you specialize in?”
“Home and business security solutions.”
“What does that entail?”
“Installing surveillance cameras and developing bespoke security systems to meet the needs of my clients.”
His fierce some bluish-grey eyes returned to peeking out of her window. The way he scrutinized the street below, one would assume he admired a stunning landscape when in reality all there was to see was nature’s blend of orange, brown and red leaves cooked into mush as a result of the rain. It was the start of fall season, Thursday September 17th to be precise, except of course he was engrossed by the spectacular water reflecting the numerous boats docked, or moving across the San Francisco Bay, a mere three minutes-drive from her office.
“Do you have a panic button in this office?”
“Um. If I do, would I reveal it to you?”
“If you don’t, consider installing one.”
With his back to her, she tried not to stare at his intimidating physique, or posture.
“Why? What I do here is about building trust.”
“You’ve got to secure your life first.”
“I feel safe here.”
“With every single client?”
Their eyes clashed for a brief moment, before she cut off from his hypnotic luminescent gaze.
“Look, the only reason I’m here is so I can make a donation to a friend. We don’t need to get chummy.”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Let’s go with the name, Erin.”
Tiara scribbled down the fake name on her notepad. “How long have you known, Erin?”
“Go with twenty years.”
From his file, she knew Hunter turned thirty-six nine days ago. There was nothing else on the half page entry. How did a guy his age box so much vitriol into his six-pack, muscular, over six-feet build? OK. She had not seen his six-pack yet, but she presumed he had to be hiding well-toned abs beneath the layers.
“That would mean you’ve known Erin for more than half your life. Why does she need you to make a donation?”
“That’s none of your business, Tiara Williams.”
Finally! He called me by my name. Pausing to take a slow breath, she twisted her lips.
“I understand it’s your life but I’ve got–”
Hunter whipped his head in her direction again, his brows drawn together, his eyes vacant.
“Do you truly understand?”
Getting into an argument with a client was improper. Sighing, she set down her pen and stared at him for a full minute, or so until she felt heat warm her spine. Blinking, she sipped water from her glass. For a short moment, the liquid settled the up and down churning inside her belly.
“Look at it this way, Hunter. If Erin requires you to attend therapy in order for you to make a donation, then this is important to your friend. For her sake, can you tell me what it is you want to donate?”
“Sperm.”
She gasped silently. That was not the reply she had expected. Thank God, her eyes were lowered, shielding her surprise from him.
“Is Erin planning on having your baby?”
“Work it out yourself. You’re my therapist, right?”
Lifting her eyes to meet his own, she locked in her personal verdict. His blazing eyes, now a cold grey shade challenged her to say what was on her mind.
“So, Erin wants to have your baby. OK. Are you married, or are you a sperm donor?”
Nothing written in his file alluded to the fact he was in a serious relationship.
A sullen expression crossed his face for a moment.
“There are men who should never get married. I’m one of them. Are you married, Tiara?”
“I came close once.”
“And how old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
For the next few minutes, she found herself opening up to the guy who had showed zero respect for her profession and for her as a woman. The tactic often worked with challenging clients. In her experience, she had learned one thing–the clients who appeared tough talking with a hardcore exterior were often the ones who needed her services more.
“Poor dude. Did he find you too cold, Tiara?”
A surge of memory raced through her mind. She shut her eyes briefly to expunge the recollection. When she opened her eyes, Hunter was standing by her seat with both hands behind his back. She stared from his now ruffled blond hair to his sturdy boots while trying not to feel daunted in her own office.
“Take a seat, Hunter.”
“Are you scared I’ll hurt you?”
“Why would you hurt me? Have you been known to put your hands on anyone?”
Light flickered in his eyes briefly before fading to cold ashes.
“I’ve been known to kill. Good enough for you?”
Towering above her by several inches, he stared down at her like she was some irritating fly on a spotless wall he wanted to smash with a hammer. Meanwhile, his masculine fragrance already ruled her senses. Without feeding his urge to be dominant, she picked up her pen and wrote down the word, killer.
Hunter seized her notepad and ripped off the sheet.
Lifting an eyebrow, she met his grave expression with a quizzical one.
“You don’t want me to write it down?”
A killer? Somehow, she found his reply bizarre. Was he bluffing just to unsettle her?
To answer her question however, he tore the sheet to pieces, crumpled it into a ball and threw it across the room, away from the fireplace mantel.
“Are you in the military, or are you ex-military, Hunter?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
If she stood up, he would probably assume she wanted to square up to him. If she remained seated, he would feel in control. Swallowing her hesitation, she braced her fingers on the edge of her desk and pushed back her chair. Before she could get on her feet, he bent over and clenched his fingers around the arms of her chair, forcing her back on her seat.
“Stand back, Hunter. You’re crossing the line.”
“I told you to stop asking crazy questions.”
With his face up close, she noted his eyes were intense and deathly cold. Instead of icing her out though, heat squirted through her chest, shooting down to her stomach. Of its own will, her eyes dipped. His more than a day-old stubble shaped his upper lip and entire jawline and part of his neck while fading frown lines hovered along his wide forehead. Relying on her gut instinct, she uttered her speculation.
“OK. Military. Do you consider yourself wilfully violent or do you just follow orders to kill?”
He bared his teeth as he mock-chuckled. But his eyes remained as hard as blue-grey granite.
“What do you think? Form your opinion.”
“We can make this session more practical.”
“What’s your opinion? I want to hear it.”
“If you’re in the military, then, you simply follow orders. You wouldn’t be considered a killer except you were a mercenary. Are you?”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Keep going.”
“On the other hand, if you’re in private security, and you’ve been known to kill, then, you’re an assassin.”
“Tiara Williams, do you provide help to assassins?”
“Whatever you say to me in this room is confidential, Hunter.”
“Bull shit!” Bleak-eyed, he pushed back her chair so hard, it hit the bookshelf behind. It was a wonder, some of the books did not fall over to knock her out. “We both know all it takes to expose the secrets in your files is for a court to summon your records and it all becomes public knowledge. True, or false?”
“That’s if you’ve committed a crime. Have you?”
“There are things best left unsaid, Tiara.”
To her ear, he uttered her name like a plea, or an indirect shout for help.
“Then you shouldn’t be here. Why are you really here, Hunter Chase?”
He grabbed the ball of her shoulders with long fingers, willing her to give him the answer he hoped for without sharing what burned inside of him.
“You want to put some demons to rest, Hunter? Is that it?” She should have kept her mouth shut.
“For the sole purpose of this discussion, if I say I’ve heard things, seen things that’ll make your skin crawl, and done things that keep me awake at night, what will you do for me? Kiss me and make it all go away?”
“If I kiss my client, I’ll lose my license. So, that isn’t a practical solution. What keeps you awake at night?”
Giving her a scornful look, he shook his head. “You’re very naïve, Tiara. You seal yourself off in this pretty little box office, away from the big bad world and offer unrealistic solutions to idiotic clients.”
“Forget about my clients for a moment, Hunter. Tell me the first image you see when you shut your eyes.”
She saw his long lashes board up his eyes briefly before he grabbed his head with both hands and barked.
“Shut up, Tiara!”
“What did you see, Hunter?”
“You mean what did I hear? Your freaking annoying hypnotic voice!”
“Why do you think I’m hypnotizing you?”
“You speak in that monotone voice that I want to shut down. Are you a robot?”
“I’m human. The image you saw before you shook your head, was it a friend, or a foe?”
“It’s your freaking face staring at me,” he spat through taut lips.
“Sit for a moment, Hunter. You want water or soda? Coffee if you like?”
Although he did not sit down and paced around her office instead, he kept his gaze on hers. Evidently, the guy had trust issues and much more seething inside.
“Black coffee, no sugar,” he finally accepted.
After she handed him the coffee mug a short while later, he pointed to the wall unit beside her bookshelf. She set down the mug and returned to her chair.
“That upsetting image that you saw minutes ago, is it one of your kills?”
Instead of saying something, he reached for the mug and drank from the steaming coffee like it was cool beverage.
“Have you ever killed before, Tiara?”
“No.”
“What about an abortion, or two?”
The question stopped her thoughts for a heartbeat, she choked on her coffee.
“W-what?”
“You heard me, Tiara.”
After she recovered and wiped her lips, she sighed.
“Hunter, go back to that image you saw. Was it a man, or a woman?”
“A man.”
“Did he do something bad to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you hurt him?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve.”
“Then why do you think his face keeps you awake?”
“Ask him. Karma is what he got.”
“Do you think you’re getting your karma?”
“Only you can tell me, right? Isn’t that why I’m here? For you to tell me I’ve got post-traumatic-stress-syndrome, PTSD, or some other bullshit problem. Let me make you a deal. If you talk about the babies you’ve aborted so far, I’ll consider answering a few questions on your list.”
Glaring at him, she clamped her mouth shut before answering. “I’m not in therapy, Hunter.”
He abandoned his coffee and reached her side before she could blink. Grasping her wrists, he hurled her out of her chair and lifted her off her feet cushioned in black heels by pinning his palms along her shoulders so that her feet dangled in the air.
She gasped, not in fear but in shock.
Moments later, he dumped her butt on her desk with a loud clunk.
In her quiet daze, she did not hear the popping sound from one of the buttons on her cream long-sleeve silk top. Panting, she pulled down the hem of her wide waistband, single breasted, navy-blue skirt.
“You’ve just assaulted me, Hunter Chase. I don’t appreciate you putting your hands on me. It’s–”
“Are you going to cry for help like a helpless six-year-old girl? Or are you going to open up about the most traumatic experience of your life?”
“You’re out of line, Hunter!”
The Lord knows she was trying to hold her tongue.
“Are you calling me a sinister rogue?”
He was worse than a sinister rogue but she kept her opinion to herself.
“I’m saying don’t touch me while we’re in session. It’s inappropriate. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah. Can I freaking touch you after the session?”
“No. I’m your therapist. We’ve got code of ethics.”
“Haven’t you screwed around with clients on this table? Or on the rug over there, hmm? What about the sofa? Or in your bathroom?”
“Why did you show up here? To cause chaos, or to gain control over your thoughts and temper?”
Hunter gave her a dirty glance.
“See how that feels? That’s how I feel when you ask me those damn intrusive questions. It’s unsettling, right? You want me to open up about things that make me feel vulnerable while you close off your secrets behind your professional screen. How does that work, Tiara?”
She swallowed. “Look, we all get a fair share of bad measures in life. Yet, everyone deals with their life experiences in different ways. But we must never give up hope. If Erin thinks you need to visit a therapist for a period of time, she must think it’ll help you. Do this for her, Hunter.”
Right now, her throat burned with blue flames gutting her skin where he touched her.
“I must confess, you’re good, Tiara. And that’s not a compliment. Always finding a sneaky way back to asking the same dumb questions. I don’t need you. Know what I think? That’s disgusting! Is my time up?”
She glanced at the digital clock on her desk.
“Ten more minutes. Plenty of time to tell me why you think those faces hunt you in your sleep, keeping you awake at night.”
“If I knew why, I wouldn’t be here. Your job is to figure it out.”
Good. She had established a few things about Hunter Chase. Justifiably, or not, he had killed before. He suffered from nightmare flashes.
“I’m not a psychic. I work with what you tell me. In the last hundred and ten minutes, you’ve not said much except to throw verbal punches and demean my profession. Erin will be disappointed–”
Grabbing her shoulders, he shook her hard.
“If you breathe a word about this to Erin, you’ll have me to answer to, Tiara Williams.”
“Is that a threat, Hunter?”
“Only if you consider it as one. Be warned. Play by rules and I might spare you the grief.”
Gesturing at her top with his head, he grunted. “Button up! I’m not interested in the view.”
Eyeballing him, she stuck her nose in the air.
“In total, how many cruel medals do you own, Hunter?”
“Got quite a collection. So, it was you I slammed into last week? Are you expecting an apology?”
Shaking her head, she shut her eyes for a second.
“How do you do it, Hunter?”
“Do what?”
“Become stone cold human?”
By attacking his personality, she had crossed the line. No client had ever pushed her over the emotional cliff before.
“My response? How heavy is your bitch tag?”
Hunter Chase lifted his left hand, saluted her before striding out of her office like the devil was after him while she fumed for half an hour afterward.
Flashback – Run Along
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A Week Earlier
Puffing out air from his cheeks after giving his roughly slick back hair a brisk rub on his way out of Tiara’s office, Hunter Chase climbed into his 2021 silver Mercedes S-class at the parking lot on Powell Street. Feeling aggravated by his therapist, he pressed his back against the light-brown leather seat before punching the steering wheel column.
In the meantime, his first encounter with Tiara that occurred last week Thursday crashed through his head like a sandstorm. It all flashed back with a vengeful force and in great detail.
“Look where you’re going, dude!” The woman he just bumped into clutched her right her shoulder.
“What the hell! Are you blind?” Hunter railed, stiffening his neck as he pulled back his black hoodie. Lashing out at dumb idiots was what he did best.
The woman with white iPhone air pods stuck in both ears grimaced.
“Me? Blind? You slammed into me like a derailed train–”
“You’ve got a nerve, missy! You saw me jogging in this direction–” he stretched out his hand in front of him. “And you jogged toward me like you were out of your damn mind!”
“What the h-heck!” the woman sputtered, crinkling her chubby nose.
With a height of at most five-four, her jaw-dropping curves did not douse his irritation. Pressing his lips into a razor-thin line, he sneered.
“You’ve got eyes for a reason, missy!”
“Watch while you run, dude!”
Dressed in a blue adidas tank top and a 3-stripes navy tights, she had her shoulder-length black hair snapped back with a white head band. Under the sunlight, her cocoa-coloured skin glistened with sweat. Though he had never seen her before, he had sighted her power walking toward him while he had been running along the San Francisco Bay shoreline, something he did occasionally. All she had to do was give way to him, the runner.
“I ask again, are you blind or something, missy?”
Instead of giving him a reply that made sense, she slapped his face with only her dark dreamy almond-shaped eyes as she yanked out the air pods from her ears with her round fingers.
“What? Do I look blind to you, douchebag? You should be saying, I’m sorry in every language you know right now after you slammed straight at me.”
Crinkling his nose, he waved off her complaint with a head shake. He also ignored the frown on her small diamond-shaped face, her arched brows and plump arm gesturing at him. Even the air sweetened with the blend of her fragrance and sweat did not bother him. There was nothing more he wanted than to get back to his busy routine.
“When you saw me running along, why didn’t you step aside if you couldn’t handle the force?”
Gasping, the woman shook her head, turning up her make-up free face at him.
“Whoa! Such deliberate wickedness is uncommon in this area of California. Did you just jump out of the dark pit far from here, dude?”
Shrugging off her insult, he made a split-second decision. Leaning down from his lofty height of six-two, he grunted through tight lips.
“Here’s my advice. Open your eyes while you walk, and stop bumping into guys you don’t know. Your phoney attempt to get my attention is wasted on me. I’ve got other issues to grapple with, OK?”
Difficult issues she would never know about. He was way too experienced for her feminine trick to get him drooling over her eye-popping assets. Leave-me-the-heck alone poster was what he needed to paste across his own forehead.
“Oh! Really? My shoulder now hurts severely, thank you. If you want me to note you’re built like The Rock, I see you. But I don’t do guys who spend most of their lives working out and, doping on steroids so they stand out like some robotic studs!”
While the bitchy woman ranted, she had her hands resting on her hips, elbows jutting out while she moved her head as if she itched for a fight in the ring.
Apart from pulling his brows together, he tried not to flinch at the odd comparison with the actor, Dwayne Johnson who she probably thought enhanced his muscles. Some women like this one with peachy booty were straight-up dumb.
“Making assumptions is a nasty trait, I dislike especially when you’re bad at it.” He felt the need to emphasize. “I hope I never see you around again.”
“Lord, no. I thought your brand of cruelty was out-of-date and extinct. Here’s my advice, scummy douchebag. If you see me walking along again, duck and take the next exit. Step away from my path, I’ve got a schedule that won’t work out itself.”
“How did you sneak in? Bitter women have no place in a sane city.”
“And, if I’d my way, savage men would be banned from sane society. But we don’t always get what we want.”
“Run along to enjoy a good cry,” he taunted, setting his mouth in a hard line.
She gave him a lopsided grin with her plum lips turning up at the corners.
“I bet you’ve got countless gold medals for savage cruelty hanging right over your bed.”
“Yeah. I’ll hang your dull medal beside the others.”
“Disgusting douchebag!”
Snarling, he flipped his hood on, resumed running and quickly pulled the idiotic incident out of his mind.
The car horn blaring from across the street pulled Hunter out of his vivid memory recall.
“Damn it!”
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel repeatedly. The woman he had derided and treated no better than scum was now his therapist. How ironic!
