The Client

1

I sat across from Nicki like I did every week. Every Thursday evening from seven to eight. She was my last client of the day, but that wasn’t the only reason I looked forward to her visit. I loved the way she crossed and uncrossed her long, smooth legs whenever we reached an uncomfortable point in the conversation. I couldn’t get enough of her thick-rimmed, fashionable glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose when she tipped her head forward. I was mesmerized—sometimes not even fully listening to what she was paying me to hear—by the dip of her neck where the collar of her blouse spread wide.

Usually, it was the other way around. Clients projecting, sometimes even reluctantly admitting to indulging in a sexual fantasy about me. I always patiently explained, my face drawn into the most solemn expression, that it was normal and logical, but that, of course, nothing could or ever would happen. In my ten years of practice, I’d never once been tempted. Until Nicki came along.

I wanted her from day one.

Today’s session was drawing to a close and I let my eyes linger briefly over the New York skyline sparkling behind her. I stifled a sigh at another hour of reveling in her presence coming to an end. Lust drummed in my veins and pooled between my legs. Every week, after Nicki left, I was a sodden mess of desire. I sat in my plush office with the shag carpet and spectacular views and tried to rationalize my way out of this inappropriate lust. I’d even considered going into therapy myself.

“Are you listening to me, Robyn?” Nicki’s voice had shot up. “You charge a bit too much to not give me your full attention.”

“I’m sorry.” My response came quickly, my heart thundering in my chest. I rested my eyes on her, hoping she wouldn’t see the turmoil rushing through my flesh. “I was distracted. Long day.”

She arched up her eyebrows in disbelief. She had every right to.