Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59849 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 299(@200wpm)___ 239(@250wpm)___ 199(@300wpm)
That was definitely not the answer that Mason was expecting. He looks at me for a second and then smiles. “Seriously?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“Why?”
“To see if he would be loyal. The woman who hired me has been dating him for the last several months and was suspicious that he wasn’t faithful, even though they said they were exclusive.”
“Did he pass the test?” He smirks, already knowing the answer.
“Hell, no. They never do.”
“Never do? So you’ve done this before?”
“Yes,” I say back, holding his gaze. “It’s, uh, something I do in addition to one-on-one sessions.”
“What kind of therapist are you?” He tips his head to the side and I hate how adorable he looks on top of being drop dead gorgeous.
“If you really want to know, I specialize in couples therapy and often continue seeing my female clients after the relationship ends. My areas of expertise are trauma and attachment styles.”
“I thought couples therapists were supposed to fix relationships.”
“Not all relationships are worth fixing and I’m not going to sugarcoat anything to my clients just to keep them coming back.”
“Interesting.”
A waitress comes over to take our order. Mason orders a beer and a basket of cheese fries for the table. I just get an iced tea.
“Look,” I begin again. “I know I might seem a little unorthodox for a couples therapist to do what I do, but I would rather have my clients find out the truth, one way or another. There’s no point in going through the heartache of session after session trying to fix a relationship that really shouldn’t have ever been started in the first place.”
He considers my words for a moment and then nods. “I like your approach, no nonsense. But back to the man at the bar.”
“Lorenzo Moretti,” I say quietly, leaning forward. “I was told his name is Matthew Baker. Obviously, he didn’t give his real name and is probably seeing a bunch of women under different guises. I saw his name on his credit card,” I add, knowing Mason will ask. “So not only was he very flirty with me and asked me out, but he has been lying to said client for months now, which will be fun to tell her.”
Mason just slowly bobs his head up and down, considering everything I just said.
“What do you know about the Moretti family?” he asks.
“Not much,” I reply. “Just that they’re rumored to be in the mafia.”
The waitress brings us our drinks and he picks up his beer, taking a long sip. “Did you turn him down?”
“Who—what, wait. You mean Enzo?”
“Yeah. Did you turn him down?”
“Not entirely.” I narrow my eyes. “Why?”
Mason smiles smugly, leaning back against the booth. “How do you feel about working with the FBI?”
Chapter
Eight
MASON
“Dude,” Diego says, shaking his head. “Are you fucking serious?”
“Yeah, I am.” I lean back and my desk chair and blow out a breath. “It’s risky but think of it, man…we get enough details on Lorenzo we could process this case wide open. We could be the ones to put the first Moretti behind bars.”
“You trust this chick?”
“Not anymore than I would trust anyone else,” I press. “But if we can use her to, at the very least, lure Enzo out into the public more than he has been or get a better feel for his personal habits, it’s worth it.”
“And you’re it has nothing to do with the fact that she looks like this?” Diego flips his phone around, screen on a picture from Mira‘s Instagram. Her whole story as a therapist who breaks up couples that shouldn’t have gotten together in the first place checks out. She has quite the social media following and it seems as if her message hits this generation differently. People—mostly women, like she said—openly appreciate her honesty and ability to save them from months or even years of heartache.
And in this particular picture she’s sitting near a pool wearing a white bikini that cups each of her round breasts perfectly. She’s in fan-fucking-tastic shape and she looks so good with a tan, with her dark hair swept up in a messy bun. She’s smiling and holding some sort of fruity drink in her hand and at least half the comments tell her how good she looks...and I don’t disagree one bit.
“Has absolutely nothing to do with the way she looks.”
Diego cocks an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that,” he uses to himself.
“Though it doesn’t hurt to work with a good looking woman, I’ll admit,” I go on. “But this is work. The number one mission is keeping her safe while getting our intelligence. She’s a therapist. She knows how to look past the bullshit.”
“All right, I’ll play,” Diego says, and we both watch one of our supervisors walk past my office. The door is closed and my blinds are open on the window that looks into the hall. What we’re doing is strictly off the books and we would be heavily reprimanded if anyone were to find out. Involving citizens typically requires a ton of paperwork, and we were already told to work with other agents on this case. But the other agents are going about things all wrong, and are only going to slow us down.