lynn is seated
at a desk at the far end of the room.
As we enter, he stands and walks over to join us in the
seating area. He wears black pants and a pale-blue opennecked
shirt—no tie. His bright blue eyes seem to miss
nothing.
“Christian.” He smiles amicably.
“John.” Christian shakes John’s hand. “You remember
Anastasia?”
“How could I forget? Anastasia, welcome.”
“Ana, please,” I mumble as he shakes my hand firmly.
I do love his English accent.
“Ana,” he says kindly, ushering us toward the
couches.
Christian gestures to one of them for me. I sit, trying to
look relaxed, resting my hand on the couch rest, and he
look relaxed, resting my hand on the couch rest, and he
sprawls on the other couch beside me so that we’re at
right angles to each other. A small table with a simple lamp
is between us. I note with interest a box of tissues beside
the lamp.
This isn’t what I expected. I had in my mind’s eye a
stark white room with a black leather chaise longue; my
inner goddess might ha一ve felt more at home then.
Looking relaxed and in control, Dr. Flynn takes a seat
in one of the winged chairs and picks up a leather notepad.
Christian crosses his legs, his ankle resting on his knee,
and stretches one arm along the back of the couch.
Reaching across with his other hand, he finds my hand on
the couch rest and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Christian has requested that you accompany him to
one of our sessions,” Dr. Flynn begins gently. “Just so you
know, we treat these sessions with absolute confidentiality
—”
I raise my eyebrow at Flynn, halting him mid-speech.
“Oh—um . . . I’ve signed an NDA,” I murmur,
embarrassed that he’s stopped. Both Flynn and Christian
stare at me, and Christian releases my hand.
“A non-disclosure agreement?” Dr. Flynn’s brow
furrows, and he glances quizzically at Christian.
Christian shrugs.
“You start all your relationships with women with an
NDA?” Dr. Flynn asks him.
“The contractual ones, I do.”
Dr. Flynn’s lip twitches. “You’ve had other types of
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