Jolted out of my torment by her misery, I frowned and asked, “What did I do now?”
The new cell phone, if she’d somehow found about it, wouldn’t trigger this much drama. And it was too soon after the fact for her to know about my breakup with Gideon.
“You told Gideon Cross about…what happened to you.” Her lower lip trembled with distress.
My head jerked back in shock. How could she know that? My God…Had she bugged my new place? My purse…? “What?”
“Don’t act clueless!”
“How do you know I told him?” My voice was a pained whisper. “We just talked last night.”
“He went to see Richard about it today.”
I tried to picture Stanton’s face during that conversation. I couldn’t imagine my stepfather taking it well. “Why would he do that?”
“He wanted to know what’s been done to prevent information leaks. And he wanted to know where Nathan is—” She sobbed. “He wanted to know everything.”
My breath hissed out between my teeth. I wasn’t sure what Gideon’s motivation was, but the possibility that he’d dumped me over Nathan and was now making sure that he was safe from scandal hurt worse than anything. I twisted in pain, my spine arching away from the seatback. I’d thought it was his past that drove a wedge between us, but it made more sense that it was mine.
For once I was grateful for my mother’s self-absorption, which kept her from seeing how devastated I was.
“He had a right to know,” I managed in a voice so raw it sounded nothing like my own. “And he has a right to try and protect himself from any blowback.”
“You’ve never told any of your other boyfriends.”
“I’ve never dated anyone who makes national headlines by sneezing, either.” I stared out the car window at the traffic that boxed us in. “Gideon Cross and Cross Industries are global news, Mother. He’s light-years away from the guys I dated in college.”
She spoke more, but I didn’t hear her. I shut down for self-protection, cutting off the reality that was suddenly too painful to be endured.
Dr. Petersen’s office was exactly as I remembered. Decorated in soothing neutrals, it was both professional and comfortable. Dr. Petersen was the same—a handsome man with gray hair and gentle, intelligent blue eyes.
He welcomed us into his office with a wide smile, commenting on how lovely my mother looked and how like her I was. He said he was happy to see me again and that I looked well, but I could tell he spoke for my mother’s benefit. He was too trained an observer to miss the raging emotions I suppressed.
“So,” he began, settling into his chair across from the sofa my mother and I sat on. “What brings you both in today?”
I told him about the way my mom had been tracking my movements via my cell phone signal and how violated I felt. Mom told him about my interest in Krav Maga and how she took it as a sign that I wasn’t feeling safe. I told him about how they’d pretty much taken over Parker’s studio, which made me feel suffocated and claustrophobic. She told him I’d betrayed her trust by divulging deeply personal matters to strangers, which made her feel naked and painfully exposed.
Through it all, Dr. Petersen listened attentively, took notes and spoke rarely, until we’d purged everything.
Once we’d quieted, he asked, “Monica, why didn’t you tell me about tracking Eva’s cell phone?”
The angle of her chin altered, a familiar defensive posture. “I didn’t see anything wrong with it. Many parents track their children through their cell phones.”
“Underage children,” I shot back. “I’m an adult. My personal time is exactly that.”
“If you were to envision yourself in her place, Monica,” Dr. Petersen interjected, “would it be possible that you might feel as she does? What if you discovered someone was monitoring your movements without your knowledge or permission?”