“I—I’m flattered that, um, you kissed me,” she continued, her cheeks burning. “But that—that can’t happen again, Logan. That was, um, inappropriate. That was not right for a therapist and client to kiss.”
Although they were discussing a serious topic, Logan could not help but grin. She was absolutely precious all nervous and apologetic, and he felt warmth in his heart just looking at her.
Sophie glanced down and murmured, “I apologize for letting that happen. I exploited my power, and therefore I think it would be best to refer you to another psychologist.”
Logan’s grin vanished. “No way! I’m not seeing another shrink. If you try to refer me to someone else, I won’t go. And then it’ll be your fault when they send me to prison.”
At first she’d looked sympathetic and guilty. Now she was angry. “That is ludicrous! I am not responsible for your choices.” Looking away, she added, “I’m only responsible for my own. And my recent choices have not been looking out for your best interests. I don’t think I can be objective when it comes to you.”
He licked his bottom lip mischievously. “And why is that, Sophie?”
She glared at him. “My ethics code dictates that I am to avoid multiple relationships,” she explained, feeling protected by the intellectual-sounding words she used. “I can’t be your therapist and your … well, someone you kiss. I can’t be both.”
He exuded pure charm. “Well, if you’re drawing a line in the sand, I’m okay with just being the someone you kiss then.”
Her intense, serious expression lightened considerably upon hearing his retort, but she soon grew pensive and sad. “The second you walked through my door as my client, the possibility of romance between us ended. That’s just the way it is. That’s what my professional ethics demand. I have no choice.”
“You said we always have a choice, remember?”
She felt stymied to have her words thrown back at her. “I mean …”
“Listen,” Logan interrupted. “I get what you’re saying about ethics, blah, blah. And I would say I’m sorry for kissing you, but really I’m not. It was an incredible kiss, babe. But I promise it won’t happen again. Just give me another chance. Don’t make me go to prison, Sophie.”
He watched her falter. His false reassurances were starting to get to her. Driving forward, capitalizing on her compassion, he added, “Here I go to the trouble of bringing you a gift today, and then you want to kick me out of here? You want to abandon me?”
Sophie looked startled. “A gift?”
“Yeah.” He smiled proudly, reaching into his jacket. Handing a thick envelope to her, he explained, “This should help you with your student loans.”
Puzzled, Sophie reluctantly accepted the envelope and gasped when she looked inside, finding crisp one-hundred-dollar bills neatly stacked together. Her voice rose shrilly. “What the hell is this?”
“It’s five grand. I wanted to thank you for trying to help my sorry ass.”
“You already pay me one-fifty for each session. I can’t accept this!”
“What’s the big deal?” he asked defensively, his face falling. He’d expected her to be grateful. They’d just robbed a nightclub—effectively eliminating the biggest competitor to Angelo’s club, as well as pulling in a boatload of cash—and he wanted her to share in his good fortune.
“The big deal?” she repeated incredulously. “It’s exactly the same thing as you kissing me. It’s a boundary violation.” She stuffed the envelope back into his unsuspecting grasp. “I can’t take this, Logan.”
His prominent brow furrowed. This was not going as expected. People did not usually say no to him.
“Where did this money come from?” Sophie asked, not sure she really wanted to know.
“We got a consulting contract,” Logan lied. A few sessions back he’d finally answered her repeated questions about what he, his uncle, and his cousin did for a living. His initial responses of “run the family business” had not satisfied her. He’d told her his family owned a consulting business, figuring nobody knew what the fuck consultants did anyway. “Consultant” was an excellent cover for organized crime. After all, he would often demand that drug dealers or other thugs on the payroll “consult” with his fist if they didn’t stay in line.
Continuing to stare at him, her expression a mixture of anger, compassion, and uncertainty, Sophie had no idea what to say.
“Look, sorry I tried to do something nice for you, okay? I won’t do it ever again. Can we just forget this and move on?” Returning the envelope to his jacket, he began massaging his temples. “Um, could I get that cup of coffee you offered me before?”
She gave him a look of sympathy. “Caffeine headache?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
Sophie frowned. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful,” she said, her voice softening. “It was sweet of you to try to help me. It’s just that this relationship has to have rules to make it work, okay? I can’t be an effective therapist if I’m your friend or lover.”
He stared at the floor, his rough hands moving from his temples to rub his scalp, appearing deep in thought.
“I’ll go get us some coffee,” she said.
Once she was gone, Logan took the envelope back out of his jacket and turned it over and over in his hands. He did not have a safe place to keep cash like this. He could hardly deposit the dirty money in a bank, and stashing it at his apartment was unwise as well since his cousin Carlo had a tendency to make unexpected visits. If he kept the cash on him, it would just be a matter of time before he gambled it away. Sophie believed he was making zero progress on his gambling addiction, but he really was trying to cut back. He didn’t want to disappoint her.
Hearing her footsteps outside the door, Logan swiftly stuffed the envelope underneath the sofa. It was the best hiding place he could think of. When she entered the office, he suppressed a grin. She’d accepted his gift after all.
Logan’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket, shaking him back to the warm beach. Seeing Restricted on the caller ID, he cautiously answered, “Yeah?”
“It’s me,” Angelo Barberi informed him.
Logan exhaled slowly. “Godfather.”
“How ya doin’? You outside or somethin’?”
“Yeah, I’m at the beach. How you been?”
“Ah, same old, same old. Business hasn’t been great.”
Logan closed his eyes. For the past year, his uncle had been moaning about running the business without him, his right-hand man. The complaints and dropped hints had become louder of late, and Logan suspected he knew the nature of this call. Angelo wanted his godson to return to Chicago and resume his rightful place as heir to a Mafia throne.
“Sorry to hear that,” Logan responded. “How’s the heat in Chicago these days?”
“Caldo. Our police contact confirmed that you are still very much a wanted man.”
Logan exhaled. He had nobody to blame but himself for the police heat. They’d discovered too late that the Chicago PD had tapped family bodyguard Anthony Tanketti’s phone. Logan could still remember the conversation that had likely led the cops to Sophie: