MADISON

Today has been a little different compared to the past few days.

Besides my stepbrother's issues, everything else has been smooth.

I've had some clients at work that my supervisors think to match my current studies as I work through my training, and I surprisingly aced the test we took last week, even though I was going through hell when I wrote it. I know, right? I'm a genius.

Okay, back to the present.

It's almost nine at night, and the sky is dark; you can barely find a star. Most of the workers have closed for the day, but I haven't, since I have a late evening appointment with a client who happens to be a famous basketball player from the state and Reagan believed I could handle his session.

Although I'm not alone, lucky me, my friend Asher is keeping me company and staying around during Bryan Tatum's session. Yes, it's all about fanboying.

Bryan Tatum is a very famous young man, having everything most men would wish for: money, fame, power, and good looks. He can make a woman swoon with just a look, scratch that, he can make men swoon too. Right now, during our session, there are security personnel all around the building, just in case there's any disturbance.

This leaves me wondering why Bryan Tatum chose an amateur psychologist like me for an appointment when he's well aware on my experience. I mean, there's Reagan, the best therapist in town, so why me?

I know I've been a little obsessive and overexcited, but can you blame me? He's so incredibly cute, towering over me, and he's got the most attractive smile and a physique perfectly suited for his profession.

The funny part is, I had no idea he was the person I was meeting today because he used a fake name to conceal his identity. So, when he walked into my office, my breath caught in my throat, and I froze. For a moment, the roles were reversed, and he ended up becoming the therapist, while I was the patient, able to only blink as he guided me back to my seat.

"I don't know, maybe we should reschedule this meeting for another time," he suggested when I couldn't compose myself.

"No, umm... No, no! Ahh, I'm all ears," I grinned, my expression undoubtedly awkward.

His smile was lopsided. Damn, his teeth were paper white and shone like crystal.

"Okay, uhm," he began, rubbing his hand over his clothed thighs. Maybe I was making him uncomfortable, or maybe what he was about to confess was making him uneasy. Either way, he looked quite nervous, which led me to contemplate why there's always an attractiveness in nervous men. "I received an offer, a generous one, actually. I think I'd like it, but it's hard to choose because where I currently am, it's difficult to detach, you know."

My eyes widened, and without thinking, I exclaimed, "Are you quitting your team? Oh my God! I can't believe you'd leave just like that. Everyone in this state looks up to your games. And now you're leaving us? I should have known better. You're such a disappointment."

I was panting by the time I finished, and Bryan's eyes narrowed at me, his lip curling up. Believe me, it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

So, I forced a smile, a very awkward one, and amended my statement, "That's what a fan would say, but since I'm not your fan, I'll tell you the truth."

Knowing I couldn't escape from this moment, I cleared my throat, appearing attentive. Hopefully, when Reagan listens to the recordings she will let it slide.

A smile tugged at his lips before he folded them between his teeth. He briefly dropped his eyes to the floor and then back at me.

Yes, I know, I just humiliated myself. Must he rub it in my face? He shouldn't be surprised I'm a fan; it's California, for God's sake. Everyone is a fan of something.

"Do you genuinely like where you are?" I asked, this time more seriously.

"I think a new place would be better."

"Then you should go for what you really want." It's funny how I offer advice I could never follow myself. If I truly went for what I wanted, a lot of things would've been different.

"That's the problem, my current team wouldn't just let me leave like that. They're possessive. It feels like..."

"They're everywhere," I interjected.

"Exactly." He agreed with a slight nod, his gaze quizzical and impressed, but he locked eyes with me as he continued, "Sometimes I feel so confined, it's very difficult. They decide what I do and with whom I do it. Sometimes it feels like they care, but other times it's like they're acting out of selfish reasons."

Welcome to my life.

"Bryan, I understand," I softly replied, knowing that's exactly how I feel inside.

"You do?" His eyes widened, hope evident in them.

I nodded slightly from behind the desk, saying, "Yes."

"Really?" He persisted, his gaze remaining connected.

"Uhm, yes. I mean, I'm a psychology student," I answered.

Interest dominated his expression, and he responded, "You're a student?"

"Yes, I'm a freshman."

"Let me guess. Stanford University?" He smiled slightly, his voice as soft as butter, sweet like candy. He didn't mind confiding in a first-year student.

"It's the closest around here."

His eyebrows arched. "So you're from here?" He inquired.

"No, New York," I calmly replied.

"A New Yorker? Wow! How come you don't have that accent?" He quipped, finally breaking our gaze.

I chuckled and shook my head, saying, "Well, I, uhm... I spent most of my life indoors." I smiled.

"Strict parents?" He assumed.

Uhm, not really. Asshole Caden. But I didn't say that, so I went with, "Actually, a bully stepbrother." Is that a little better? I don't think so.

"Okay, that's something," he said, scrunching his nose, his eyes shrinking.

I offered a small smile. "Yes."

"I understand," he returned with a soft smile.

"You do?" I borrowed his line.

He whispered, "Yes," his gaze intensifying.

"Really?" I mumbled.

"Really."

But, of course, my life is cursed, and my happiness is cursed. Everything considered fun is a curse for me. Just as I'm about to respond, my designated mule of a stepbrother decides to interfere.

"Holla..." He begins as he walks in, but then he switches to his usual asshole mode when he spots Bryan. "What the fuck are you doing here at this time? When every employee in America should be resting, you're still working."

In one short sentence, he looks like he just stepped out of a UFC fight. His nose is bleeding, his lip is busted, his eyebrow is wounded, and there may be more injuries I can't see right now.

What the fuck happened to him?

Behind him stood some burly men in black suits with stern expressions, surely Bryan Tatum's bodyguards. They appeared rather frustrated, likely having struggled to prevent Caden from barging in - but he managed it anyway. That's just how much of a pain in the ass he is.

As Bryan's eyes scrutinized Caden, he inquired, "Him?"

"Yup. He's the bully stepbrother I mentioned."

Bryan rose from his seat, extending his hand in a mature handshake. "Hey, man."

However, maturity and Caden don't coexist in the same sentence. "And who are you?" The douchebag's hazel eyes scanned the famous basketball player with disdain.

"Really, Caden? You don't know him? California's favorite son." Perhaps I said that to provoke him even more.

From the doorway, Asher shot me an apologetic glance. He needn't have bothered; I'm well aware of how difficult Caden can be.

Bryan's face flushed, and he remarked, "Hmm, that's a bit excessive to describe an amateur basketball player."

"You heard him, amateur." Caden's lips curled, his gaze sweeping up and down Bryan.

I stood up and sternly asked, "What are you doing here, Caden? And why do you have blood all over you?" My lips pressed into a thin line.

"I'm here to get you home. It's late." He sniffed and swallowed, his jaws tightening aggressively.

What the actual fuck?

He couldn't mean what he's saying. There's no way I'm buying that the guy who's been nothing but hurtful to me recently suddenly cares about my safety. Unless you're telling me he's up for another prank, I might consider it.

"I'm not going home now; I'm in the middle of a meeting. Please stay outside."

"Hell no!" He thundered. "I'm not leaving you alone with some abnormally heightened human in a tiny shirt." Once again, he shot that scornful side glance at Bryan.

"I'm sorry for his attitude; he's always like this." I felt the need to apologize.

"No offense taken." Bryan raised his hands, a smile tugging at his lips.

"We're going home," Caden declared, gathering my belongings as if he owned them.

What's his problem? He gets into a fight and loses, so he decides to take out his bad mood on me? No way. He doesn't get to barge into my office and boss me around like that.

"Caden, get out." I practically yelled, and he stopped, turning to face me. His expression was so dark that it began to frighten me.

"I might leave, but know that you'll be receiving a call from home and be treated just as equally. Or you could come with me, and I might reconsider telling Martha you literally took advantage of m..."

Tense and fearful, I interrupted loudly: "Fine."

A smirk appeared on his battered lips. "Fine, what?" He taunted.

Dickhead.

"I'm leaving." I clarified irritably and grabbed my bag.

My sudden decision baffled Bryan, and he responded, "Really?"

Mentally screwing my eyes shut, I let out a scream before continuing, "I'm sorry, Bryan. I'll schedule a session for you with a more experienced therapist. She's a professional. I'm just a student."

"Good night, Madison," he simply said.

He knows my name?

"Good luck, Bryan." I smiled faintly and walked out of the office.

My shoes slapped against the floor as I moved ahead of Caden, not bothering to glance back.

"It's sad that you're trying so hard to bed everyone. You know, I thought you could do better than that," I heard him call as we stepped out into the open air.

"You're so rude," I spat and continued toward my bicycle, parked right next to Caden's vehicle.

"Get in the car." Oh, he's ordering me as if I'd just abandon my bicycle here.

"I'll cycle," I informed, unlocking the chain.

"You really like to be stubborn, huh?"

Is that what he thinks? No! Right now, I'm just trying to catch my breath.

"I'm just saying, I'm not leaving my bicycle here in an empty lot, Caden." I hopped onto my ride and slung the strap of my backpack over my shoulders.

"The hell do I care? Just get in the car."

Keep dreaming.

"I'm not leaving my ride here." I reversed and placed my foot on the pedal, getting ready to move.

"You call that a ride?" He scoffed.

Alright, I know I should let it go, but it's unbearable. So, I stood between my bike and threw back a retort I could muster: "What should I call it then? A stupid, meddlesome stepbrother who can't mind his own business? Or maybe I should call it a stepbrother whose life is so dull that he ruins things for his stepsister just to have a bit of fun? What is it, Caden? Remember, you worked miracles and got me to fail all my driving tests." I finished with disdain.

"Is that what you think?" He asked, seeming oddly affected by my words.

"It's among the many things I think of you," I spat and began to cycle, but he grabbed the saddle, preventing me from moving.

"I won't ask you again. Get in the car." This time, he was seething.

"And what if I don't?" I objected defiantly, locking eyes with him challengingly.

"Fine. At least I've given you an option."

Before I could comprehend his intention, he bent down and wrapped his arm around my hips, hoisting me over his shoulder.

Asshole.

I heard my bicycle hit the concrete, and all I could wish for was its safety.

"Put me down!" I struggled, kicked, and protested. "I'm not joking, Caden!" I sputtered angrily.

There was noise from a certain direction, and my eyes followed it. They landed on Bryan and his entourage, appearing quite intrigued. "Oh, shit," I muttered, lowering my face and taking cover behind my dangling hair.

What a splendid impression I've made. So much for a great college life.