I’m excited for this opportunity. It’s a test, I’m sure—to see how well I’ll do here before he gives me a full caseload. I’m ready to prove, not only to him, that I can do this, but to myself, too.

The moment I step up through the back door of the main house, I’m hit with the delicious aroma of dinner. I inhale the tangy-sweet smell into my nose, and my mouth instantly begins to water.

Sue stands over the stove stirring something in a big pot as I pass by. “Wow, Sue, that smells amazing. What is it?”

She turns to me and smiles. “It’s ham covered in honey and brown sugar glaze, topped with pineapple.”

“I can’t wait to try it. I’m going to get so fat working here. I’ve never been fed this well,” I tease her.

She chuckles. “A little bit of meat on a woman has never killed anyone.”

I lean against the counter and watch as she dumps the gravy from a pot into a few serving boats sitting on a metal tray. “How long have you worked here, Sue?”

She scrapes the rest of the steamy liquid into the last boat and twists her lips. “Since it opened, which has been about ten years now.”

I step around the counter and begin helping her load the serving cart. “Any pointers you can give me? Anything I should know in order to keep my job here?”

She sets the last of the salads onto the cart. “It’s really a pretty nice place to work. Dr. Shepherd and Timothy tend to have the roughest job detoxing the clients when they first come in. The rest of us get to be more friendly with the clients—some a little too friendly, if you know what I mean.”

I laugh and the memory of first meeting with the clients pop into mind, and the handsome activities director who seemed a little too friendly with our resident pop singer. “You mean Randall?”

Sue nods. “You’ve been here one day and have already picked up on it. You’re going to do all right here, Mrs. Mead.”

“Please, call me Frannie, Sue. Mrs. Mead is my mother, and I am most definitely not married,” I say, earning a laugh from her. “Has he ever...”

I try to stop myself from digging into someone else’s business, but the beginning of my thought is already out there and there’s no taking it back.

“Messed around with a client?” Sue furrows her brow as she considers the question. “I don’t think so. He’s probably been tempted, but he knows Dr. Shepherd has a zero tolerance for fraternization with the clients. He’d surely lose his job if he did.”

“Noted. Not that I would ever have any kind of relationship with a client, though.”

Sue sighs as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel. “That’s what they all say, but I’ve seen it happen more times than I can remember. The therapist before you had an affair with a football player that we had here at the facility for a while.”

“Really? What happened?” I ask, extremely interested in where this conversion seems to be heading.

“Timothy caught them in the therapist’s office. Apparently, he walked in during a session, and she was counseling the client in more ways than one on her couch.” Sue waggles her eyebrows, and I burst out laughing.

“Remind me to never sit there.”

It’s easy for me to joke around with her and act like I would never be caught in a situation like that because it’s easier than revealing the truth about myself to someone who won’t understand. I’m an addict myself, but my drug of choice isn’t anything crushed, shot, or snorted. It’s better if I put on a facade and pretend that I’m a very conservative woman—a little prudish. It won’t make my coworkers here suspect that every moment I’m around men I’m attracted to, I’m in danger of relapsing into my old ways.

Sue steps back and appraises the cart that we’ve just loaded. “I think that’s it. Thank you for all the help.”

I dust my hands off. “Anytime. It was good chatting with you.”

I push through the door of the kitchen and make my way into the huge dining room. Every time I come in here, I think of those old movies where the mansions have humongous formal rooms, each detail of the place screaming that the owner is made of money.

Several clients mill about the room, paying no mind that I’ve even entered as they continue to talk among themselves. In the short time I’ve been here, I’ve already sort of learned the hierarchy—Josie Sullivan has to remain the center of attention at all times, while the rest of the clients take a backseat. Wayne tries to combat this by reminding her constantly of the rules he’s set in place about respecting everyone, and allowing others an equal chance to express their feelings and thoughts. Randall fawns over Josie, giving her a little extra affection when he thinks no one is looking, but I can tell he’s not in love with her or anything. I’ve noticed the way his eyes linger on me a little too long from time to time. I know guys like him. Totally hot and one hundred percent player—the kind of guy I need to steer clear of.

I make my way to the seat where I’ve been sitting for the past couple of days, to the immediate right of Wayne, who sits at the head like our leader. Before I have the chance to pull the chair out myself, it slides out for me. My gaze instantly lands on the large thick fingers wrapped around its edge, before my eyes trail up the toned, tattooed forearms of none other than Tyke Douglas. The wicked gleam in his eyes is much too appealing, taunting me to give in to his subtle advances and flirt back.