Author(s): B. B. Easton

Adult & Contemporary Romance

I am so close to becoming a full-fledged psychologist I can taste it. PhD? Check. Mountain of student loan debt? Check. Prestigious fellowship position providing therapy to pompous millionaires and C-list celebrities whose pumpkin spice lattes cost more than my shoes and make excellent projectiles during their reality TV-worthy tantrums? Check, circle, and underline. But a letter of recommendation from my supervisor? That's going to take a miracle. Not only because she said I have to cure our most prized client's writer's block in time for him to meet his insane deadline, but because that client just so happens to be?Thomas @#$%ing O'Reardon. Yeah. The wickedly brilliant, achingly beautiful, devastatingly British bestselling author whose psychological thrillers line my bookshelf at home and whose face I may or may not picture while I?you get the point. Sitting in a confined space with him, breathing in his cologne, gazing into his broody blue eyes while trying to remember to nod and listen and come up with suggestions that don't involve us taking our clothes off?it's torture. So when Thomas casually asks me out at the end of a therapy session, I can't say no. Of course, I can't say yes, either. So instead, I suggest the only non-date thing I can think of that would allow me to still see this man after work: Group therapy.The only problem? I don't actually know how to do group therapy. Also, none of my friends, whom I coerce into helping me, know what they're doing either. And, side-problem, my clients are heathens. But what's the worst that could happen? I mean, it's not like I'm going to lose total control of the group and let it devolve into some kind of violent, chaotic fight club because I'm so focused on Thomas and have no idea what I'm doing. Right? It'll be fine.