Stephen softly.
“No. I don’t know.”
“How long before you have to give the ridiculous sub back to Richard?”
“Hey,” I said.
Stephen gave a deep sigh. “Go and take Bronte into the garden, Mia. The door’s through there.” He pointed to the kitchen.
“I can’t stay?”
“Cameron and I need to talk.”
“Does he know about Lance?” I got up from the couch.
“We’re going to talk about that too,” said Cameron.
“Shouldn’t I stay for that? Considering it’s me Lance wants.”
Stephen steepled his fingers. “Quite the Cleopatra, aren’t you, Mia?”
“What does that mean?”
“You have many admirers and they’re all willing to lay down their lives for you,” said Cameron.
“There aren’t any asps in your garden, are there?” I said, heading into the kitchen.
“Go with her, Bronte,” said Stephen. “Guard our queen.”
Bronte followed me out.
The door closed behind us, and despite my attempt to listen in to their conversation, this old thick wood prevented it. These thick walls kept their heat in and eavesdroppers like me away.
The chill of the early morning hit me when I opened the back door.
The garden was long and thin and very green. Several small trees, naked of flowers, lined the end, and it made me wonder if they were rose bushes. There, in the corner, lay a tennis ball. Trotting over to it, followed by Bronte, I picked it up and threw it to the other end of the garden. Bronte bolted after it.
We played ball like that for what seemed ages, Bronte and I whiling away the time, and I almost forgot all the seriousness that had followed me here.
Despite the chill, the air was refreshing, and running around kept me warm. Although I felt I could go back into the house at any time, I liked it that Cameron had someone to talk to. Dr. Finely was easily Cameron’s equal.
After twenty minutes, though it could have been longer, Cameron appeared in the doorway and headed on over to me. He patted his arms dramatically at the cold and then picked up the tennis ball and threw it. Bronte scampered after it and quickly brought it back to him. Cameron’s grin broadened as he threw the ball another time for an overly excited Bronte.
“Well you’ve won over Dr. Finley,” he said. “No surprise there.”
“It was very enlightening,” I said, arching a brow.
“It wasn’t my intention for you to hear all that,” he said. “Finley goes right for the psychological jugular. As you’ve discovered.”
“So when’s my session?” I said.
“He doesn’t believe it’s necessary.”
Bronte nudged my fingers with his nose. I eased the ball from his teeth and threw it across the garden again.
I turned to Cameron. “Are you leaving me alone with Shay again?”
Doubt flashed across his face. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, good. We have what looks like a plan,” he said. “I hope you’re open to it.”
I gave a nod I was ready to hear it.
Cameron turned to face the house. “Dr. Finley believes that you and I have created a co-perfect ideal about each other. Having spent such little time together in what would be considered a normal situation, we’ve built up an unrealistic ideal.”
“So what you’re essentially saying is that you’re not perfect?”
“And the probability of you really being this flawless is unrealistic,” said Cameron. “Apparently.”
“So what’s the plan?”
Cameron watched Bronte running around with the ball still between his teeth. “Finley believes we can kill two birds with one stone.”
“How?”
“Well, he surmises that hiding from Lance is a mistake. It makes us look weak. Feeds into Lance’s power complex.”
“So we can come out of hiding?” I said.
“Yes. With Shay’s approval, of course.”
“I hope he agrees.”
“He will,” said Cameron. “Finley also recommends that you and I spend intensive time together. Get to know each other better. That way I’ll inevitably grow tired of