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point, Mrs. Ingram?”
    â€œI can smell the stench of the ghetto on you almost as much as I can see the desperation that makes you pretend otherwise . . . just like me thirty years ago.”
    Her words make me feel angry . . . and exposed.
    â€œYou just need a little guidance and I’m in the mood for a pet project.”
    A pet project?
    â€œExcuse me, Mrs. Ingram?”
    She leans forward and taps my brow with a perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t frown dear, it brings on wrinkles early,” she advised with a haughty tone.
    I am a grown-ass woman. I have taken care of myself since I was eighteen years old and aged out of the foster care system. So why did I immediately follow her direction and quickly remove my frown?
    â€œI’ve just added your name to the list of invitees to a charity gala my husband and I are having at the Waldorf-Astoria’s Grand Ballroom next Friday. It’s black tie of course. Don’t worry about the thousand-dollar ticket price.” She tucked her silk clutch under her arm. “I’m sure a girl like you has something appropriate to wear or knows how to get your clever little hands on something.”
    She turned and walked towards the elevator as if she is on a high fashion runway.
    I jump to my feet. “How do you know I even want to go?” I ask, with a boldness I do not regret.
    The door to the private elevator glides open and she steps on and then turns dramatically in the center. “Please. You’d gnaw off your right arm to be there. Toodles.”
    The door glides close and shuts her off from my view.
    I want to be that bitch and she knows it.

Chapter Six
    Alizé
    â€œH ow wrong would I be to fuck my therapist?”
    That thought makes my face shape into an odd expression. Okay, so now I know this dick sabbatical is running me straight crazy. Fuck Dr. Locke’s fifty-something-year-old ass? That was Moët’s M.O., not mine.
    Not that he’s not nice looking . . . for his age. Tall, broad shoulders, bald head, and silver goatee. Glasses that sat on . . . strong cheekbones above a nice, kissable mouth—
    I shake my head to clear it of the image of me licking Dr. Locke’s lips as I ride him. I need some dick. Point blank.
    Maybe it’s time to call it quits on the celibacy and call my exsideline ho Tyrone. Now he had a dick out of this world.
    â€œMonica?”
    I shift my eyes up from Dr. Locke’s crotch to his face. “Yes.”
    He crosses his legs where he sits across from me in a leather club chair. He looks at me long and hard behind his slightly tinted glasses. He jotted something down onto the notepad he held. “What are you thinking?”
    â€œThat celibacy sucks,” I answer without a bit of hesitation. After months of bi-weekly sessions, I don’t have time for bullshitting.
    He nods his head as he continues scribbling my business. “Was it seeing Cameron recently that brought you to that conclusion?” he asks in that calm almost monotone voice.
    â€œI want more from Cameron than sex . . . but the more I see him around the office the more I want to tear his clothes off and . . . well, you know.”
    Dr. Locke looks up at me over the rim of his glasses. “Yes, I think I have the idea.”
    I just shrug as I look around at his Maplewood offices. Everything about him from his voice to the décor of this place to his loafers is so . . . ordinary. “Does anything excite you, Dr. Locke?” I ask.
    He gives me another long look before he turns the page in his notepad. I grimace to think that I have so many issues—after months of therapy—that one damn page ain’t enough.
    â€œWe can talk about me or delve into yet another broken relationship you’re facing.”
    I frown and my brows furrow together as I nod. “It’s weird to think about facing Rah in court today. It will be the first time I’ve seen him since . . . since