The Fixed Trilogy(Fixed on You, Found in You, Forever With You)(341)

Never in my life have I felt this way about someone.

Is it sexual? An overwhelming need to get laid? It has been a few weeks since I’ve had a woman in my bed. Maybe longer. I haven’t had the interest lately.

But now, as I study her picture and remember her assuredness, her vivaciousness, my cock stirs.

I try to convince myself that’s what my interest is—physical. Or that it’s her mind. Maybe that’s it—I’m intrigued by her ideas, her innovative way of thinking, so much so that it arouses me. Because what else can explain her effect on me?

I’m so consumed with figuring out the answer, so in need of exploring my fascination, that I called my investigator earlier in the day to look into her further. I told myself it was about business. Perhaps she didn’t show up at the meet and greet because she’d already been offered a job. If I find her, I can counter.

But I know it’s more than that because if she doesn’t accept a job, I’ll have to find another way to get close to her. I need to know if this preoccupation has staying power. It fleetingly occurs to me that the intensity of my fixation is very similar to the way I used to feel when starting a new experiment. I dismiss that notion immediately. This is different because for once I’m not interested in another person’s emotions, but rather my own.

It’s about damn time.

Though I’m not sure I like it.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I lean forward at my desk and try to erase Alayna from my thoughts. My efforts are interrupted by the buzz of my secretary. “Yes, Patricia?” Maybe it’s my investigator now.

“Your two o’clock is here. Dr. Alberts.”

“Fuck.” I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. “Fine. Thank you. Send him in.” I’ve forgotten about my appointment with Alberts, even though I’ve been seeing him regularly for over two years now. The truth is I don’t want to remember my appointment. He’s helped—I wouldn’t be able to resist the temptations that I do if it weren’t for him—but lately I’m restless. I miss the excitement of my old life. My days now are drab and endlessly the same. Perhaps it’s why I’m so intrigued with Alayna Withers. Seeing her that night, I felt something for the first time in years. For the first time since I quit playing the game.

I stand and circle my desk to greet Dr. Alberts when he walks in. Though I don’t need to, I gesture to the sitting area then take a seat on the edge of the leather couch, crossing a leg over the other. Alberts sits in the armchair as usual. This is our routine. He’ll suggest I lie down, I’ll politely decline. He’ll pull out his electronic notepad and jot notes when I answer his prompts—the same prompts he gives me week after week. How are you feeling? Are there any new life stressors? How will you deal with those? Have you had any inclinations to play?

I’m bored before he’s even begun, and I can’t bear to go through the moves yet again.

He must sense my mood—or my constant shifting gives my anxiousness away—because he varies from the ritual right away.

“What’s on your mind, Hudson?” he asks.

I run the tips of my fingers across my forehead, contemplating the answer. I could blame my anxiety on work. There is much to be concerned with there, such as the rumblings at Plexus, one of my smaller subsidiaries, where I fear I’m losing control of the board. Before the Stern symposium that was my major focus. After, Plexus is barely on my radar. How can I concentrate on silly business when I can’t get the thought of deep brown eyes and a silky confident voice out of my brain?

That’s what’s on my mind—her.

But what could I tell Alberts about Alayna Withers? About a student I saw for twenty minutes at a business school event? Talking with him is supposed to help sort out my emotions, but these emotions are too vague and unidentifiable. Too intense and strange.

Instead, I choose to mention the detail of my last few days that will interest him the most. “I saw Celia.”

“You did?” Alberts shows his alarm with only a slight raise of a gray eyebrow. “What were the circumstances of that encounter?”

“I’d like to say it was innocent. But it wasn’t entirely.” I run my hands through my hair while he waits for me to continue. “She called me. She’s been using my identity to play someone—an employee of my sister’s.” I cringe thinking about how close to home Celia’s game was with Stacy. And how I did nothing to stop it until the other night.

“Were you aware she was doing this?”

“Yes.” I answer his next question before he has the chance to ask. “No, I didn’t encourage it, but I was aware.” I stand, needing to pace as I talk. “Celia asked me to help her wrap up the game. I agreed. I told her where I’d be and when. She made the arrangements for the rest to happen.”