THE PERFECT CRIME

Chapter 1

IN ALL MY years as a therapist, bar was the last place on earth I expected to meet the man of my dreams. Not that it came as a big surprise to me. I wasn’t someone who went to church often, so I knew I wouldn’t meet him there. And of course, meeting him in my office would be out of line. I had a staunch policy of not dating my clients. I kept everything professional, so even if the most handsome man had come to my office for the services I rendered and had uncannily developed feelings for me, I’d have rejected him.

But a local bar wasn’t one of the places I expected to meet Bellamy Willows. I didn’t go to the bar often. On that particular day, I had no idea what I was doing there. Perhaps, I was having a bad day and decided to pass by Barrel & Bubbles.

I was sitting in the corner booth, idly scrolling my phone and drinking the beer I had ordered when he approached me.

“You look like you could use some company,” a voice had said and I glanced up from my phone screen. I found myself staring at a tall stout man with a long face, a square jawline, and a Roman nose. The truth was that I was mesmerized by his looks. He’d struck me as one of those gods from Greek mythology. Was it Zeus? Poseidon? I would settle for the latter.

He gestured to the empty seat in front of me and I gave him the go-ahead. After he slid inside, he said, “Are you alone?”

“Yes.”

He placed his jacket on the arm of the sofa and exclaimed, “Wow!”

I got the impression that he wanted to crack a joke, or he was really serious. I had no idea what wowed him.

“I’ve not seen such a beauty sitting alone at B&B before.”

I ignored his mild flirtation. He was right though. Bars weren’t my thing, and people hardly found me there. I enjoyed the solitude in my office. My little sanctuary had been my haven ever since I moved into Fort Worth. Sherry, my coworker used to pull my legs I wouldn’t find anybody if I was always stuck in my office. I’d planned to do celibacy but realized later I was influenced by my peers who’d had very bad experiences in relationships.

“This is my first time here,” I admitted.

His eyes widened. “I knew it!” He snapped his fingers. “From the moment you stepped in through that door, I knew you had to be a newbie. I know everyone at B&B.”

He was a talkative. I didn’t need my psychology degree to know that. He wasn’t the kind of distraction from work I was looking for, but I badly needed company.

“You sound like you come here often.”

He grinned. The dimples around the corners of his mouth widened and I couldn’t stop admiring his beauty.

“My house is just three blocks away.” He fingered something—probably a building outside through the glass window, but I wasn’t interested in craning my neck to look at whatever he wanted to show me.

“Do you want some?” I pushed the bucket of beer toward him.

He eyed it, and I told him to suit himself. He grabbed one, and after a long sip, he said, “I’m Bellamy”

I was reluctant to tell him who I was. I had always felt insecure telling people my name ever since that terrible experience. Do you blame me? Three months ago, the security man from the clinic where I worked broke into my house to drop off a bouquet. He’d developed feelings for and had been stalking me ever since I met him in the parking lot and told him my name. I was glad they fired him. He always creeped me out.