Rolling down the window, Olivia gave Chase her best authoritarian glare. “Get in. Now.”

“Fuck you,” Chase said, looking right and then left, almost on cue.

“Not interested. We are client and therapist. I don’t cross those lines.”

The space between Chase’s baby blues formed a V. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Olivia inhaled and exhaled, trying for calm. “You said—”

“Look, I’m not . . . what I meant was I’m not coming with you. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. I’m getting out of here.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re going either to a room at Cedar Point or a jail cell.”

Chase narrowed her eyes and said nothing.

Olivia schooled her features into something half-sympathetic and half-irritated. “If you don’t get in this car, I’ll call your parole officer, and you’ll be in violation of your probation. You’ll have to take those attractive sweats off and trade them for an orange jumpsuit. They won’t put you in holding this time. You’ll go straight to county lockup. Then you can yell the same obscenity at your new roommate, see how that goes. I’m sure they get prison cred for showing soft blonde actresses how it’s done on the inside. Of course, I’ve only watched Orange Is the New Black. I’ve not actually had the experience.”

“Fuck you.”

Olivia sighed. “You need to work on more expressive vocabulary.”

Chase glared at her before looking down at her phone, lips pressed into a tight line, nostrils flaring. If irritation had a stance, hers would have won an Academy Award. Fitting for a talented actress, even one as messed up as Chase London.

“So what will it be? You want to get in the car? Or you want me to call the police?”

A woman exited the diner, carrying a takeout box and a toddler on her hip. She glanced first at Olivia’s car, her eyes sliding appreciatively over the glossy new Volvo, before looking over at Chase. The woman must have had a gift for reading body language, because her face creased with concern. “Everything okay here?”

Most Californians didn’t stick their noses in situations that didn’t concern them, but this woman had a thick midwestern accent. And in Olivia’s experience, many midwesterners considered everyone a friend and thus were often helpful even when the situation didn’t call for it.

“Everything’s fine, ma’am,” Olivia said, keeping her voice level and moderate in tone.

“No, it’s not fine.” Chase jabbed a finger at Olivia. “She’s trying to make me get in the car with her.”

“You signed the paperwork, Chase,” Olivia said, glancing in the rearview mirror at movement behind her. Someone approached. More well-intentioned people coming to the rescue of the “helpless” young blonde.

“Oh my God, are you joking me?” The nosy woman’s mouth fell open in shock. Olivia put the car into park. This wasn’t going to be easy. She had a sneaking suspicion that nothing was easy when it came to Chase.