“Instead of worrying about having my license revoked,” I retort, “you should ask yourself why your daughter came to seek my help. And while you’re at it, have a good look in the mirror.”

Outrage marks her features now. “You have no idea the amount of trouble you’ll find yourself in if you don’t stop meddling in my daughter’s affairs.”

“Well, someone has to deal with her problems, since you clearly don’t! All Tegan needs is for someone to listen to her.”

Indignation turns to hurt, then switches quickly back to fury. Without another word, Medusa pivots on her heel, stomps off into her office, and slams the door shut. I follow her example and slam my own door equally loudly.

And now I feel like shit.

I swear that woman brings out the worst in me. She makes me so infuriated, I completely forget myself. Just now, I wasn’t dealing with the obnoxious witch who stole my corner office. I was talking to a patient’s parent, which required me to be calm, professional, and understanding. And I was none of those things. But worst of all, I wasn’t fair, not on any level—human or professional. I owe Medusa an apology and Tegan a real shot at perorating her cause.

So, no matter how much it sucks, I pick up the proverbial hat in my hands, grab my keys, and reopen the door I so-dramatically slammed shut not a minute ago.

In the landing, a pretty redhead in a light-blue dress and beaded sandals is being escorted into the offices of Inceptor Magazine by that nice Indian woman who welcomed me into the building on move-in day—Indira, I think her name was? Next to each other, the two women make for an odd couple. The redhead looks like she just glided off a catwalk in Milan, while Indira is in her usual all-dark grunge clothes and Converse sneakers. Their attitudes are as different as their outfits. Indira is sporting a cocksure grin, while the redhead looks like someone who just entered a madhouse and isn’t sure why. I hope they didn’t overhear my unprofessional exchange with Medusa.

The metal and glass doors of the startup close behind them, and I have no more excuses left to put off the inevitable.

I walk to Medusa’s door, take a steadying breath, and knock.

Miss Attorney comes to answer right away, and when she finds me on her doorstep, her eyes narrow.

“What do you want?” she says coldly. “Come to dispense some more of your cheap psychology?”

Steady, Luke, keep calm. Don’t fall into the trap a second time. She’s your patient’s caregiver. Treat her like you would any other parent.