Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 42

The emergency session request comes at 4 PM on a Wednesday, which is the first red flag.

Derek Hollins has shown exactly zero interest in engaging with therapy. He's missed sessions, arrived late, deflected every question with personal attacks. And now, suddenly, he needs to see me urgently? Can't wait until our regular appointment?

Something's wrong.

I accept anyway. Refusing would look like I'm avoiding him, and I'm not giving anyone that narrative.

He arrives at 4:30, which is technically within the window but clearly calculated to seem eager. His body language is different today—less aggressive, more earnest. He's wearing a concerned expression like a costume he found in a closet.

"Thanks for seeing me," he says, settling into the chair. "I've been having a really hard time."

Second red flag. Derek doesn't admit to having a hard time. Derek deflects, attacks, dominates. This vulnerability is performance.

"Tell me what's been happening," I say, keeping my voice neutral.

"It's just—" He pauses, looking down at his hands. "Being on a new team. Feeling like an outsider. I think I've been taking it out on you, and I wanted to apologize for how I've acted in our sessions."

Third red flag. The apology is too smooth, too rehearsed. Real remorse is messy and uncomfortable. This is scripted.

I watch his hand drift toward his pocket. Subtle. Casual. Like he's just adjusting his position.

Fourth red flag. He's recording this.

The realization clicks into place with cold clarity. This is the bigger move I was expecting. He's going to try to get me on tape saying something that can be twisted, taken out of context, used against me. Leading questions, emotional manipulation, carefully crafted scenarios designed to make me sound unprofessional or unstable.

Cassian probably coached him. Maybe even provided the questions. I can almost hear his voice in Derek's rehearsed sincerity.

Game on.

"I appreciate you sharing that," I say, watching his face. "It takes courage to acknowledge difficult behavior patterns."

"I've been thinking a lot about why I act the way I do." He leans forward, earnest eyes locked on mine. "And I realized—I think I've been jealous. Of Nielsen and Velasco. The way they have everything figured out."

He's trying to get me to talk about Axel and Mateo. To say something personal, something that blurs the professional line.

"That sounds like an important insight," I responded. "Can you tell me more about what 'having everything figured out' means to you?"

Deflection. Keep the focus on him. Give him nothing.

A flicker of frustration crosses his face before he smooths it away. "I guess I mean—they have a home. A family. People who chose them. And I don't have that. I push people away before they can leave."

"That's a common protective mechanism. Many people develop patterns of preemptive rejection to avoid potential pain."

Textbook response. Completely neutral. Absolutely useless for his purposes.

He shifts tactics. "I think maybe I've been hard on you specifically because—well, because I heard things about you. Before I came here. And I let that affect how I treated you."

"What kind of things did you hear?"

"Just... rumors. About how you got involved with players. How you used your position."

He's waiting for me to defend myself. To say something emotional, something that could be framed as an admission or an attack.

"It's understandable that preexisting narratives might affect initial perceptions," I say evenly. "What matters is building an authentic therapeutic relationship based on our direct interactions, not secondhand information."

The frustration is clearer now. He's not getting what he needs.

"Don't you want to, like, set the record straight?" he presses. "Tell me your side of things?"

"My side of things isn't relevant to your therapeutic goals. I'm here to support your mental health and professional development, not to discuss my personal history."

"But—"

"Is there something specific happening in your life right now that prompted this emergency request? A situation or stressor you'd like to process?"

He stares at me. I stare back. The silence stretches like a wire pulled taut.

"No," he says finally, standing abruptly. "I guess not."

"Then I'll see you at our regular session Monday. Take care of yourself this week."

He leaves without another word. The door closes behind him with controlled force—not quite a slam, but close.

I wait sixty seconds to make sure he's gone. Then I pick up my phone and call Dr. Reyes.

"Carmen. I need to document something immediately, and I need a witness."

Twenty minutes later, I'm in the HR director's office with Carmen beside me, explaining what just happened. The emergency session request. The behavioral inconsistencies. The hand drifting toward the pocket. The leading questions are designed to elicit compromising statements.

"You believe he was recording the session without consent?" Miranda Chen, HR director, looks appropriately concerned. Washington is a two-party consent state. Recording someone without permission isn't just unethical—it's illegal.

"I believe he attempted to manipulate me into making statements that could be used against me professionally. Whether or not he was recording, his behavior constitutes harassment and a deliberate attempt to sabotage our therapeutic relationship."

I present my documentation. Every session, every incident, every pattern of behavior logged with timestamps and direct quotes. Two weeks of meticulous record-keeping that paints a clear picture.

"This is thorough," Miranda says, flipping through the pages.

"I anticipated escalation. I wanted to be prepared."

"Smart." She closes the folder. "I'll need to speak with Coach Williams and the legal team. Derek will be notified that he's under investigation for potential harassment and misconduct."

"I want to be clear that I'm not asking for him to be punished for seeking therapy. My concern is the pattern of targeted behavior that suggests ulterior motives."

"Understood. We'll handle this appropriately." She pauses. "Dr. Marlowe, is there any connection between Derek Hollins and your previous situation in Philadelphia? Anything that might explain why he'd be targeting you specifically?"

I consider my answer carefully. The photo. The agent. The phone records. All circumstantial, none proven.

"Nothing I can document conclusively," I say. "But I believe there may be a connection, yes."

"We'll look into it."

Walking out of HR, Carmen catches my arm. "That was well-handled. Most people would have gotten defensive, given him something to use."

"I've had practice with manipulative men. You develop instincts."

"Apparently." She squeezes my arm. "Let me know if you need anything."

I wait until I'm in my car, doors locked, with the parking garage empty around me. Then I pull out my phone and text Axel and Mateo.

Got him.

Axel responds first: What happened?

Mateo second: Did you commit a crime? Do we need a lawyer?

I smile despite everything. No crimes. Tell you at home. But Derek's the one under investigation now. Not me.

Three dots from Mateo. Then: That's my girl.

From Axel: Proud of you.

I sit with that for a moment. Let it sink in.

I start the car, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. The tension that's been living in my shoulders since Derek's first session finally begins to release.

He thought he was setting a trap. He didn't realize I saw him coming from miles away, that every step he took was being documented, that his "bigger move" was exactly what I needed to shift the power dynamic entirely.

Cassian miscalculated. Sent a blunt instrument to do precision work.

And now Derek's going to pay the price for it.