Love Ignited (Hollywood Series Book 2) Read online

  love

  ignited

  Avery Michaels

  Copyright © 2016 Coastal Escape Publishing

  All rights reserved.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or use fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  Published by Coastal Escape Publishing

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  Acknowledgement

  I would like to first thank you for reading. Without you, I would still just be writing for fun. I truly appreciate every moment you took out of your day to read my book and I hope you come back for more. Thank you, sincerely.

  As always, I want to thank my family for putting up with the hours I locked myself in the bedroom to write. I love y’all and wouldn’t know what to do without you guys. Nicholas, Aunt Linda & Unc John, GeeGee, Nana, thanks for helping with my mini me so I could work. Heather, I really appreciate you and all that you do.

  Special gratitude to Doctor Rachel Nelson whose dedication to animals is an inspiration to an entire community. The dog in this story is based on my late dog, Cash, aka, “lovey bubby”. He was a fierce beast yet a loyal companion to his family. Doc Rach, you will never know what your love for our pets means to our family. In fact, you are family to us.

  My fab five: Should I say it again? You’re all the best.

  Khalila, thank you for believing in me so much. You were the very first person to buy my first book. The first dollar I ever made from writing came from you and I can’t say thank you enough.

  Thanks to all the girls of The Looney Bin. Jenn, Amy Lynn, Christina, Hannah, KLM, Libby, Alicia, Christy, and Sarah boo. I love all of you amazing women!

  A special shout out to Tomi Warnick for walking me through this process. I really could not have done this without you, Devin and Ilse. I also appreciate all the advice from author, Kate Allenton whose expertise and imagination have been invaluable.

  Thanks again to Coastal Escape Publishing.

  Kathy, Rick, Elizabeth, Alex and Ashton, thanks.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  Chapter 1

  Blah, blah, blah. My newest client droned on. Ms. Vines may as well have been Charlie Brown’s schoolteacher.

  “Yes, Ms. Vines, I’m listening.” Technically.

  “I don’t understand.” She stomped her foot childishly. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I’m clean!”

  “The fact that you don’t understand is the issue. You’ve been here for two months, correct?”

  “Sixty-two days.”

  “Out of those sixty-two days, you’ve had as many sessions. In how many of those sessions have you brought up your parents?”

  “I don’t know, maybe half?”

  “Forty-nine. The other thirteen days were spent blaming a friend or acquaintance for your drug and alcohol addiction. You haven’t owned your behavior.”

  “I shouldn’t have to. If it weren’t for my dad stealing my money, and my mom screwing my manager, I wouldn’t have turned to drugs,” she whined

  “Mmm hmm,” I hummed. I closed my pad and stood, straightening my skirt. “Same time tomorrow then.”

  “Dr. Lindsey, I have to get back.” She pleaded. “I can’t stay here. I have a career!”

  “So do I. The judge ordered ninety days of rehab and therapy, so you’ll get ninety days…at least.”

  “What do you mean ‘at least’?”

  “Ms. Vines, was a document not delivered to you a few days ago?”

  “Ah, yeah,” she said breaking eye contact.

  “You signed it. I know because I got a copy of it. Did you not read the document?”

  “Well…”

  I rubbed my brow to mask my eye roll. “Should I read it to you, or would you like a summary?” Mimi didn’t respond. “Every patient that comes here gets a minimum of ninety days of therapy. If you are ready to leave after ninety, I will send you packing. If I don’t feel you’re ready to leave, then you will stay until this program works for you. However long that may be.”

  “You can’t do that,” she yelled. “I have rights!”

  “You do have rights. You aren’t a hostage. You can leave whenever you like. However, if you leave without my consent, you’ll go to jail. The judge tends to uphold my recommendations. But it’s not as if I’m holding you hostage. You’re an adult.” Barely. “You’re free to make your own choices.”

  “What kind of choice is that?” she shrieked.

  “It doesn’t matter; it’s a choice. Stop playing the victim, Ms. Vines. You are only the victim of your own choices. After all, your choices led you here.”

  She let out an exasperated growl.

  “Also, Mrs. Faulkner is not your maid. Clean up your own—”

  “She is the maid,” she interrupted with that shrilling tone that was driving me mad.

  “She’s not your maid. As I was saying, clean up after yourself, or I will deliver you to prison myself. Have a nice lunch,” I told her while ushering her out of my office. “And don’t forget to work on the cleansing room. I will be checking in on you.”

  It was all I could do not to slam my office door behind me as I walked out into the hallway behind her. Teenagers! I couldn’t get this eighteen-year-old prima donna out of here fast enough. She had absolutely no respect for anyone, and forget accountability. As far as she was concerned, her parents had pushed the cocaine up her nose and lit the fire that burned down half of a city block.

  I knew with certainty that it would be a while before I took on another teenager as a patient. I preferred working with adults, but it seemed adolescent addiction was all the rage in Hollywood these days.

  My heels echoed off of the white marble that made up the cleansing area. I had chosen the white marble walls and floors to symbolize the effort it took to stay free of addiction. Just like the pristine marble encasing of the room, one’s addiction must be tended to daily if it were to remain clean.

  Each person who came to stay with me got to experience the outward effort of cleaning this room. The task was a conditioning of sorts. They learned to cleanse outwardly here so they were conditioned to clean inwardly after they left.

  Most of the people who came here had never known a day of hard work in their lives. It usually took weeks to convince them to even participate in the program before any progress could begin.

  Ms. Faulkner, a kind but stern woman in her mid-fifties, was my attendant and dearest friend.
She met me as I was walking down the hallway. “Did you see the write-up about your article in The Times?” she asked, handing me the paper.

  I took it, even though I had already seen it. “Yes. I saw it.”

  I had written an article about my methods, which had been published in an online psychiatric journal for professionals. My peers got together and blasted me for it in The Times.

  “Ella, you are doing great things here. Don’t let anyone tell you different. Your work speaks for itself.” I nodded. The world would never know how successful I had been, but I knew.

  My methods were widely criticized by my peers, to say the least. Mocked would be a more accurate description. I had a one hundred percent success rate. I was the only one in my field who could say that. Let them criticize and mock all they liked. Their patients returned to them time and time again while mine left here renewed. Besides the occasional thank-you card, I never saw my patients again after they left. I didn’t need to. They didn’t leave here until they could cope with the real world. No matter how long that took.

  Each sentence usually started at ninety days. That was the jumping off point. I understood that; the judges mandated that; even the patients’ attorneys got the concept, but for some reason, the patients hardly ever did.

  I always gave them the ninety-day minimum mandate in writing when they arrived. They got it again after the first four weeks and again at the sixty-day mark just to make sure they were good and sober when they read it. Even with all of that preparation, almost every single patient who had required longer than a ninety-day stay had become momentarily unglued. But most of them did require longer. A time limit could not be put on recovery.

  Upon entering and leaving my facility, each patient was required to sign a mutual confidentiality agreement. They were all eager to do so to protect their own images. I let them think it was for them, but it was my identity that I was really protecting.

  After I’d made sure Ms. Vines had tended to the cleansing room, I headed back to the front entrance. As I exited the treatment building, I climbed into my golf cart and headed east across the property. It was a beautiful day here at Vestige Estate. I had grown up in Louisiana but moved here to Mission Hills, Georgia, after college to open my own facility.

  I glanced at the west pool as I rode through. It should be ready any day. Of all the amenities my property offered, my private pool and the stables were the only ones I took advantage of.

  I pulled to a stop in front of the stables to pick up Ivan. He was waiting for me by the door, eager to get back to the house. Ivan was 125 pounds of English Mastiff. I think he liked the stables because he could see everything from there. It was centrally located.

  He hopped in the cart and climbed up on the bench seat beside me.

  “How was your morning?”

  He barked in response.

  “Ugh, mine too. Are you ready for lunch?”

  Two barks.

  I clicked the brake pedal to release and we were off through the golf course toward the residential side of the property.

  “Welcome home, Ella,” the computer-generated voice said as I finished punching in the code to open the gates to my private portion of the property.

  My house was much different than the treatment center. While the gates surrounding the acre or so of residential property suggested it to be fancy, it was nothing of the sort.

  I was just nineteen when I had designed the plantation-style home. Of course, I’d thought it would be in Louisiana. I envisioned having a huge family here, growing old here, holding barbecues with my grandchildren here. Yet, here I was, just Ivan and me.

  The house boasted six bedrooms, four and a half baths, a sun room, a living room, den, dining room, tea room, and a huge wrap-around porch on both levels, complete with a front porch swing. Each bedroom opened onto the porch. The master suite opened onto the back of the house overlooking the pool. It was truly a work of southern art.

  While it did seem a tad ostentatious and indulgent to have my own private pool, I couldn’t help myself. It was my own private serenity. No one else came here but me.

  I walked into the house, Ivan at my side, and went immediately to my office. I found four new faxes from just this morning. I grabbed them and headed off to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich.

  Ivan lazed beside me on the floor while I sat at the kitchen table eating and flipping through the reports from the fax machine. I didn’t know why I did this every day; I took on only one patient at a time, yet I still couldn’t help but look over the offers presented.

  I just glanced at the first two…teenage girls, one only sixteen. No thanks. Of the others, one caught my eye. Nathan Bradley.

  This was the third time I had received a request for Mr. Bradley. Against my better judgment, I’d even flown out to LA to observe him in court the second time, but left without speaking with his attorney.

  I stared at the mug shot photo of the former teen heartthrob, my sandwich forgotten. Attached was a letter from the judge:

  Dr. Lindsey,

  I’m reaching out to you with regards to Mr. Nathan Bradley. As I understand it, you have turned down his case numerous times. This time, I hope you will reconsider.

  Mr. Bradley is facing serious jail time for his repeated drug abuse and subsequent behavior. I have sent him to two separate rehabilitation facilities to no avail. As much as I hate to admit it, I feel morally obligated to help this man. I believe he is deserving of our help. Because of his past, I believe that he, unlike most of the celebrities that come through my courtroom, has deep-seated issues. I find myself conflicted. I’m of the opinion that he could benefit from the therapy and rehab you provide at your facility. I think jail for him would be a death sentence.

  Unfortunately, I find myself backed into a legal corner. This is a last-ditch effort to save Mr. Bradley from himself. If you will accept him, I will release him into your custody. Otherwise, he will be remanded into custody and serve a full ten-year sentence.

  On a personal note, Ella, I know you can help this man. I’ve seen you work miracles. I understand if you decline, that is your right, but I beg you to reconsider taking him on as a patient.

  If you do, I will impose a ninety-day sentence at your facility, left up to your discretion, of course, and we will go from there. His attorney is fully on board. Please respond within the next week, as that is when his sentencing hearing is scheduled.

  Thank you for your time,

  Judge Richard Macon

  I read the letter again. Judge Macon had been a good friend of my dad’s. He was one of the good guys. He always tried to see the best in people, even when they didn’t see the best in themselves. I respected him for that, but I still couldn’t take this case.

  First of all, I still had Mimi Vines for another month…at least. I’d never had two patients at once before. I just didn’t work that way. When I had brought Ms. Vines in, just as with all of my patients, I’d made a commitment to her. I intended to follow through on that.

  Sure, there was plenty of room at the facility. I could house ten patients easily and comfortably, but I worried the patient’s treatment would suffer for it. I was of the mind that I’d been so successful because I committed one hundred percent to each person who was accepted into my program. I was able to focus on them as individuals, without the distraction of worrying about what another patient was doing or going through.

  If I was being thoroughly honest with myself, there was actually another reason I shouldn’t work with Mr. Bradley. A more personal reason. As a teenager and on into my twenties, Nathan Bradley had been the movie star of the moment; my first celebrity crush. I had seen each one of his movies a half a dozen times, if not more. I’d even watched the less appealing B-movies he’d put out when his career began to tank a few years ago.

  I shook my head at myself and looked at his photo again. He wasn’t the boy he’d been then, nor was I the hormonal teenage girl I once was. I was a grown woman, a professional. He
was simply another child star who had regretfully fallen far from the throne of superstardom. I felt sorry for him. That in and of itself was enough to detour me from taking the case.

  I tossed the paperwork haphazardly across the kitchen counter as I prepared myself for round two with Mimi Vines, teenage pop sensation.

  I dropped Ivan just outside the house gate so he might roam as he pleased before making my way back across the property to the treatment area.

  Mimi wasn’t in my office so I asked the staff if they had seen her. Mrs. Faulkner pointed toward the indoor pool with a look of disgust.

  Mimi was stepping out of the water, fully nude, when I walked in. I crossed my arms over my chest, sending her a disappointed look.

  “Do you like what you see, Dr. Lindsey?” She ran a towel between her breasts. “I’ve been known to dabble in a little kitty cat on occasion.” I just held her gaze. “Would you like me to dabble in yours?”

  She dropped her towel, leaving herself completely exposed. My eyelids almost drooped with boredom. Did she really think I hadn’t heard this before?

  “You look wound up. Maybe you could use a little release? I know I could,” she whispered, running her hands over her taut nipples. “How long has it been since you’ve had a good orgasm, Dr. Lindsey? I could give you that. Let me hook you up.”

  I let her walk right up to me. I let her think she was getting somewhere. When she reached out to touch my breast, I let her. A smile graced her lips as she ran her fingers over the fabric of my blouse. Then I grabbed her wrist and twisted it until she was on her knees screaming.

  “That’s assault, Ms. Vines. Shall we add that to your ever-growing list of felonies, or would you like to continue with our planned session?”

  She was writhing at my feet as I held my grip on her. “Okay, okay!”

  I released her and started toward the door, leaving the girl naked on the floor. “Ms. Vines, have some respect for yourself. Your behavior is distasteful, to say the least. Oh, and if I catch you nude in this facility again, you’re out. Are we clear?”