That's funny, I was told a therapist would be coming, not a stylish diva. I give her a once over. She's wearing a fitted white blouse, the first two buttons opened, revealing her cleavage. A knee-length blue skirt that accentuates her curves. Rectangular glasses that rest on her nose bridge. And to top it all off, her raven-black hair is neatly packed in a ponytail.
I can tell by her face that she's younger than I am. Something doesn't feel right with this woman. No wonder Kendrick doesn't want her to come.
I force a smile “Come in, I’m Elodie,” I extend my hand for a shake. She takes it, plastering an equally fake smile on her face. “Mr Holland's caretaker?” She raises her brows.
I smile sweetly at her while responding, “No, I'm his wife.” Somehow, it makes me feel superior to her.
