“I have an addictive personality.” Sasha Taylor Ph.D. couldn’t stop a spark of surprise from lighting in her eyes, and to hide the human reaction, she dropped her attention to my file resting on her lap. The blonde’s pantsuit didn’t hold a wrinkle. She’d gone to Yale and was from old money. The thirty-one-year-old was everything I looked for in a woman: intelligent, beautiful, classy. “Alcohol?” she asked. I gave my head a shake. “Drugs?” Might’ve been easier. “Women?” Woman.
