I don’t really like this chapter – I find it dull – not my best, the next will be far more entertaining but I needed to get down why Troy is Gabriella’s patient and her anger towards men. This won’t be a long story and the smut shall start shortly.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own HSM or the Avril Lavigne Lyrics

Are you aware of what you make me feel, baby
Right now I feel invisible to you, like I'm not real
Didn't you feel me lock my arms around you
Why'd you turn away?
Here's what I have to say I was left to cry there,
waiting outside there grinning with a lost stare
That's when I decided
Why should I care

Avril Lavigne, LOSING GRIP

MAY 22, 2008
CLEAR WATER, FLORIDA

Gabriella Montez whimpered, a soft purr of satisfaction as she leaned back on the light blue couch, her weight resting on her elbows as she extended her bent legs in front of her, her feet swinging in a gleeful air dance of swift child-like movements. She grinned with satisfaction as she examined the stylish heels glinting as red as blood in the light, lengthening her calves, making her legs look impossibly long and slender.

One strap wrapped around her ankle and one across the beginnings of her toes, barely clinging to her, but supporting her entire body. The glittering Christian Louboutin were 475 worth of guilty satisfaction. They were positively sinful.

Her phone rang, and she couldn’t help but giggle at the delicious echoing taps of the stilettos on the hardwood floor as she strode casually back to her desk. Light poured in from the wood-trimmed window behind her, haloing her in sunny yellow, making broad strokes across the honey oak.

“Dr. Gabriella Montez,” she answered her tone professional as she smoothed her long, glossy dark hair back into a sleek ponytail. She frowned slightly as she noticed the curl and waves quickly returning to the shimmering mass. She had spent at least an hour that morning smoothing the locks, attempting a slight sense of order made from absolute chaos, all for nothing, it refused to be tamed.

“It’s Tequila Thursday! Are you ready to stumble then crawl?”

Gabriella laughed softly into the phone, envisioning her best friend Sharpay Evans dancing around her small boutique, her blonde hair bouncing, the pink sequin glittering.

“Dollar beers, free shots and working studs bent of seduction, I am so in.” Gabriella said, her eyes twinkling. Sharpay laughed gaily through the earpiece as Gabriella held the telephone with her chin while checking the file of her next patient.

“So I am closing the shop and I’ll over to get you in ten minutes. Be prepared to kiss some boys!”

“Sorry, Pay, you’ll have to start without me tonight. I have one more client.”

“But it’s Thursday!” Sharpay whined. “Salty knuckles, tequila and misplaced lemons await!”

“And so does my office’s rent which this next client will provide. So unless you can convince Drake to forward the money he owes, I’ll be staying an hour longer at least.”

Since her son-of-a-bitch ex-fiancée had left her with what was suppose to be a joint practice that was starting to stretch its newfound prosper, she had been working double shifts. She supposed that to Drake Campbell, fucking multiple patients and leaving his partner and soon to be wife with nothing but heartbreak and a huge monthly payment, wasn’t the worst thing you could, but to Gabriella, it simply was, there was no greater sin.

Sharpay was quiet on the other end, properly scolded as she thought of words to comfort her best friend.

“Bell, you’re running yourself into the ground though. You look ready collapse whenever I see you. What about talking to your parents about your trust fund…”

“Sharpay, no. How many times do I need to say this until you understand? I am not crawling back to my parents to beg for my father’s forgiveness and I won’t be reduced to ask a cheating bastard for his pity.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Yeah, you always are. I’ll connect with you at the bar,” Gabriella snapped, slamming the phone back on its cradle, rubbing her fingers across her forehead, her joyous mood slightly spoiled at her weekly argument with Sharpay. She understood that her best friend was only concerned for her interest, but each suggestion scraped across her already frayed nerves.

The phone sounded again and Gabriella barely suppressed her urge to scream as she picked up the receiver once again.

“Yes?” silently hoping that Sharpay was not on the other line.

“Bella Bell.”

Fuck.

“This is not my fucking day,” Gabriella groaned as her ex-fiancée’s voice came through the receiver. “What in god’s name could you possibly want Drake?”

“I hear your meeting with Danforth and Bolton today.” She could practically feel Drake frown through the phone line.

“And what business is it of yours if I am?”

“Baby, Bolton’s got anger issues and I don’t want you getting involved in this ordeal, okay?”

“Please stop insulting me, Drake. First off, I am not your baby, never will make that mistake again. Second, your concern is not appreciated and you can shove it up your tightly closed ass before I take any advice from you ever again.”

Drake did not reply for a moment, surprised at the force of her anger as she once again slammed the receiver down.

She needed to go shoe shopping.

“Dr. Montez?”

Gabriella pushed the button that connected her to the receptionist’s desk. “Yes Bridget?”

“There’s a Mr. Danforth and Mr. Bolton here to see you.”

“Send them in.”

A young man, casually dressed in a black suit walked into her office and she could not help but be entranced by his untamed afro bobbing.

“Do you have that as a momentary distraction in order to get the upper hand, Counselor?” Gabriella asked, amusement conveyed as she studied Troy Bolton’s close friend and attorney.

Chad Danforth let out a chuckle of appreciation as he reached across her desk, her hand clasping hers.

“Only when I know I’m about to lose. Chad Danforth.”

“Pleasure,” Gabriella nodded smoothly. “I appreciate the opportunity to help with your case.”

She was highly intrigued at the nature of her client.

Troy Bolton, the golden boy of the sport’s entertainment and was captain to the Lakers. According to her file and every news broadcast across the country his wife had been murdered over a year ago. The killer was still free, the investigation still pending, and Troy had taken his angry and grief out of his fellow players until he was suspended by the association for the remainder of the past season and into the next unless he completed the requirements set forth.

And her evaluation was his final step.”

“Bolton lost his wife a while back and he’s ready to come back to work. We need a recommendation from a licensed therapist in order to make this happen.” Chad explained, shifting. “You’re colleague, for what we feel may be highly personal reasons, has deemed Bolton to be unfit for the game, but I tell you right now, that he’s wrong. We need him on the court and need you to make that happen.”

“And my colleague would Drake Campbell?” her disgust was evident as Chad grinned.

“The one and the same. Do you know him well?”

“Sadly. Where is Mr. Bolton? I thought he was with you.”

Chad glanced over his shoulder realizing that he had not been followed.

“Bolton! Get your ass in here!”

Gabriella rose from her desk as the basketball player appeared in the doorway, her breath catching slightly in the back of her throat.

His hair swept across his forehead, dark blonde shot through with streaks of pale ivory, strands falling into his eyes. A white tee shirt covered his upper torso snuggly, outlining his flat, muscular stomach. Faded jeans hung low on his hips revealing a bit of the red plaid boxers he wore underneath. He glanced up, his striking blue eyes, momentarily knocking any form of coherent thought from her mind.

He stretched his hand out, grasping her small palm in his, feeling his fingers curl tightly around her wrist. She purposely held it a moment longer than necessary. Her reward was his eyes raising to meet hers.

His intense gaze searched hers, shadowed by pain the darkening depths, and anger, but most of all desolation, an overwhelming sense of grief.

“Hello Troy.”

“You’re my therapist?” he asked, his gaze drifting down her body, examining the form fitting black sheath dress, caressing her bare legs for a long moment before he released her hand. “How interesting.”

Gabriella sat back in her chair, crossing her legs and turning so she could observe Troy Bolton as he settled into the chair in front of her and planted booted feet wide apart on the floor. His fingers laced together atop his stomach and watched Chad through heavily lashed eyelids when he began to speak. Gabriella kept her gaze focused on Troy, observing his body movements.

“Bolton, Dr. Montez will be giving us a second opinion on your return to basketball and you’re so called anger management issues. Just make an appointment, open your damn mouth, and let’s get you back to work, huh?” Chad slammed Troy on his shoulder, nodding towards Gabriella before he took his leave allowing his client to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “Call me later with an update.”

“Troy, I’d like to see you three times a week, at least to start.” Prepared fully, Gabriella pulled out her appointment book.

He merely nodded, his fingers tapping with a nervous rhythm on his shirt and Gabriella cocked her head, silently amused by his refusal to now speak.

“We won’t be performing each of these appointments in Morse code, just so you are aware.” Gabriella felt the words spill from her lips before she could stop them as his fingers paused in midtap.

He deliberately touched his fingers to his stomach, three times, slowly, and the faintest hint of amusement filtered through his eyes as Gabriella smiled at him in genuine humor.

“Maybe it will help you get to the source of my anger management problem if I actually speak to you?” He asked, his voice husky, an eyebrow arching as Gabriella laughed softly at his deadpan tone.

“Perhaps, just a tad,” she said, glancing down at her appointments scheduled for the following day. “How about noon tomorrow?”

He nodded dutifully, frowning as she raised both brows in an exasperated expression at his continued lack of speech, her pencil poised over her book.

“You do realize, that I will force you to speak tomorrow for a whole hour. You should accept that now. I always get my way.”

Troy took a deep breath and sat up straight in his chair, leaning slightly away that told her he was fighting a battle within himself.

“Troy? Noon?”

“I’ll be there.”

And she needed a drink.