Wanting: Laws of Attraction, #1

By Jaycee Ryan

Tavis Anders is the most successful motivational speaker in the Western Hemisphere and world renowned morality expert, but he is plagued with dark secrets and memories that haunt him. He has fallen into a comfortable rhythm of writing books, touring the world, and providing executive coaching, so much so that his painful past is nothing more than a distant memory. That is, until he crosses paths with beautiful, smart, sexy, and very, very married Miranda Johnstone, and his world changes forever. No matter how far Tavis runs, he cannot escape his overwhelming attraction to Miranda, but he has pledged to live a life of sincerity, honesty, integrity, and trustworthiness. Will Tavis sacrifice everything to preserve his career, his reputation, and his self-respect or will he risk his reputation for a chance at finding true love and the happiness that has always eluded him?

 

Miranda Johnstone, Ph.D. is a brilliant success in her own right. Licensed psychologist with a best-selling line of self-help books, speaking engagements worldwide, and a loving husband and stepchild, Miranda is on top of the world. But one late night conversation with Tavis Anders, the most famous motivational speaker on the planet creates a moral dilemma that threatens to topple her from her lofty perch into an abyss of dishonesty, hurt, and betrayal.

 

Sofia Hanish is Tavis Anders's psychologist. She is the one Tavis trusts with his deep dark secrets. There is no one he confides in more, and she is charged with helping Tavis overcome his painful past and make sense of the challenges he is faced with in his attraction to Miranda. The only problem is Sofia has her own secrets. Will she be able to help Tavis? Perhaps by helping him, she can finally lay to rest the ghosts of her own closeted past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paper Kite Press
• Release date: Jul 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780987963475

Book preview

My Real Face

Tavis

Dr. Hanish peers at me studiously as I lean back into the sofa and heave a deep, cleansing sigh. When she looks at me like this it feels as though she can see right through me. I feel naked and raw, much like I did the first day I saw her, and I don't like it. I can feel my defenses going up all the while wishing that the doc could see inside me, so I don't have to talk at all. Ha! That's a laugh. Me not talking would be like a fish not swimming. The truth is that today I don't feel like talking. I just want to be here - to feel safe.

The doc knows well enough to just let me be when I get this way. She waits patiently for me to begin the session. No prodding; no small talk. I like that about her. She knows what I do, and she is respectful of my job and the responsibility it carries, but unlike many other shrinks out there, she doesn't think of me as a charlatan or a threat to her profession. She is very accepting. That's what I need today - a little acceptance. I sigh again.

I have been thinking about my early days on the road, I venture tentatively. ...the real early days when my work was just becoming popular. I was becoming popular.

Dr. Hanish nods as if to say, Go on.

"I remember I was hungry for a relationship - really looking for love. I hadn't developed my morality model yet - you know, the work I'm doing now... but I felt it - d'you know what I mean? I mean, after all those years of living with Bill, I didn't want to be THAT guy... the guy that just objectified women and treated them like pieces of meat. And I often thought of the basketball players that had slept around and were now coming out with their HIV infections and I most definitely did not want to end up like that. I vowed to myself that I would never do anything to compromise my body, my beliefs, or my passion. I wanted something that was going to be real - something that would last.

So, when women would approach me after my sessions and basically offer themselves up on a platter to me, I always turned them down. I couldn't bring myself to date anyone even though I really wanted a life partner. It wasn't hard really; all I had to do was picture myself giving a news conference to announce that I have a deadly STD and that was all the leverage I ever needed. Besides, fame was a side effect of my work - it was never the primary objective.

Dr. Hanish smiles at me gently. It sounds like you're trying to justify yourself to me or explain why you should be perceived as a credible expert in modern morality. Why do I get that feeling?

She really doesn't know.

It isn't easy being me. And while it sounds cliché, it is the truth and the understatement of the age. Most days, it feels like everybody in the world knows who Tavis Anders is. I know that isn't true - couldn't possibly be true, but it certainly feels that way. When I'm out and about, I disguise myself as best as I can: baseball caps, dark glasses, nondescript clothing that won't give me away. I even drive a Toyota Camry. A tan one. Beige even. It is the car of chartered accountants and middle managers. That's what I drive when I don't want to be seen. I save the exotics for the days when I don't mind being me. Lately it seems those times are few and far between.

Even when I am shrouded in the trappings of mediocrity and anonymity (and don't take that the wrong way please) I'm hard to miss. At 6 foot 5 inches, I'm taller than the average tall guy. No matter what, just because of my height, I stand out in a crowd. On top of that, I was blessed with the best of both my parents' gene pools: skin the colour of burnt cinnamon, my hair is a mass of soft molasses-coloured brown curls that are streaked with copper and blonde highlights thanks to my love for sun-soaked vacation retreats. These features, along with my lithe, athletic, lean muscled frame, I inherited from my African American mother. My eyes, a wide mysterious blend of green and gray with bronze flecks; lips, a narrow but firm upper and a full lower one, square jaw line, and my nose - my nose: my favourite feature, I inherited from my father. I remember when I first grew into my nose and noticed the distinctiveness of its shape - long and straight, like a white man's nose, except for the small flat-topped asymmetrical hump across the bridge. I remember when I asked my mother about it and she told me it was exactly like my father's.

My father. Lucas Moritz Anders. I wish I had gotten the chance to really know him. What I've learned is that he was a university scholar of Norwegian descent who fell in love with the right woman at the wrong time. Segregation, the fight for integration, the height of the civil rights movement: all these things were in full force when my father decided that his young, beautiful, and exotic former student, Althea Grainger was the one woman he could not live without. He gave up his tenure track position as a professor of Anthropology, his parents' approval, and his inheritance, and stole away with my mother to Toronto, Canada, where inter-cultural relationships were less taboo, and they could love each other in relative peace. Outside of a $25,000 life insurance policy, which was enough to pay for his funeral and to keep us in rent for a few months, my father didn't leave us much when he passed. He did not know he had a weak heart; the flaw had been there since birth. He did not know he needed to be prepared for a swift and sudden passing. His parents had decided early not to tell him, in hopes that he would live out his life to the fullest without having to carry the burden of a short life expectancy. Their secrecy protected him from living in fear, but they didn't think beyond the safekeeping of their son. For them, his happiness was their only concern; they gave no thought of what would become of those he loved and left behind. I was only two years old when he passed, so I have no real knowledge of him, and I have no connection to my paternal grandparents at all. The best memories I have of my father are due to my mother's telling and retelling of their love and their short lives together, and of his love for me - so much so, she would say, that he left me his face.

By North American standards, I suppose mine is a beautiful face if not a strikingly distinct one. The success magazines like to think so, as does my marketing team. They love to plaster it on magazine covers, and on the slick paper sleeves of my hardcover book editions. Mine is the face of power, of success, and of new money and they love to flaunt it whenever they can. When I'm not on stage or doing some kind of television promo, I honestly just prefer to hide it, and keep it to myself.

I'm thinking about this as I sit here in Dr. Hanish's office, and the fact that I have been keeping my real face to myself for a long time now. I wonder if I can trust Dr. Hanish enough to share this part of my secret with her. After all, I chose her for a reason. She's good. The best in fact. And with the corner I've painted myself into, I need the best to keep me sane while I twist back and forth impatiently until the paint dries and I can get out on my own. You see, I travel the world speaking about a subject that leaves no margin for error or personal failing on my part. One slip-up is all it would take for my reputation and career to be ruined. Forever.

I need her to keep me accountable. She is my confidante - the one person I know I can trust, even though I don't trust her nearly enough. But with time, I hope that she will be able to help me finally lay down these burdens I've been carrying along with me for the last 20 years.

I look at her surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye. She is still surveying me, patiently waiting for me to take a deep breath and begin again.

Tavis, I'm familiar with this dance. We've done it several times. Why don't you try coming right out with what you want to say instead of teasing me with these circular conversations? She smiles, knowing I cannot ever back down from a challenge.

I take a deep cleansing breath. Fine. Here it is. I decided a long time ago to never sleep with a woman. It has been close to 18 years since I've been with anyone... that way.

Ever the professional, Dr. Hanish tries to maintain her posture and neutral facial expression, but I can see the spark of interest alight in her eyes. Are you telling me that you are a virgin, Tavis? I start laughing out loud in earnest. I can think of that movie about the grown-up virgin, and I can already hear the jokes...

No. I am definitely NOT a virgin. And no, I don't want to talk about that. Not today. Maybe not ever. But it was something I needed to do. It was right.

It was right, Dr. Hanish repeats slowly. It WAS right. She emphasizes the middle word. Past tense. I get the sense that you are reconsidering your vow of celibacy. Can I call it that?

I nod almost imperceptibly. Sure - she can call it that. I'm not sure I made a vow, or swore an oath, but that is what this way of life has become. A self-imposed celibate priesthood, impervious to temptation of any sort... until now.

Truth is I never questioned my choices, not where this is concerned. I never had to. I'm not questioning them now either, but something has changed. For the first time in a long time, I want... I pause, suddenly finding the air in Dr. Hanish's office dense and heavy, and my lungs feel like they are closing in on themselves.

What is it that you want, Tavis? Dr. Hanish prompts gently.

I WANT. Period. I huff, raggedly running my fingers through my loose curls, as the realization of this simple truth strikes me in the gut. "I want. I haven't felt like this in a really long time. And I don't know what to do."

Dr. Hanish nods again. She peers into my eyes and leans forward as though she might like to touch my hand. I would welcome her touch right now, it would anchor me - keep me here, grounded. But I know she is only leaning in to let me know she is truly listening. To touch me would be a violation of her personal and professional boundaries. While I need it, I don't expect it.

Is it wrong for you to want, Travis? You're a handsome, talented, successful, warm-blooded man. Isn't it a bit unrealistic for you to think you can continue to deny yourself the pleasures of the flesh forever? Eighteen years is a long time. Perhaps that yearning for an intimate love relationship is pressing upon you because you are maturing and now you need something more than what your work can give you.

I mull this over in my mind, turning it this way and that like one would examine a piece of fruit at the market. I acknowledge her point. She thinks this is just about me wanting to have sex, but it is so much more complicated than that. And I don't want to talk about it anymore. I glance at my watch, making a dramatic show of the gesture. But Dr. Hanish, we're out of time and I don't want to keep your other patients waiting. I rise to go, and she stands with me.

I'd like to talk with you about this again, Tavis if that's okay. I know you have more to say, and we'll take this at your pace. But I will also acknowledge that I sense an undertone of urgency that I haven't felt before. I want you to think about why that might be, and we'll talk about it the next time we meet.

She's right. God, I hate it that she is right. This must be how people feel when they attend one of my seminars. For a brief moment, I feel completely sympathetic with my audience members who know they need to change, but they are bucking the process every step of the way. Still, I must follow this through, no matter how painful it is for me. Instinctively I know this. And there's no one I trust more to walk this road with me than Doctor Sofia Hanish.

Did something just happen?

Tavis - Two weeks earlier

Today I have broken my routine. We are on a special tour with other speakers, organized by a major self-help resource company. Each session is being recorded live and will be part of a new series offered through Internet sales. It is a rare occasion for me to be sharing the stage, but I think I like it. It gives me a break and I have more time to recoup between sessions. The road can be grueling to say the least. My audiences are huge; some of the largest in the world. For me that means being on all the time; I have to be big and over the top for close to 18 hours a day for sometimes up to 200 days a year. Even the fittest guy in the world would find that schedule a challenge. Still, I am extremely passionate about what I do; knowing that people are creating revolutionary change with me as an agent of that process is like a lightning charge to my flux capacitor.

I am just returning from my 5-k run, hot, sweaty, and completely invigorated. A seminar is in session, and rather than heading straight back to my room to shower, I decide to sneak in. Well, it's not really sneaking, since everyone who works at the conference center and adjoining hotel knows who I am.

She is up on stage talking about how to create quality relationships with one's spouse. Within moments I am completely enraptured by her stage presence. My style is bold, loud, energetic - even frenetic at times. I alternate between strutting like a runway model and stomping around the stage like a gorilla on steroids. It's part of the presentation. Everything about my style is high energy. It is what I like, and it is what the audience has come to expect. Now I am watching her, and I am spellbound in awestruck fascination. She doesn't walk across the stage; she floats across it. Her voice is smooth as silk as it intonates up when she gets excited and descends to a soft throaty whisper when she wants to emphasize a particularly salient point. She speaks to the entire audience as though they are a single unit - only one person in the room. There are thousands of people in the auditorium and I am sure that everyone there feels just like I do; like she is speaking directly and only to me.

She's good. She's really good.

I stay a little longer to see if I can pick up some tips that I can weave into my next session. These fragmented sessions have more value for the audience if they can see how each individual seminar fits tangibly into the bigger picture. She introduces a group activity and while the audience is interacting, she floats blithely over to her podium and begins to reapply her lip gloss. The gloss slides over her lips much in the same way she moves across the stage - with oblivious grace. She is doing this free hand, without a mirror. I am again entranced as I watch the gloss move across her slightly puckered lips back and forth, back, and forth. It occurs to me that this is the most erotic thing I have seen in years, and instantly I go hard. I am immediately embarrassed for two reasons. First of all, I am Tavis Anders - The most famous motivational speaker on the planet. I am tall, fit, well endowed, and hard to miss in a room. Secondly, I am hot and sweaty and wearing track pants. Track pants! It's not like you can hide anything in those kinds of clothes.

I feel my face flush and a twinge pinches deep in my gut, and I am profoundly ashamed. Advancing into the foreground, enveloping my shame is brash, raucous laughter. I am transported in time to a long-repressed memory.

I am fourteen. My stepfather, Bill has taken me to the park for ice cream, a rare kindness. He slaps me on the back hard, and winks as a pert twenty-something, with her blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, bounces by. He stares long and hard at her tight behind as it almost imperceptibly jiggles beneath her short shorts, and he encourages me to do the same. I try to look away, embarrassed that he is staring openly like that, and feeling guilty that I am an accomplice in what most certainly constitutes a betrayal against my mother. As if sensing my discomfort, he sneers at me with disdain. Boy, he snarls, you're supposed to chase after pussy - not be one. Besides, just 'cause you're on a diet doesn't mean you can't look in the fridge. And the laughter begins again. It settles on me, clothing me like a shroud of ash and soot. No matter what I do, I cannot shake it off.

Suddenly I am back in the conference room feeling naked, dirty, exposed. I surreptitiously glance down, to find with a measure of gratitude that my erection has subsided. I stumble out of the meeting room and head for the nearest men's room. For the first time in about 20 years, I crash into the first available stall and violently, unabashedly, begin to vomit.

Three hours later, I am backstage waiting as the sound man plays my high energy intro and the volunteers do their job of whipping the audience into frenzy. The atmosphere in the auditorium is electric, my earlier flashback and ensuing nausea is but a distant memory. The music and audience applause rises to a thunderous crescendo, and in that first of many climactic moments, I burst onto the stage. This is what I live for: the rush, the applause, the sharing, the testimonials, the lives changed forever stories. The high that I get from just one of these sessions can keep me going for days.

Now hear T.H.I.S! I shout with raw enthusiasm. The audience goes wild.

This isn't your same old stuffy conference, nor is my morality model just another standard motivational talk. This is a revolutionary message with revolutionary methods.

The best part is it works.

Transparency. Honesty. Integrity. Sincerity. T.H.I.S is what matters! I spout with the conviction of a religious zealot. These are time honored traditions and principles that seem to be lost in this 21st century of self-indulgence, greed, and debauchery. It is time to shift the focus to T.H.I.S!

The audience surges to its feet, chanting, Now hear T.H.I.S! Now hear T.H.I.S! They are whipping each other up into a frenzy nearing mass hysteria. And I know they are ready to hear what I have to say.

That was great. Really. Incredible. I turn to see who it is, but I already know. I would recognize that sultry throaty voice anywhere. That twinge in my gut begins to pinch again but this time I tamp it down as I stand and smile at her. On stage we are both larger than life, but here in the hotel restaurant at 1 a.m., she seems to me just a little thing, no taller than five feet, four inches, and a size six if she's lucky. Her wavy auburn hair, which she usually has pulled back in a classic chignon, is now loose and framing her heart-shaped face in a way that makes her seem more like a little girl than an accomplished businesswoman. I wonder if I seem smaller to her too. Then again - I don't want her thinking about my size at all.

Hey. Thanks for that, I reply. I snuck in to see a bit of your session today. I have to tell you that your stage presence is incredible." She blushes just a bit, warming her olive-toned skin.

"I thought that was you at the back of the room. I must be honest and say I'm glad you didn't stay long. You would have made me nervous. You know, you're a tough act to follow!"

As I grin sheepishly, hoping she didn't notice my enormous tent from the front of the room, she smiles an easy genuine smile that warms me to my core. It is easy to see why her audiences gravitate towards her. She radiates all the positive relationship qualities of which she speaks. She is authentic. I realize I have been staring blankly at her face like a nervous schoolboy, while she is still standing in front of me, seemingly unsure if she should ask to sit down or move on to her own table.

I give my head a shake. Forgive me! Where are my manners? Would you like to join me?

She says yes and takes a seat. I sit down too. After the server comes and takes our orders there is an awkward silence as though we are both uncertain of ourselves in this setting.

I'm not accustomed to talking after my seminars are over, I say rather uncomfortably. I apologize for not being chattier.

She shakes her head in understanding. No apology needed. I know exactly what you mean. After a session, I usually flake out and just try to recover from the massive energy output. The challenge is I get so pumped from each session that I often find it hard to sleep. Hence my wandering the 24-hour restaurant at 1 a.m.

I am nodding now, and chuckling as I reply, That is exactly how it is for me too. It is both a blessing and a curse. Well since we are here together, and it is rare that we ever cross paths on the circuit, why don't we relax and commiserate about life as a road warrior?

We talk until the wee hours of the morning about why we started in this business, the books we have written, funny road trip stories, her spouse and step-daughter, my mother, and how they continuously inspire us to do what we do. By the time we realize the dawn is breaking, we are old friends, having traversed years and memories together in a brief time. Ever the gentleman, I walk her back to her room.

I'm glad we got to know each other better, she says. I have nothing but respect for your work and it is so refreshing to know that you are the same person you claim to be on stage.

That goes double for me, I reply with sincerity. There are a lot of phonies out there, but you're the real deal. Instinctively, naturally as old friends do, we reach out to hug each other, but as soon as our bodies collide, a searing jolt of electricity courses through me and I feel as though my genetic structure has just been altered.