“A…glamping site?”
“It’s camping, but done with a little more glamour. It means—”
Merrick interrupted. “I’ve heard the term glamping, Ms. Vaughn. I’m just struggling to figure out how it relates to being a therapist.”
Ugh. Not off to a good start. I sat up a little taller. “Well, it doesn’t directly—unless you consider that most of the people I rent to are looking for an escape from their stressful jobs. It’s sort of my passion project. All of the proceeds go to charity. After I left my last position, I took some much-needed time off to focus on growing it a bit.” I leaned forward and pointed to my resumé. “If you look at the job before that, you’ll see my experience as a therapist.”
Merrick studied me a moment before looking down at my resumé again. “You were employed at Halpern Pharmaceuticals. Tell me about what you did there.”
“I monitored and treated patients involved in clinical trials for antidepressant and anxiety drugs.”
“So every patient was treated with drugs?”
“Well, no. Some people receive placebos during a clinical trial.”
“Were these people who worked in a high-stress environment?”
“Some. They were people from all walks of life. But they all suffered from depression and anxiety.”
Merrick rubbed his lip with his thumb. “I would assume these were people seeking drugs because traditional therapy didn’t work.”
I nodded. “That’s right. All participants had to have had at least one year of therapy in order to qualify for the trial. The studies Halpern did focused on whether the drugs helped a person who had not responded to counseling.”
“And did the drugs prove effective?”
“The ones I worked on did, yes.”
Merrick sat back in his chair. “So the only experience you have is working with people who don’t respond to counseling and needed drugs to get an improvement. Do I have that right?”
I frowned. God, he’s a jerk. “Unfortunately, not everyone responds to counseling. Many of the people I treated saw improvements. However, because of the double-blind nature of drug trials, I couldn’t tell you how many patients took placebos and improved solely from my therapy. I’m sure some did.”
He tossed my resumé on his desk. “I run a brokerage firm. I wonder if I could stop reporting the rate of return my company earns its clients? It must’ve been nice to not worry about anyone gauging the success of your efforts.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “Are you insinuating that I didn’t do my job because no one could tell if it was my counseling or the drugs making people better?”
His eyes gleamed. “I didn’t say that.”
“Not in so many words, but you implied it. I counsel all patients the same, to the best of my ability, whether anyone is watching or not. Tell me, Mr. Crawford, if your clients didn’t, in fact, see their rate of return, would you perform your job differently? Perhaps slack off?”
A ghost of a smile lurked at his lips, as if he was enjoying being a dick. After a few heartbeats of staring at me, he cleared his throat.
“We’re really looking for someone with experience treating people in a high-stress work environment, before they resort to drugs.”
It hit me that it didn’t matter what I’d said since I walked in the door. And that I wasn’t in the mood for any more ridicule, especially since it was clear from his attitude that I wasn’t going to get the job.
So I stood and held out my hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Crawford. Good luck with your search.”