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If I could be perfect, have the perfect body, then he wouldn’t leave. He wouldn’t be like my parents. I wouldn’t disappoint him.
But the two words that left his mouth brought me to my knees as they echoed in the small bathroom.
Eating disorder.
Chapter Eighteen
EASTON
One Week Ago
The Monday morning rays of sunlight beat down heavily on my head, and humidity weighed down my every step, but I push through, following the directions Rick printed out for me few days ago. Today was my first day of work, and I didn’t want to be late. Hopefully, I could find the owner of this company and find out why he was offering a recent inmate so much.
I hadn’t even been given a name, just an address and time to be there. Glancing down at the crumbled paper in my hand and then back up at the glass building in front of me, I confirmed the address and reached for the door.
Andy’s Construction
The silver sign stood tall and proud on the front of the building, almost blinding me.
Stepping into the air-conditioned building, my shoes squeaked against the clean tiles, and my gaze instantly shot to an elderly lady working the lobby desk. She was busy stapling papers together, her attention occupied.
Walking up to the desk, I waited for her to finish before clearing my throat, startling her despite my efforts not to.
“Oh, heavens. I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t see you come in.” She placed a hand on her chest, and guilt surged through me.
“My apologies, ma’am. I’m wondering if you could help me. I’m supposed to be starting today. My name is—" she interrupts me, placing her wrinkled hand on one of mine that rested on the glass edge of the desk.
“You’re Easton Diggs. You look just like him,” she said, taking her hand away and dialing a number on her desk phone.
It rang twice before a man’s voice echoed in the lobby. “Andy speaking. How may I help you?”
“He’s here,” she said and then put the phone down, not waiting for a response. Eyeing her, she seemed to sense my unease and curved her cherry-red lips into a soft smile. “You’ve been a huge topic of conversation around here, Easton. We’ve been eagerly awaiting this day.”
I wanted to question the hidden meaning of her words. I needed to understand the emotion in her blue eyes.
Why was she looking at me like that? Was she afraid of me? Did everyone know I was a convict? Did they know I had no choice? Would I be treated differently here?
“Straight to the elevator, son. Go up to the tenth floor.” She pointed to two silver elevators behind her, and I followed her directions, muscles tensing as I pressed the silver up arrow and waited.
The elevator doors flew open with a loud beep that echoed off the walls, startling me. Trying to shake off the nerves, I stepped inside and released a deep breath, relaxing my tense shoulders. I pressed the tenth-floor button and let the elevator take me to the highest floor in the building.
The numbers ticked by slowly, and sweat gathered at the nape of my neck. My heartbeat increased with every number, and I struggled to calm my erratic breathing.
Be calm, Easton. Harley believes in you.
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped onto the tenth floor. My sneaker squeaked on the clean floor as I took in the gray desk across from me. A man and woman were sitting there, their heads bent together as they whispered behind a big computer screen. The room was surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass windows that illuminated the room with blinding clarity.
The air was crisp with the scent of lavender, and I inhaled a shaky breath. My shirt was suddenly too tight, the collar pressing uncomfortably against my throat as I swallowed past the lump. I cleared my throat, preparing to announce my arrival, but they both stood and rounded the desk.
They want you here.
“Good morning,” My voice cracked with nerves, and I shut my mouth, my steps halting as they continue to close the distance between us.
The woman was teetering on a pair of black heels, similar to the ones Harley was wearing Saturday night, but her steps were full of purpose, unlike Harley, who took each step with each calculated deliberation. She was dressed in a pair of black pants and a tight-fitting, white button-down shirt, her black hair pulled back into a slick ponytail that swished with every step.
Her red lips curved into a too-big smile, showcasing perfect, straight white teeth. There was a dimple tugging at the corner of both her lips, but what captured my attention were her ice-blue eyes.
Beside her was a tall man. His dark hair was in disarray, frown lines marring his forehead, and his brows furrowed. His dark eyes were focused on me, their gaze intense, searching. A light dusting of gray hair shadowed his jawline, and his lips remained turned down. He was dressed similarly to the woman in a white button-down shirt and black pants, shiny leather shoes clipping against the wood floor.
