Page 4 of Yolo

He thought that as a language expert, I should find a more prestigious job, one that made him look better when he was introducing me to prospective clients.

Joseph worked for his parents’ company, Black Harris. It was an investment firm that specialized in high-end clients who were more on the sketchy side.

Arnold and Margaret hated me upon first meeting.

Hell, at this point, I knew they still hated me.

I was not who they expected their son to want to live the rest of his life with.

I was the daughter of a blue-collar working man—Dad was a welder—and a mom who stayed at home with me.

There were times that we barely had enough money to make ends meet. At the age of fourteen and a half, I was already working almost full time to help pay for my own expenses.

Arnold and Margaret had expected their son to want a purebred girl that was a society princess. One who lived off her inheritance and had enough free time to do the duties expected of her.

I wasn’t that, and they hated it.

“Fine,” Joseph grumbled. “Hurry up, though, Jesus.”

I did, doing the work as fast as possible. But when it was a timed unit, it was what it was.

By the time I was finished, I hurried to the kitchen to eat my breakfast.

I didn’t like eating early.

In fact, I despised it.

A lot of the time, I wasn’t hungry when I first woke up, so saving my breakfast was something that I did often.

Hence, why I sectioned out my portion and hid it in the back of the fridge in a box labeled “Tofu.”

When I pulled it out and started reheating it, the noise practically called Joseph out of the gym.

“Mmm.” He smiled, his eyes lighting up.

And since I knew his game, I said, “Hey.”

Joseph was addicted to food.

There was no other word for it.

He wasn’t overweight or anything—in fact, he was a gym rat who was overly focused on how he looked—but he had an obsession with food.

The man could eat anything and everything and not gain a single ounce of weight.

He worked out, ate what he wanted, and tried to get all strong looking, but that just wasn’t what was in store for Joseph. He was destined to be tall and skinny like his father and mother.

He hated that he couldn’t put on muscle, and in response, he tried to eat as much as he could.

Even if it was my food.

“What are you eating?” he asked as he watched me pull my food out of the microwave.

“Breakfast. You’ve already had yours,” I pointed out.

He watched me take a bite of the egg/cheese/sausage mixture and his eyes gleamed.

I sat down at the table and went back for a cup of water.

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