Page 49 of Taste of Addiction

Outside the door to his office, I lean my back up against the wall and close my eyes.You can do this, Angie. I swallow, clear my throat, and then knock on the door.

“Come in,” a girl says.

I keep forgetting he has a work-study student. I peek my head in and give the sweet blonde girl a smile. “Hey, I’m here for the nine o’clock time slot for my journalism project.”

The teen girl is squatted down behind her little desk, organizing file folders. It seems like such an ancient process since the invention of computers. But Dr. Williams definitely seems old-school.

“I’m Angie, by the way,” I say softly.

She reaches her hand out for me to shake. “Beth.”

As I take her hand in mine, her sleeve pulls back, and I see the identity bracelet on her wrist. It is the same one that I used to wear when I first joined the agency—the one Graham’s company created with the ability to trace locations.

I try not to stare, but I can’t take my eyes off her jewelry. She is new. The type of metal signifies it, plus she does not look to be anyone who I have met before.

A weird feeling washes over me. Isn’t she too young to be dabbling in this type of lifestyle? Does she know what she is getting involved in? A part of me wants to lecture her and parent her. So much has changed for me since I joined Entice Escort Agency that it is hard to even consider myself as the same naive person.

“Is Dr. Williams having a good morning or a bad morning?” I ask softly, the slightest hint of humor present in my tone. I’m pretty sure his mood isn’t going to affect my grade, but maybe if I catch him having a great morning, it can help?

I watch as Beth swallows and sits back on her heels. “I honestly have no idea. I’ve been here since the start of school, and I still can’t read that man. But you know how he loves punctuality so go on back before you go from being early to being late.”

I nod. She is wise. “I love your bracelet,” I say casually, pointing down to her wrist.

Beth startles and fixes her sleeve over the metal band. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “Sometimes I forget I am even wearing it.”

“That’s what good jewelry does, right?” I call back over my shoulder as I knock on Dr. Williams’s private door.

“Yes?” His voice is gravelly and stern.

Shit. I pull open the door a crack and peek my head through. “I’m here for the nine o’clock.”

“Come on in, Miss McFee. I scheduled you first so that you can set the bar for everyone else,” he says, motioning with his hand for me to sit down. “Let’s see if you took my advice from the last meeting. The suspense is killing me.”

I clear my throat and want to pass out. At least if I am unconscious, then I won’t have to witness this turning point in my life.

“Don’t keep me waiting. Let’s see what you have so far.”

“Dr. Williams, I had a crisis happen yesterday when I went to pull up my work off my flash drive,” I start. It sounds so hideous and unconvincing, even to my own ears. I pull my folder out of my bag and hand over the three pieces of paper that contain my typed draft. It is not neat or professional or memorable.

Dr. Williams takes my documents and scans through them, pulling his wire-rims higher on his face. “Due dates are not suggestions, Miss McFee.”

I sink into the leather of the seat as his words deflate me. “I know. I am sorry.” I want to cry. I have come full circle. Seven months ago, I sat in the same leather chair and was delivered a similar verdict. Sadly, I was closer to my dream in the spring than I am now.

“What’s to be sorry over? This is your life, not mine. But I cannot consciously pass you along to the next chapter without you earning it. This work is not up to par,” he says, tossing my papers to the corner of his desk. “Not even close.” His eyes level with mine. “Do you know how frustrating it is for me to sit back and watch this happen to you? I see potential. And it’s wasted.”

“I have been following the victims of the campus druggings. I even set up a private email for the girls to speak out. I had consolidated all of my information and used the journalism software program to organize it.”

“Why are you even telling me this?” he asks, uninterested. “How does this benefit the huge portion of your grade right now? I told you months ago that the draft counts toward your final grade. Did you misunderstand, Miss McFee?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Very well, then. I’ll read through your documents more and give you a grade for this portion. If you even want a chance to maintain the minimum grade for the course, I will”—he pauses and looks at me straight in the eyes—“once again tell you to stop interfering with a police investigation and defaming the university without concrete facts.”

“Understood.”

“Do you though? Because you don’t seem to be hearing me at all.”

I straighten my back. “I feel passionate about helping these girls, Dr. Williams. How do I just let that go?”

---