It’s been almost ten years since I’ve come face to face with the person who ruined my one shot at going to my dream college, and even now, a punch in the gut seems more appropriate than an off-hand hello or kind pleasantries. But as I watch Lark look me over, I can tell he doesn’t recognize me. In the years since high school, I’ve lost forty-five pounds and straightened my teeth, not to mention, I’ve got a boatload self-confidence. I replaced the Old Rowan with a new shinier version.
“Umm,” I stumble. “Hi.”
Why am I the first to speak?
Lark clears his throat and motions for me to enter the room. I move past him as quickly as possible, making sure not to touch him in any way and stand at the head of the table. Three additional men stand as I enter the room, each giving me an earnest smile.
“Hello, Rowan,” a man with a thick British accent greets me with the twitch of his lips. He’s got animated features, his brown eyes big and playful. “My name is Liam Hunter, this is Chris Asher,” he says, pointing to a red headed man with a full beard, then moves to another man with opaque black hair and piercing golden eyes. “And Evan Carter.”
Is it now a “thing” for the FBI to hire hot men? They are all tan, muscular and unbearably good-looking. Lark included and that really pisses me off.
“We all know why we are here,” Liam states, getting down to business. “From now on, we’ll be your shadows. For the most part, you’ll only see Mr. Hawthorne or myself.” Great…Lark Hawthorne will be around me every second of every day for the next however many days? I’m so not okay with this.
