As she sat there, she analyzed every moment ever spent with Jason. What clues had she ignored? Why had she not seen his true character? How had she gotten to this point?
She’d met him at a fundraiser for Gálatas Seis. He’d completely swept her off her feet, dancing with her all night long, attentively listening to her, acting interested in the mission for which she had so much passion. She told him about houses they’d built, homes they’d restored, stories about school supplies, stocking groceries into empty cupboards, supplying new mothers with cribs and diapers. He’d acted interested, insisting on donating money whenever she had an unexplained need arise. He even offered to join the board of directors the next time they had a seat open. Worst of all, he’d talked about their future, a future working together to make Atlanta and the surrounding community a better place for everyone, regardless of economic status.
Basically, he’d lied his way into sleeping with her. He’d tricked her. He’d made her believe him and give herself to him in a way she’d never done before with anyone.
Shame overwhelmed her. Little lights danced in front of her eyes, and no matter how deeply she breathed, it felt like no oxygen reached her lungs. Just when she thought she’d burst to her feet and run screaming from the building, a rail-thin woman with jet black hair and dark-framed glasses approached her carrying a manila envelope.
“Daisy Ruiz?” she inquired.
Daisy stood. “Yes.”
She thrust the envelope toward her. “Mr. Hamilton asked me to deliver this to you.”
With shaking hands, she took it and opened the flap. She pulled the paper out, and the woman started to walk away. “Wait,” she said, “Let me make sure it’s what I need.”
The woman spun on her spiky heels and crossed her arms, clearly put out by the errand. Daisy scanned the document, making sure he’d hidden no clauses that could harm her in the future. As far as her legal eye could ascertain, everything appeared above-board.
“All set?” the woman asked.
“Yes. This will do.” The woman rolled her eyes and spun around, crossing the lobby to the elevators. Daisy turned, clutching the envelope, and walked back out into the Georgia summer.
What could she do now?
Nothingbrought Kenneth “Ken” Dixon more happiness than bringing a home up out of the ground. The designing of the plans, working with the engineers, watching the earth breaking under the site work contractor’s machinery—it all gave him a sense of anticipation that thrilled him. Brick by brick, stone by stone, plank of wood by plank of wood, the material didn’t change the feeling. Twelve hundred square feet or twelve thousand, the size didn’t matter. His joy came from watching the house emerge, the details going into the molding, the laying of intricate tile work, the gleaming of new fixtures and appliances.
Today, as he surveyed the faces staring back at him from the conference room table, he acknowledged that as much as he loved the process of building houses, he hated this part of his job. As the residential division manager for Dixon Contracting and Design, he regularly led meetings with project managers, architects, and engineers, even though he would rather just build.
Today, as on every last Monday of the month, the team discussed the status of the three hundred and thirteen residential properties currently planned, in design, or under construction. They had forty-two Dixon designed neighborhoods and five multi-unit apartment complexes under construction in various parts of the southeast. Individual homes with individual contracts took up the remainder.
Ken could remember details, owners’ names, budgets, and contractors under each contract with ease. He could get all of these reports in writing, which would aid him in the details. However, his brother Brad, the president of Dixon Contracting and Design, insisted that every department hold monthly status report meetings on set days the last week of every month. Department heads staggered the times of the meetings so that Brad could attend them all.
He looked at Ian Jones, one of the mechanical engineers employed by the company, and said, “I guess we should get the bad news out of the way first. Talk to me about the HVAC issues with the HUD complex in Albany.”
Ian nodded and tapped the screen on his tablet, accessing the appropriate file. An email appeared on the screen behind him. “The owner’s project manager insists that the HVAC is coming in about fifty percent higher than what he budgeted. All the value engineering I can do will only bring it down about twenty percent. I don’t know where he got his numbers or if he just underestimated the size of unit needed. I haven’t met with him yet, but I’ll be in Albany next Thursday. I want to meet with him in person.”
Ken nodded. “Want some company?”
Ian shrugged. “I don’t think we need it escalated to the point of having a Dixon present yet, but I can call you on my way back from Albany and let you know how it went.”
Ken looked at his agenda and made a checkmark next to Albany. “Good enough. Let’s see what’s next.”
An hour later, he headed out of the conference room into the sanctuary of his office. His assistant, Toby MacDonald, sat at the desk in front of Ken’s office door. “That’s done for another month,” he said as he walked past Toby’s desk.
Toby had attended Ken’s family church as a high school student. He’d come to a youth gathering his freshman year with a girlfriend and had fallen in love with the community. Toby approached Ken one night as he prepared for his high school graduation and told him he longed to become a mechanical engineer but had no means for school. He had asked if Dixon contracting had any kind of tuition assistance for employees.
Three years later, Toby had marked the halfway point through school. Ken had never had a more efficient assistant and enjoyed the fact that Toby didn’t feel any need to engage in chit-chat. Every blissfully short conversation they shared came with a point. Ken had also never met a more detail-oriented person and knew he would make a phenomenal engineer when he graduated. Toby had signed a five-year contract beginning upon graduation to repay his tuition assistance. He knew the young man would become nothing less than an asset to their engineering division.
“Cool. Don’t forget your lunch appointment,” Toby said.
“Right. The local charity. What’s the name again?”
Toby nodded once, sharply. “Gálatas Seis. I think this might be a one-on-one with their director, but I don’t know for sure. Their director of fundraising reached out to you through a contact at Samaritan’s Purse.”
As a rule, Ken prioritized charitable work. Toby knew it. “Did you email me the address?”
“Texted. And I gave you an extra hour in your day. Oh, and don’t forget I have the first day of the summer semester at three today.”
“Right. Have a good first day.” Ken turned to enter his office but then paused and turned back to his assistant. “Your mom take a first day of school picture?”
