Being in the lawyer’s presence never failed to make her feel as if she had royally screwed her life up. Immaculately dressed, from the stylish hair to the tips of her shoes, the lawyer didn’t have a hair or thread out of place. Mrs. Bates appeared to have every aspect of her life within her control, while she couldn’t even control what she could pick to eat without the deputy switching the order to what he wanted.

Glancing up from her briefcase after taking out a legal pad and ink pen, Mrs. Bates’s rigid expression showed she was expecting the same lack of cooperation from her that she had received when they had talked previously. “I did. Silas said he would stop by to interview you when he comes to town this morning.”

“It didn’t put him off that I’m in jail?”

“No. He was more concerned about when you could start.”

Her lawyer seemed to be just as surprised at the lack of concern as she was.

“Did he ask what charges had been pressed against me?” she probed, embarrassed about having to meet a potential employer in jail.

“No, I don’t imagine Silas needed to. Everyone in town knows why you were arrested.”

Cringing inwardly about what must be being said about her, Alanna began wondering what kind of man would be willing to hire someone in jail for kidnapping and attempted extortion.

Withering shame had her seeking to reclaim what little pride she could in front of the other woman.

“I hope he doesn’t think I’ll let him take advantage of the situation and expect more than cleaning and cooking.”

“I didn’t come out and ask if sex was in the job description when I spoke to him over the phone. I thought I would save that question for when he comes to interview you for the job.”

Alanna tried not to blush under her lawyer’s gaze. Self-conscious, she tugged the orange sleeve of the scrub top she was wearing over her wrist. God, she missed wearing regular clothes. The ugly bright orange scrubs she had been forced to wear since her arrest never let her forget for a second she was a prisoner. Compared to the other woman, she felt like a carrot stick. Orange was definitely not her color. She resembled a pumpkin.

She envied the clothes her lawyer was wearing, from the Louis Vuitton heels to the light gray skirt with a matching blazer, which was set off by a Milano purple silk blouse tucked neatly inside the waistband. If she didn’t feel at a disadvantage already at her lawyer’s polished appearance compared to the jailhouse thin scrubs she was wearing, the cool air blowing directly down on her side of the table just put the cherry on top of the downward spiral her life had taken.

“I’ve arranged for the interview. Now, are you finally willing—”