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Prologue
Felicia
I get off the bus in the swanky part of downtown.
Everything is so clean, I hardly want to walk on the sidewalks. When I get to the building I’m looking for, it’s so tall I have to crane my neck to see the top of it gleaming against the blue sky and puffy white clouds. The equally impressive buildings all around mirror it with their endless rows of windows.
It’s like being in a museum. Immediately, I feel like I don’t belong, but I can’t let that bother me.
I straighten my nice dress. I feel silly for wearing something so fancy. It’s Saturday, so I don’t have a reason to wear my school uniform, but most of my clothes didn’t feel nice enough for this. I’m supposed to be tutoring a classmate for some extra cash, but I’m still not sure if the money is worth it.
I doubt Olivia will even be dressed yet. I think she went to a party with some of the more popular students at our school last night. If I didn’t have to be here, I’d be in bed too. I’d workedmore after my shift at my job was over—my neighbor needed a babysitter and I need the money, so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, tired as I was.
My head swims as I look up at the high-rise again. I steel myself and head inside.
Unlike my run-down building on the other side of the city, this massive building has one of those fast elevators that makes getting to the highest floors a snap. I do a double take when I see that my destination floor is actually the topmost floor. But the doorman, a severe looking man who eyes me suspiciously, assures me that it really is the floor that the Harlow’s live on.
My nerves kick in as I step off the elevator.
The Harlow’s.
It’s silly, but I’m hoping I’ll see Olivia’s father today. I’m sure a man like him has better things to do on a Saturday morning than wait for his kid’s tutor to show up. He’s half the reason I’m doing this, if I’m being honest.
Mr. Harlow is an active donor to the school, and I’ve actually met him before because his donations fund my scholarship. He was one of my interviewers, but his face has stuck with me ever since. Each passing glimpse I’ve gotten of him at the school conducting business or whatever it is he does there fed my crush, and now I’m here. If I’m being honest, the real reason I took on this tutoring job isn’t just the money. It’s getting the chance to see him more regularly.
Even so, I’m trying to squish the hope rising in my chest. There’s no way he’ll be home. He’s probably working or whatever it is that people with this kind of wealth do on weekend mornings. Even my dad’s working, though I’m not sure people would consider his job real work. While he got home late—drinkingwith his buddies or something—he was up early to go shake down whoever his boss needs to be shaken down for the debt they owe. He’d left me cash and told me to get groceries for us for the week.
There’s not much I can get with what he gave me, but the cash from tutoring will more than help me stretch it.
Anything extra will have to go to our utilities, which my dad forgot to pay yet again. Between keeping my grades up to keep my scholarship to my high school, putting in volunteer hours so that I look better for colleges, and working real jobs so that we can make ends meet, I’m beginning to run out of patience about my dad forgetting to do something as basic as make sure our bills get paid. He’s always told me that school comes first, but I’m, beginning to think he's just saying that.
When I knock on the door to the Harlows’ apartment suite, I expect a maid or a butler or someone else in a uniform to answer and escort me to Olivia’s room. Instead, Mr. Harlow himself swings open the heavy door. My cheeks heat instantly.
While I’ve only ever seen him in suits (which makes me even more insecure about how ridiculous this crush is), he’s dressed casually in a faded Ivy League college sweatshirt and jeans. I’m suddenly very aware of how overdressed I am. My dark hair, the curls unruly on a good day, suddenly feels like a frizzy mess. I have a sit coming in on my chin and as my heart starts to race, I can almost feel the pressure in it pulsing along with it.
None of the boys my age look like Mr. Harlow, and that’s the problem.
Even though he’s old enough to be the father of my classmate, he’s built solidly, like he takes care of himself. He’s not wiry or lanky like any of the athletes at school, and he’s not trying toshow off like them either. He has a bit of scruff on his usually clean-shaven jaw, and his skin is clear, with only a few wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes. The crinkles make his gray eyes almost sparkle as he smiles at me welcomingly.
“Felicia?”
It’s a question, as if he doesn’t recognize me. My heart gives a disappointed pang. It’s silly, but I was hoping he’d remember me from my interview. Considering how awkward I feel right now, it’s probably better that he doesn’t remember who I am.
“Yes, sir. Nice to meet you, Mr. Harlow,” I rush out, feeling starstruck.
He shakes his head, which makes a lock of his light brown hair to flop down across his eyebrow. He absentmindedly runs his fingers through his hair, combing the strand back. My heart aches to do the same.
Yeah. This man isn’t just another dad. Not to me, silly as it feels still.
“Call me Brock,” he smiles at me.
My brain stutters to stop, frozen by the idea of being so casual with my crush. I try to say something, but nothing comes out. I’m too caught off guard.
He steps aside and waves for me to come inside.
The inside of the apartment—no, it’s definitely a penthouse—has my mouth dropping open in awe. High ceilings, expensive marble floors, shining windows, and luxury furniture greet me. Paintings that look like they belong in museums hang on the walls. Stainless steel appliances shine from the kitchen, reminding me that the open floor plan is really actually a place people live.
“Come on back, I’ll show you to Olivia’s room.”
