Do It With Me

Chapter 1

ELLORA

Tomato soup dripped down the front of my nicest blouse, the red blooming from my chest to my stomach like I’d been shot.

In retrospect, I probably should’ve changed after I’d served Mom’s dinner, but I was running late. I’d chosen my white silk blouse for my first day of class, hoping to impress my professor by at least looking the part of a put-together businesswoman.

Instead, it seemed I’d tempted fate just a little too much. My reward was looking like I’d taken a flying dive into a plate of spaghetti, tits first.

Not a great way to make a first impression.

Mom had bumped into me when I’d been carrying her dinner to the table and now we stood in the kitchen in our new apartment, me dripping like a percolator and her twisting her hands in front of her like she was trying to wring the guilt out of them.

As she looked up me, lips parted in shock, her brow furrowed. A pleading look crossed the bright green eyes I’d inherited from her. “Please don’t tell my daughter,” she whispered, voice thinner than the stained silk clinging to me.

I am your daughter.

The words jumped to the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t correct her. I’d learned it was better not to. When she got confused, arguing only made her upset, which would lead to both of us ending up in tears, and I didn’t have time to reapply mascara and change my shirt before my first lecture.

“Your secret is safe with me,” I said instead, smiling in an attempt to assuage her obvious guilt. “As long as you sit down and eat what’s left of that soup.”

She brightened, visibly relieved, and complied, lowering herself into the chair and lifting her spoon like it was made of glass. “I just don’t want her to worry about me.”

My heart clenched at how soft and uncertain her voice sounded, but I couldn’t let it show, so I dialed up my smile another few megawatts. “I’m sure your daughter is just fine.”

I didn’t look her in the eyes when I said it. The lie tasted bitter on my tongue, but pretending gave her peace. It was the best I could do for her.

Her gaze drifted down to my chest. A soft moan came out of her as she surveyed the damage. “Your clothes are ruined.”

“It’s just a blouse,” I said lightly. “I have a spare shirt.”

I didn’t. Not really.

Most of my wardrobe was still buried in boxes and the only “spare” shirt I could think of was the ratty tee I slept in sometimes, but she didn’t need to know that. We’d only been in the new place two days and I desperately wanted it to feel like a fresh start for both of us.

When Mom’s memory lapses got real, I brought her to New York so I could take care of her. The Chicago winters weren’t helping much and there was no way I could relocate since the store I owned was right here, on the upper east side of Manhattan.

Neither of us were settled in yet though, but we would be. Soon.

We had to be. All I had to do was find a clean top, fix my hair, and maybe pretend my life wasn’t falling apart in about twelve different ways.

Easy. Totally easy.

I stayed in the kitchen for another minute, watching from the other side of our little breakfast nook as she gently sipped soup from the spoon. Once I was satisfied that the upset from the incident had begun to fade, I finally darted down the short hallway to my bedroom.

The apartment I’d rented for us wasn’t huge, but it was comfortable enough for just us two.

We had a living area with large windows that let in plenty of natural light, a kitchen with enough counter space for us to do some cooking together when she was feeling up to it, and we each had our own bedroom and bathroom.

Dodging moving boxes, framed photographs, and art still bubble-wrapped on the floor, I successfully navigated the maze to my bedroom.

I’d set aside the blouse and skirt specifically for tonight’s class.

Without this outfit, I was a little lost about what I could wear.

The only thing I knew for sure was that it would not help to impress my professor.

After digging through a few boxes, the best I could do was a mildly rumpled T-shirt featuring a cartoon frog giving two thumbs up and with the words, No worries, baby emblazoned underneath.

If only that were true.

I tugged at the hem, debating whether irony counted as style, then scooped my bag off the bed and went back to the kitchen to grab my keys. Mom looked up from her soup, her spoon halfway to her mouth when she saw me. “Are we going to the beach today?”

“No, not today. It’s too late already,” I said gently. “I’m going to my night class.”

“Oh.” She blinked, seeming a little puzzled. “Tomorrow then?”

“Sure. Tomorrow.”

Her expression cleared and she smiled, waving me off. “Have fun at bingo.”

Bingo? I smiled back, but my throat was so tight, it hurt. “Maybe I’ll win big and we can go out for a nice steak dinner tonight.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Good luck! I could go for a ribeye.”

I couldn’t afford a nice steak dinner for the pair of us, and there were no winnings coming, but her smile was worth the lie, and she would forget in the next twenty minutes that I’d even suggested it. Harmless.

Fingers tightening on the strap of my backpack, I gave her a wave before I turned and left, but even after crossing the foyer, I hesitated with my hand on the doorknob, glancing back toward the kitchen.

Mom was humming to herself, dipping her spoon in the soup and staring out the window like she was waiting for the ocean to appear.

Guilt burrowed deep into my heart. I hated leaving her alone, even only for a couple hours. She’d seemed mostly fine lately, but the forgetfulness was getting worse. It probably wouldn’t be long now before it got dangerous to leave her by herself.

I made a mental note to find someone who could check in on her while I was at work or class. Maybe a visiting nurse. Maybe a miracle.

But right now, I had to go. These night classes were only twice a week and they could be the key to saving my shop. If I could learn how to run the business side better, maybe I wouldn’t have to keep pretending I had everything under control.

Finally convincing myself to move, I pushed the door open and stepped out in the hall, making sure to lock up behind me. Mom will be fine. It’s only a couple hours. She’ll be fine.

I took a deep breath and tucked my chin, then caught sight of the cartoon frog grinning up at me from my shirt as I hustled down the stairs. No worries, baby.

Snorting out loud at how ridiculous that sentiment felt right now, I pushed out of the stairwell and into the small but tidy foyer.

A neighbor coming in from letting their dog out waved hello as I burst outside, and I managed a wave over my shoulder.

By the time I hit the street, I’d half-convinced myself that everything really could be okay, but then the icy January air slapped me in the face like the universe itself was trying to tell me something.

Something along the lines of don’t be so na?ve.

Everything was falling apart. No blouse, amount of money, time, or resources could fix that. But I had to keep going, so I strode to the curb and flagged down a cab I absolutely couldn’t afford.

Being broke was simply less terrifying than being late. At this point, splurging for a ride might even end up helping me save my business in the long run, even if it would mean eating a lot less for the next week or so.

“Harvey Institute of Business Studies,” I told the driver as I climbed in. “And, uh, I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“So what you’re saying is, step on it?” He grinned at me in the rearview mirror. “You got it, lady.”

He shoved the car into gear and peeled out into the traffic like the cops were chasing him. I slammed back into the seat, grabbing the seatbelt and hurriedly buckling up for the ride.

To my driver’s credit, he really did his best to get me there on time, taking corners like he was auditioning for The Fast and the Furious: Academic Edition. At one point, I was ninety percent sure we went airborne over a pothole.

By the time we screeched to a stop in front of the building, I was sweating, shaking, and silently promising every deity in existence that I would never complain about the subway again.

“Thank you,” I muttered and handed over some cash before stumbling out, slamming the door behind me, and immediately booking it into the building.

My heart still raced when I reached the classroom. I paused at the door, pointlessly smoothing out my frog T-shirt after slipping out of my coat, and then pushed it open. Naturally, it gave just enough of a creak that every head turned as I stepped into the room.

The lecture had already begun, and the professor standing at the front stopped mid-sentence. His gaze landed on me and narrowed. Every single head in the room turned from him, to me, and back to him again. I didn’t even notice I’d stopped breathing.

Professor Langton was younger than I’d expected, probably in his early to mid-thirties, and he was tall.

Really tall. His dark, sandy hair was just a little mussed, like he’d run a hand through it one too many times, and his features looked like cut glass, his defined jaw clean-shaven and his cheekbones high.

The sleeves of his navy-blue button-down were rolled up, his muscled forearms on display. A loosened tie hung around his neck, the top button of his shirt undone.

He possessed a quiet, controlled energy as he looked me up and down, and I didn’t dare leave the illusion of safety at the doorway.

Of course, my new professor was the hottest man I’d ever seen and I looked like a pile of dirty laundry with an anxiety disorder.

“Find a seat,” he said. Not loud. Not rude. Just commanding.

My brain seemed to short-circuit at the sound of it, the words yes, sir popping into my head before I could stop it. My legs went weak in that useless, jelly-boned way, and I muttered an apology to the floor before slipping into an empty seat in the back row.

My cheeks were on fire. I ducked my head, letting my hair fall forward like a curtain. Maybe if I stayed perfectly still, I’d turn invisible.

So much for first impressions. I’d hoped to come across as confident and capable, the kind of woman who owned a small business in New York City and totally knew what she was doing. Instead, I’d shown up late, sweaty, and wearing a cartoon frog.

He watched me for another moment before he picked up where he’d cut himself off before, his voice calm and deliberate as he outlined the course structure, explaining what we’d be covering over the semester. I tried to focus, but every few sentences, his eyes flicked toward me.

Not long enough to be obvious, but enough that I noticed.

Enough that my stomach kept doing a nervous little swoop.

He must think I’m such a mess, a student who can’t manage her time or her wardrobe.

I bet he’s wondering why I’m even taking this class if I haven’t yet mastered basic life skills.

Or he’s planning how to use me as an example to set the other students straight on our first day.

I sank a little lower in my chair, gripping my pen like it could save me from spontaneous combustion. Hot or not, this professor would impart knowledge during this course that I desperately needed.

Right now, the vintage thrift store I’d built from scratch was suffering more than even the oldest, most beat-up item in it.

The blue-eyed demigod scrutinizing me as he handed out our syllabus might be the only person able to help me save it.

Although, when he looked at me one last time, his gaze hardly said savior or redemption.

It said caution. Trouble. Do not touch.

All I had to do was keep my head down and learn. Nobody was coming to save me or my mother. Silk blouse, frog shirt, it didn’t matter. I had to do it on my own.