Chapter 7: Dominic

Eleven Years Ago

"I DON'T NEED A BABYSITTER."

"She's not a babysitter," Professor Ehrlich said patiently. "She's a tutor.

One of our best, in fact. She's worked with multiple students with dyslexia

— "

"I don't need a tutor either." The thought of some know-it-all

condescending to me every week made me want to crawl out of my skin.

I'd made it this far on my own, hadn't I?

I didn't have any tutors growing up and my teachers had been mediocre

at best, destructive at worst. Yet here I was, sitting in a top economist's

office at the prestigious Thayer University, less than a year away from

receiving my double economics and business degree. I could practically

taste the money and freedom already.

Professor Ehrlich sighed. He was used to my stubbornness, but

something in his tone had my gut tightening with unease.

"You do need one," he said, his voice gentle. "English literature and

composition is a core requirement. You already failed it once, and it's only

offered in the fall. If you fail it again this semester, you won't graduate."

My pulse spiked, but I kept my expression neutral. "I won't fail. I've

learned from my mistakes."

I didn't understand why I had to take English in the first place. I was

going into finance, not goddamn publishing. I was acing my economics

classes, and that was what really mattered.

"Perhaps, but I'd rather not risk it." Professor Ehrlich sighed again.

"You have a brilliant mind, Dominic. I've never met anyone with such a

natural gift for numbers, and I've been teaching for decades. But talent will

only get you so far. A Thayer degree opens doors, but to get it, you need to

play by the rules. You want to make it big on Wall Street? You have to

graduate first, and you can't do that if you insist on choosing your pride

over your future."

My knuckles turned white around the armrests.

Maybe it was the fear of losing when I was so close to the finish line, or

maybe it was because Professor Ehrlich was the only teacher who'd ever

given a damn about me.

Whatever it was, it forced me to swallow my knee-jerk distaste over his

suggestion and relent, at least partly, through gritted teeth.

"Fine. I'll meet with her once," I said. "But if I don't like her, I'm not

meeting with her again."

The following Monday, I showed up at Thayer's main library, ready to get

the meeting over with. It was nearly empty this early in the semester, so it

shouldn't take long to find my tutor among the stacks.

Professor Ehrlich had given us each other's contact information, and

she'd left me a voicemail that morning confirming our appointment.

I'll be on the second floor wearing a yellow dress. See you soon.

She didn't sound as chirpy as I'd feared. In fact, her voice was oddly

soothing. Rich and creamy, with a gentle calm that wouldn't be out of place

in a yoga studio or a therapist's office.

"I thought we'd discuss expectations and get to know each other a bit

during today's session," she said. "Even though this is a formal tutoring

partnership, it helps if we like each other."

One of those types. I should've figured. "As long as you don't ask me to

braid your hair," I said. "Neither of us would be happy."

Her laugh almost brought a smile to my lips.

Almost.

"No hair braiding, I promise, but I can't guarantee I won't show up with

cookies every now and then. They're wonderfully unhealthy and, if things

get down to the wire, they work quite well as bribes." Another grin, another

frisson of warmth. "Don't ask me how I know."

For the next hour, we discussed our schedules for the semester,

Professor Ruth's irrational love of juxtaposition, and random shit like our

favorite music artists and colors. Alessandra also dug deep into my learning

habits—what type of environment I preferred; whether I learned best

through sound, visuals, or hands-on activities; even what time of day I

usually got the most tired.

I'd never paid attention to half those things before and balked at

answering, but for someone who resembled a grown-up Disney princess,

she was like a damn pit bull with a bone.

I eventually relented and answered after some thought.

Learning environment: big table, natural light, some background noise

as opposed to total silence.

Learning medium: visuals.

Time of day when I usually wanted to take a nap: early afternoon.

"Perfect. This was very helpful," she said at the end of our hour. "I think

we'll get along just fine. Anyone who's a fan of Garage Sushi is friend

material."

Our mutual interest in the local indie band had been a pleasant surprise,

though I hardly considered it a solid basis for a friendship.

"Does the same time next week work for you?" she asked. "I don't have

class on Mondays, so I'm flexible."

"No. My SAT tutoring gig starts next week." Rich people spent

ridiculous amounts of money to get their kids into the Ivy League, and the

cash I raked in from my math lessons went a long way in covering my

expenses.

"What about in the morning?"

"Work."

"Night?"

"Work."

Her brows rose. "So you work, tutor, then go back to work?"

"Two different jobs," I said stiffly. "Cafe in the morning, Frankie's at

night." I'd stacked all my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could

work the other days. Between the coffee shop, diner, tutoring, and

occasional lawn-mowing gig on the weekend, I earned just enough to sort

of fit in at Thayer.

I didn't actually care about ingratiating myself with my classmates,

most of whom came from wealthy prep school backgrounds I could never

relate to, but the biggest benefit of attending a school like Thayer was the

networking. In order for people to take me seriously, I needed to look the

part, and looking the part was damn expensive.

Alessandra's face softened. She was the type of student who belonged

without trying. She didn't mention what her parents did, but I could tell just

by looking at her that she came from money.

"What time do you get off work?" she asked. "We can meet then. Based

on our schedules, Mondays are the— "

"I don't get off work until eleven." I challenged her with a cool stare.

"I'm guessing that's too late for you." I left out the part about how I usually

studied after work. I didn't know why, but I focused better when I was tired.

I liked Alessandra more than I thought I would, but I wasn't convinced

about this whole tutoring thing. The last thing I needed was her to bail on

me in the middle of the semester because I wasn't progressing fast enough

for her.

"Good thing I'm a night owl," she said, meeting my stare with a serene

one of her own. "See you next Monday."

I didn't believe for a second Alessandra would give up her Monday night—

or any night—to tutor me. She probably had a date or party to attend, which

was just fine. If we couldn't make a time work, then we couldn't make a

time work. Despite Professor Ehrlich's reservations, I was confident I could

pass English on my own. I had to. Not graduating was not an alternative.

I wiped down a table at Frankie's, trying to ignore an unwanted pang of

jealousy at the thought of Alessandra on a date. I had no claim on her, nor

did I want any. I'd hooked up with a few girls at Thayer but never bothered

dating any. I was busy enough without dealing with the drama of romantic

entanglements.

"Whoa." Lincoln let out a low whistle from the booth where he was

scarfing down a burger and fries instead of closing up shop. He was the

owner's nephew and one of the laziest fucking human beings I'd ever

encountered. "Who is that?"

I glanced up, already annoyed that someone was walking in five

minutes before closing time, but for the second time in a week, my

annoyance died a quick death.

Brown hair. Blue eyes. An armful of books and a half-teasing, half-

challenging smile as she took in my shock.

Alessandra. Here. In Frankie's. At eleven fucking o'clock on a Monday

night.

What the hell was she doing here?

"We're closed," I said, even though we weren't supposed to turn away

customers until the absolute last minute and it wasn't my place to turn them

away in the first place.

Lincoln stopped drooling long enough to glare at me. "Dude," he

hissed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not here for the food," Alessandra said calmly. "We have a tutoring

session, remember? I'm here to give you a ride." She sat at a counter stool.

"Don't mind me. I'll wait until you're done."

"That's your tutor? Damn, I should've stayed in school." Lincoln

resumed ogling her in a way that made me want to rip his eyes out of their

sockets.

"I'm tired." I stepped in front of him, blocking his view. It was either

that or earn myself an arrest for assaulting my boss's nephew. "We'll

schedule our session for another day."

"Perfect," she said, ignoring Lincoln's indignant protest. "You focus

better when you're tired, right?"

How—Professor Ehrlich. I was going to kill him.

I could tell by the look on Alessandra's face that she wasn't going to

budge, so I didn't argue further. I'd learned how to pick my battles a long

time ago.

Eventually, Lincoln tired of leering at her—either that, or he was put off

by my death stare—and left me to close up shop.

"Don't you have other things to do?" I asked when Alessandra and I

finally settled into a booth. "It's almost midnight."

"Like I said, I'm a night owl." She gave me a mischievous smile. "And

I heard the milkshakes here are really good."

I snorted, reining in the small laugh that'd almost escaped. "What

happened to not being here for the food?"

"Technically true, but I'll never turn down a shake if someone offers me

one."

"Right." She had to have an ulterior motive for showing up. People

didn't go above and beyond like this out of the goodness of their hearts.

Alessandra must've picked up on my lingering suspicion because her

teasing expression sobered.

"Look, I know you don't trust me yet, and I don't blame you, but I want

to make one thing clear," she said. "I'm your tutor, not your mother or a

drill sergeant. I promise I will do my very best to help you pass English, but

this is a partnership. You need to work with me, and if you really don't want

to—if you feel like I'm wasting your time and you would rather never see

me again—then you need to say so now. I don't give up on my students, but

I'm also not going to force them to do something they don't want to do. So

tell me. Are you in or are you out?"

Surprise flitted through me, followed by begrudging respect and

something infinitely more uncomfortable. It formed a knot in my throat and

blocked my knee-jerk defensive response.

No one had ever called me out quite so calmly and effectively before.

No one had cared enough.

"In," I finally said with no small amount of reluctance.

Maybe this was an act and she'd walk away after her initial enthusiasm

waned. She wouldn't be the first one. But something in my gut told me

she'd stay, and that scared me more than anything else.

Alessandra's shoulders relaxed. "Good." Her smile returned, a warm

beam of sunshine beneath the fluorescent glare of the overhead lights.

"Then let's get started, shall we?"

Over the next two hours, I understood why Professor Ehrlich sang her

praises so highly. She was a damn good tutor. She was patient, encouraging,

and empathetic without being condescending. She also came more prepared

than a Girl Scout with a bag full of highlighters for color coding, L-shaped

cards to frame sections of the textbook and help focus my attention, and a

recorder so I could replay our audio lesson at my leisure.

The most damning thing was, it worked. At least, it worked better than

my usual methods of gritting my teeth and persevering through brute

determination.

The only downside was how distracting Alessandra herself was. If she

talked for too long, I got lost in her voice instead of her words, and every

time she moved, a faint whiff of her perfume drifted across the table,

clouding my thoughts.

Christ. I was a grown man, not a hormonal teenager with a crush. Get it

together.

I reached for the blue highlighter at the same time she did. Our fingers

brushed, and an electric current jolted up my arm.

I yanked my hand away like I'd been burned. Pink colored Alessandra's

cheeks as tension coated the expanse of our booth.

"It's getting late. We should head out." My voice sounded cold to my

own ears even as my heart slammed against my ribcage with alarming

force. "I have class tomorrow morning."

"Right." Alessandra gathered her materials back into her bag, her face

still glowing with a hint of color. "Me too."

Neither of us spoke during the drive back to campus, but my brain

couldn't stop replaying what happened in the diner.

The softness of her skin. The hitch in her breath. The tiny, almost

imperceptible stutter of my heart during the millisecond our hands grazed,

followed by the unexpected shock to my system.

I blamed it on sheer exhaustion. I'd never reacted so viscerally to such a

small touch, but the body did strange things under duress. That was the only

explanation.

Alessandra pulled up in front of my dorm. We stared up at the imposing

brick building, and another awkward beat passed before I broke the silence.

"Thank you." The sentiment came out stiffer than intended. I wasn't

used to thanking people; they rarely did anything that warranted genuine

appreciation. "For the ride and for coming out to Frankie's. You didn't have

to do that."

"You're welcome." Alessandra's earlier mischief returned. "It was

worth it for the vinyl booths and fluorescent lights alone. I hear they're

really flattering for my skin."

"They are." I wasn't joking. She might be the only person on the planet

who could still look like a supermodel in a shitty, poorly lit diner.

A smile curved her mouth. "Same time next week?"

I hesitated. This was it. My absolute last chance to walk away before

she did.

You want to make it big on Wall Street? You can't do that if you insist on

choosing your pride over your future.

I don't give up on my students, but I'm also not going to force them to

do something they don't want to do. So tell me. Are you in or are you out?

I blew out a breath. Fuck.

"Sure," I said, ignoring my twinge of anticipation at the thought of

seeing her again. I hope I don't regret this. "Same time next week."