Page 6 of Do It With Me

3

ELLORA

Perched on a stool behind the register with my laptop open in front of me, I looked around my little store and wondered how long it was going to be before I lost it. Most people probably wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, let alone fight to be able to keep owning it, but Second Story was mine.

My business. My passion. My outlet for the creative streak that had kept me from going to business school in the first place.

The store was quiet today except for the faint hum of the heater. There was no one else here right now. Just me and my inventory, old clothing pieces that I’d breathed new life into and some cute little furniture pieces. I even had an entire section of vintage wedding dresses.

A lot of people thought that was beyond weird, but I loved it. Every one of those dresses had a story, and honestly, I felt honored to have them here, just waiting to be part of the beginning of another epic love story. There was also beat-up jewelry I’d upcycled and a whole bookshelf of vinyl records.

As my gaze skimmed across the scuffed wooden floors and the bright yellow walls I’d painted myself, I inhaled a deep breath of air that smelled like freshly baked goods from the bakery downstairs. I adored every inch of this place, from the walls, to the floors, to every molecule of air, but when my eyes landed back on my laptop’s screen, I winced.

I’d been scrolling through listings for home healthcare nurses and my stomach sank further with every click of my mouse. The prices were astronomical, and naturally, the insurance company wouldn’t cover a dime.

Of course, they wouldn’t. Because why the heck would they? They’re only an insurance company.

I scoffed out loud, but then buried my face in my hands, trying to claw my way back to that mild feeling of peace I’d found just a few moments ago when I’d been looking around. It’d been fleeting though, and it was long gone.

Even before I’d moved out of the townhouse I’d shared with two roommates, I’d barely been scraping by. Now, with Mom’s medical bills on top of everything else, I was starting to feel like the Titanic. My iceberg was simply made of overdue invoices.

I sure hope this business class teaches me something because if it doesn’t, I’m officially doomed.

Annoyingly, my thoughts wandered to him when I started thinking about that class. My stupid hot professor.

It had been like this all week. I’d start sinking into despair because my situation truly sucked right now. Just before I hit rock bottom and started bawling my eyes out, I’d inevitably grab onto the last shred of hope I had left—that class. And as soon as that happened, my brain conjured up images of him.

Holden Langton.

As if I needed a distraction like that right now. I should’ve been focusing on the class itself, reading ahead as much as I could and squeezing every possible lesson out of the content before it was even presented. And I had been reading ahead, but even as I did, I kept wondering about him.

The man really was impossibly good looking. Intent, piercing blue eyes that seemed to command attention—and induce dirty dreams. The sandy hair that was just long enough to make him look like a thoughtful academic rather than a slick businessman. Shoulders broad enough for a girl to grab onto and that casual style, with the top button of his shirt undone?

Yes, please. Sir.

When I realized that my mind was on a direct path to the gutter again, I rolled my eyes at myself, heat spreading across my cheeks. Again.

This was ridiculous. Not only was the man my professor, but even if a guy like him could ever be interested in a girl like me, my life was such a hot mess that I couldn’t possibly subject anyone else to it.

The thought stung, the pain sharper than I wanted to admit, but that didn’t make it any less true. My future was crystal clear at this point. I was going to die alone as an old spinster, surrounded by feral cats and slightly suspicious credit card statements.

However, if I wanted to cling to any shred of dignity, the least I could do was to make sure he couldn’t tear me apart for my wardrobe again. That was something I could control and I knew exactly which box had the perfect outfit for my next class.

Time to do some unpacking.

A couple days later, I pushed open the classroom door and strutted in like I owned the entire building, or at least owned the confidence to fake it. My second-best business outfit was doing all the heavy lifting tonight, a tailored skirt suit that hugged my curves in all the right places, making me look like a vintage pin-up model who also belonged in an MBA class. Professional, with no skin showing, but still a total bombshell.

And apparently, it worked.

The second I stepped into the classroom, Holden’s eyes found me. For a split second, I swore it looked like he’d forgotten how to breathe. The other students were chattering around us, completely oblivious, but I could feel the heat from his stare like a sunbeam through a magnifying glass.

Since we technically still had a few seconds before class started, I lifted my chin a little higher and walked to his desk, stopping when I was close enough that only he could hear me.

“Better?” I asked. “Or do you have any more mean comments about my clothing?”

He blinked at me and said nothing at first. Not a word. Those blue eyes held mine, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping me in a way that almost made it my turn to drool, but even with him towering over me, I held my own.

“No comments from me,” he said finally, his voice low and measured.