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 worked more 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—drinking with 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 zit 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 to show 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."

His voice is smooth and rich like maple syrup. My poor brain wants so badly to come up with something witty or charming to say to him, but all I can get myself to do is smile at him. As he leads me across the penthouse to an adjoining hallway, I stop in my tracks.

I've lived in this city all my life, but I've never seen it like this before. The floor to ceiling windows look out over the hustle and bustle, making everything seem small and inconsequential as it happens way below us. It's like I'm on top of the world.

I feel a hand at my elbow and look up to see Mr. Harlow. My face goes so hot I worry that it'll catch on fire. It's an innocent touch, he means nothing by it at all, but it makes me feel like I'm burning up anyway. He guides me over to the window gently.

"You can see the ocean on days like this," he says, sounding almost excited. "It's right over there."

He drops my arm as he leans to point where he wants me to look. The sight's impressive, but I have a hard time focusing on it when he's standing so close. He smells so good that I have to fight taking deep breaths of his scent. It's almost overwhelming how happy it makes me to be close to him like this.

"Thank you," I finally say, my voice almost hoarse with nerves. "For this job, I mean."

And for two hours of getting to see how the other half lives, and for the extra cash, and for being my crush—

"You came highly recommended," he says with a reassuring smile. "Olivia's a smart girl, but she takes after me when it comes to algebra. Hopefully, she's less hopeless than me."

"Dad," a voice calls out sharply from behind us. "Stop being embarrassing!"

I jump with a start. Even if he literally just mentioned it, I still managed to completely forget that I'm not here to see him. Nodding at Mr. Harlow, I rush after Olivia as she turns and disappears down the hallway.

"Sorry about that," she mutters as I follow her through an open door. "He's been trying to make me feel better about being stupid."

Olivia's room feels more like its own apartment. It's huge, and she has the space for a pale pink couch and cream armchairs surrounding a glass coffee table. Through another door, I can see a big, canopied bed decorated with a mountain of frilly pillows and a satin bedspread.

She stomps over to a desk in the corner, which has a huge computer monitor flashing different pictures of her and her friends on it. Off to the side, a laptop and an iPad sit among a number of pretty notebooks and fancy gel pens. Nearby, her closet door hangs open, showing off a spacious walk-in closet filled with clothes and shoes.

I've only ever dreamed of having a space like this to myself. My room is nowhere near this size, and I've had the same rundown furniture for as long as I can remember. A twin bed with worn sheets, a dresser handed down from my dad, a cheap desk I had to pinch pennies to afford. I don't have a computer, and all of my notebooks and school supplies were bought with coupons.

"I'll never get this," Olivia sighs, pulling her school bag over the sitting area. She ignores the couch and instead plops on the floor before pulling out her textbook and notebook. "But if I don't pass this time, I'm off the dance team."

"If it helps, we'll probably never use it in real life," I say as I sit down beside her, hoping the joke helps ease the tension.

Olivia has always intimidated me. She's got a larger than life personality and is friends with the coolest and most popular people. She's pretty and carefree and always seemed to do fine in class, so that I'm here to tutor her is making me even more nervous. If someone as perfect as her is struggling with math, what does that mean for a someone like me? What am I failing at?

"I know, right?" Her genuine smile puts my heart at ease almost immediately. "Here, let me make some room for you."

She pushes the coffee table back a little to make room for us to stretch our legs out. Just as she pushes her things aside on the table so that I can pull out mine, her phone's screen lights up with a text.

Her background picture looks recent. Olivia and an older woman with the same shade of blonde hair and blue eyes smile at the camera, the Rockefeller Center ice rink in the background. Instantly, I know it's her mom. It's never occurred to me that Mr. Harlow might be married, which makes me feel foolish. My wishful thinking let me get carried away. Of course he's married. My stomach sinks.

"Is that your mom?" I ask, just to make sure.

Olivia rolls her eyes with a huff. "On her annual visit to her first child, yeah. She lives in Los Angeles now with her new family—the upgrade ."

"Upgrade? From this ?" I ask incredulously. Why would anyone need to upgrade from this? Mr. Harlow is perfect. This apartment is perfect. What more could anyone possibly want?

My heart gives a sad pang for Olivia as I watch multiple emotions cross her face.

"Her new husband is a movie exec," she explains. "Caroline craves the spotlight and now she gets to go to red carpet events and host parties at a huge house that celebrities show up to. App developers and tech execs are too boring for her. What about your mom?"

This is a lot for a Saturday morning, but she's sharing things about herself with me, so the least I can do is do the same. "She died when I was five."

"Oh, shit. I'm so sorry." Olivia's pretty face flushes. "My mom's absent, but she's still here. I should be more grateful, huh?"

"I hardly remember her," I shrug. It's the truth, but that doesn't make it ache any less. I decide to change the subject. "Anyway, algebra's not so hard. We've got this."

"I hope so," she says.

I want to suggest that she study more, but I don't think that's the problem. The academic requirements for extracurriculars at our school are really high, so even one class can affect your eligibility. As we get to work, it quickly becomes clear that she just doesn't have a math brain. That's okay, not everyone does, but her frustration gets worse and worse as she keeps getting practice equations wrong. After an hour, tears are starting to gather in her eyes.

"Sorry to tell you that you're going to end up a failure like the other tutors. I'm just a dumbass I guess."

"No, you're not," I suddenly snap. I hate it when people think that about themselves just because they don't get something academic. "Don't put yourself down like that! You should say something nice about yourself just for doing that."

Olivia looks at me with wide eyes. "I, um … I'm really good at percentages," she says with a sniffle. "I can even do them in my head sometimes."

"See? You're not a dumbass at all. That's actually useful. You can figure out tips and what sale prices will be."

She laughs. I realize belatedly that she's probably never bought anything on sale in her life, but at least she's smiling now.

"Thanks for trying, I guess," she says as her face begins to fall again.

I hate seeing her so down on herself. Lucky for her, and for my employment prospects, I'm way too stubborn to give up on her yet. "Look, there are other ways to do these problems. Between you and me, they don't do a good job explaining this. I can teach you a few tricks so you can at least pass the test, but you'll have to be careful to show your work the way you're supposed to," I tell her.

For the next hour, we hunker down. By the end, we're both exhausted, but Olivia's a lot more optimistic about her skills.

"You're a genius," she says, marveling at her set of correctly completed math problems. "Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot at all," I reassure her. "You just needed a different explanation to get the same answers."

"It's only because of you that I know how to even get that right answer," she smiles. Suddenly, her expression becomes curious. She looks at me intently. "Are you allowed to wear makeup?"

I blink at her. Am I allowed ? I have to fight snorting with laughter. My dad doesn't care what I do with my face. Honestly, I don't know think he'd even notice if I came home painted green like Shrek.

Still, the truth of it is that I just can't afford makeup. Not even from the drugstore. All of the money I make is spoken for before it even hits my bank account. "Yeah. I just …"

Before I can find a way to explain that I'm too broke to buy products, Olivia is pulling me to my feet. "Oh my god, you have to let me do your makeup. Pretty please?"

She pouts at me cutely and bats her lashes. Her enthusiasm is so off-putting that I'm almost offended. Is there something about my face that needs fixing? The zit rearing its ugly head on my chin must be more obvious than I thought.

As soon as I tell her yes, she pulls me into her ensuite bathroom with a delighted squeal.

"My dad's got high hopes for me going to his alma mater and getting a business master's or a law degree, but honestly, it doesn't really excite me," she explains as she starts pulling different products out of her drawers.

"What do you actually want to do, then?" I ask her.

"Right now, I just want to go to cosmetology school and become a makeup artist."

"Elle Woods went to law school, you know. She's good at makeup."

Olivia's eyes light up as she starts to pat a product onto my skin. "Oh my god, you're totally right."

"You don't have to choose makeup or law school," I shrug.

"Stay still," she scolds me. "Shit, you've got such nice skin."

"That's a total lie. I've got a zit the size of New Jersey coming in on my chin."

"Nothing a little concealer can't fix!" she says with a knowing smirk. "Maybe we'll do a bold lip to distract from it though."

In the blink of an eye, Olivia works her magic. After she's done, I barely recognize myself, but in a good way. I mean, I have to get super close to the mirror to even see that chin zit!

I almost feel like a real adult. I feel confident and pretty, neither of which I've really never felt about myself before.

"You're amazing," I gasp. "A total miracle worker."

She shrugs. "You're a good canvas."

My heart sinks as I look at the time. I have to leave soon if I'm going to get home in time to change and get ready for my next work shift. As she starts walking me out to the living area, I think about how much fun it was to talk to her as she did my makeup. I'm not good at making friends, but … I feel like I've made one today.

Mr. Harlow stops us before we get too far. He gives his daughter a knowing look.

"I hope the makeup came after the studying," he says with mock suspicion.

Olivia rolls her eyes. "The makeup was a reward to myself to finally getting some practice problems right. Felicia was super helpful and I thought we both deserved a treat."

"Really? That's good to hear." He turns to me. "Was she a good student?"

"Dad! I'm right here!" Olivia protests.

"She was great," I answer honestly, feeling shy beneath his gaze. "She just needed a confidence boost. And different explanation."

"Glad to hear it. I'll walk you out."

When we're at the door, he pulls an envelope out of his pocket, opens it, and counts out the cash inside for me before slipping it back into the envelope and holding it out.

My brow furrows.

"Um, sir, it's supposed to be only seventy," I say as I take the envelope from him. I start to fish the cash back out to give back the extra. "I think I can give you change, let me—"

He stops me. "Keep it. Please. You had to travel, consider the extra for that."

I look up at him, feeling my face heat underneath Olivia's carefully applied makeup. "Mr. Harlow—"

"Felicia, call me Brock. And if you'd rather, think of it as a bonus for doing a good job. It's the first time I've seen Olivia actually happy after a tutoring session."

I glance between him and the cash. The deal was for seventy dollars, and I didn't really do anything differently for her than I'd do for someone else. But … the extra thirty would be really helpful. Against my better judgment, I nod at him and swallow my emotions as I tuck the envelope into my bag.

Suddenly, Olivia calls to us from the kitchen. "Wait! Can Felicia come back tomorrow for another study session? That test is on Monday and I want to make sure I'm really ready."

Mr. Harlow looks at me with a raised eyebrow, as if giving me permission to answer yes. I don't work tomorrow night, so …

"I can do that," I nod. "Is that okay?"

When he says yes, Olivia cheers and rushes over to squeeze me with an excited hug. I'm glad she's excited, because if I'm being honest, I'm excited too. I get to make a little extra cash and hang out with her again. On top of that, I get to see my secret crush again. What is there to lose?

What I didn't know that day is that Olivia and I would quickly become inseparable. After years spent feeling like a lonely outcast because of my financial situation, I now had a best friend. She was my support system, and I was hers.

At the time, I figured I'd grow out of my crush on Brock Harlow eventually. I thought that I'd find out he was some tyrant parent or that he was as irresponsible as my own father in some way. The silly little crush I'd nursed until then couldn't possibly stand the test of time, right?

I couldn't have been more wrong if I tried.