I'm late! I am so late!

I was expected at the mystery client's house ten minutes ago. Nana always says 'if you're not early, then you're late'. Being tardy causes me severe anxiety. And I already feel anxious as it is. Who is this Mrs. X? Why do I need to sign an NDA? Are they royalty? Diplomats? Is it a celebrity?

By the time I reach the townhouse on the Upper East Side, I'm out of breath and I can feel a sheen of sweat on my forehead. I would've parked closer but this area is so snobby that they don't even have public parking. God forbid I tarnish the aesthetic of this block with my shitty bright red Acura Integra. Hysteria will erupt!

I take a couple of deep breaths and tighten my high ponytail. Priya keeps telling me to wear my hair down, but I find that it just gets in the way. She's already conditioned me into doing my make-up every day, I think I'll maintain authority over my hairstyles for a little while longer.

I press the doorbell and hear chimes echoing from inside. Here we go!

The door swings open and a woman, who looks like she's in her late 50's, answers the door. She can't be more than five feet tall, and has short reddish-brown hair. She kind of reminds me of a younger Muriel from the Suite-Life of Zack and Cody. My sister used to watch that show religiously.

"Good evening, you must be Miss Sinclair." The woman smiles sweetly and ushers me inside. "I'm Ellen. Mrs. Carlisle has been expecting you."

Carlisle, ok. At least we have a name. This is a start.

"Sorry that I'm late. I couldn't find any parking," I say meekly as I look around the front entrance.

The sea of marble tiles, swanky high-end furniture, and greek-style columns make this house look like it's something out of a magazine. A year ago, a home like this would have blown me away. But after tutoring a handful of Upper East Siders, I find myself judging rather than admiring. As Ellen leads me down the hallway I notice an entire wall that is literally a giant fish tank. I can see the sitting room through all the exotic, vibrant-colored fish and teal water. How do they even get the fish inside? Or feed them? Ugh, some people.

Ellen stops outside a large porcelain white door and knocks quietly. "Mrs. Carlisle, Miss Sinclair is here."

"Let her in," a voice answers.

Ellen twists the doorknob and leads me into the room. My eyes widen. Rows upon rows of books line the walls. Thousands of books. Some with withering spines. Some that shine with a new glossy finish. I take a comforting breath. The room smells like an antique store with a hint of floral notes. I think I just died and went to heaven.

In the middle of the room, a polished bleach-blonde woman is peering at me over her desktop computer. She looks...pissed? Or, is it happy? I really can't tell. Her face is tight. Like, unnaturally tight. Her greenish-brown eyes give me a once-over before she gestures towards the armchair in front of the desk.

"Miss Sinclair, it's a pleasure to meet you. Tonya's told me you're one of her most highly requested tutors," Mrs. Carlisle retrieves a folder and places it in front of me. "Before we can go any further, I'll need you to sign these documents."

"You can call me Poppy, Mrs. Carlisle," I state as I open the folder. Ah, the Non-Disclosure Agreement. Of course. My eyes briefly scan the document but I don't read the whole thing. The gist of the document is don't blab. "Can I please borrow a pen, Mrs. Carlisle?"

"You may address me as Trish." Mrs. Carlisle hands me a pen and I sign my name at the bottom of the page. "Perfect. Thank you, Poppy. Now that that's out of the way. Let's discuss my son."

Ooo, a boy. Other than the twins, my other client is this adorable twelve-year-old girl whose parents can't seem to keep up with her homework. Yulya is a bright kid who skipped three grades, I only really see her on an on-call basis.

"So, your son is having difficulties in his classes? Is he in elementary school, high school, or college?" I would normally already have all this information, plus I'd have material prepared for the first session.

"He's in college. Currently attending NYU," Trish answers. "These are his transcripts from last semester and his midterm marks from this term. My son is actually quite in-"

I don't hear another word she says as my eyes immediately dart to the top of the transcript and the color drains from my face.

No. No way. This cannot be happening. No, no, no.

I blink rapidly hoping that I'm misreading the name. "Your son is Asher Prescott?" My voice cracks as I look up, my eyes full of dread.

Trish clears her throat and looks away embarrassed. "Perhaps now you see why we had you sign an NDA."

Uh, yeah!

I can't do this. I won't.

I fake a smile as I briefly excuse myself to the bathroom. I make sure to grab my phone out of my purse. I hastily dash out of the room and dial Tonya.

"Golden Education Group, Tonya Berry speaking."

"Tonya! Hi, it's Poppy. Listen, I can't take this client. I- uh, just realized that I have class on the days they requested sessions," I lie and immediately regret it. Tonya has my schedule for the semester, damn it.

"Poppy," Tonya begins slowly. "We both know that's not true. Why don't you want to work with the Carlisle's? Is it because of the lawsuit last year?"

"Wait, what? This family is the Carlisle's? The ones who were slapped with the class action lawsuit?"

I followed the story as it was happening but that was almost a year ago, a lot has happened since then. I recall that Edgar Carlisle has since been sentenced to a few years in prison, but I stopped caring after the verdict was reached. Plus, I thought he only had two sons. Maybe Asher's his through marriage? Not important right now.

"Yes, they are. But, Poppy...I don't think you should judge an entire family based on the father's actions."

"I know, Tonya. I'm not, but-"

"Poppy, everyone else has too many clients and can't take them on. If you say no then I'll have to refer them to another company. I was just about to email you the contract. You haven't seen what they're willing to pay you. If I were you, I'd look over the contract before rejecting the offer."

"Is it really that much more?" I ask dubiously. We already charge above industry standards.

"About three times more than you usually receive."

"Three?" I exclaim. "That's what? Like $225 an hour? That's insane. Why are they willing to pay that much?"

"I think they expect excellent results and discretion." Tonya pauses. "Poppy, can you just give it a trial run? I think Kirin will be available in a month. Can you at least work with them until then? Please!"

Tonya has been a fantastic boss. She's always accommodating and provides endless support to her employees. I suppose this is the least I can do. A month. I can handle a month. "Okay, fine. But only until Kirin is free."

"Thank you! Ok. Just e-sign the contract and send it back as soon as possible."

"Ok, bye Tonya."

I hang up and trudge back into Trish's office. We spend the next fifteen minutes outlining a study plan for Asher. I can't believe his grades are this low. From what I remember he came off as fairly intelligent. A total man-whore, but intelligent. Perhaps, he's one of those street smart people who don't test well. Either way, I've got my work cut out for me.

"Asher is upstairs in his bedroom. It's the door at the end of the hallway. Do you need Ellen to show you the way?"

His bedroom? I'm going to be spending two nights a week locked in a bedroom with an infamous playboy? That's great.

"No need to call Ellen, I can find it. Thank you, Trish. Um- I'll send you an update on Friday."

Trish smiles as I leave her office. I climb the stairs painstakingly slow, trying to buy time before the impending collision. I pass several closed doors until I pause in front of Asher's. I knock a couple of times. "Asher? It's uh- your tutor."

There's no answer. I timidly peek my head through the door and walk inside. Asher's bedroom looks like a small apartment, minus the kitchen. His king-size bed is located on a raised platform at the back of the room. A black leather couch faces a 70-inch flat-screen TV, and there's a desk stuffed into the corner. The walls are painted light grey, and there are abstract black and white painting hanging above his bed. The opposite side of the room looks like a shrine to music; guitars, bass guitars, and what looks like recording equipment stand proudly beside a massive shelf full of CDs and records. On the other side of the room hangs a blown-out map of the world with black and white pins pushed into various locations.

Where is he?

Just as I'm about to head back downstairs, I hear someone clear their throat. Oh, maybe he has an ensuite. Turning around, my jaw drops as I gawk at the dripping wet, naked man in front of me. My traitorous gaze lingers down south a little too long before lifting to meet his dark and amused eyes. Ho-ly shit! I quickly squeeze my eyes shut and spin around, bumping into the propped open door.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry!" I exclaim as I feel my cheeks flush crimson. "I thought you were expecting me." God, his body is etched into my brain right now. I can see why he's so confident. Gah, stop thinking about it!

Asher's firm footsteps vibrate the floor beneath me. Please be putting on clothes. "I was expecting someone, not you."

"Well, it's nice to know that this show wasn't purposely put on for me," I mutter as I hear dresser drawers open and close.

Kill me, kill me right now.

"You can turn around now."

I cover my eyes with my hand as I rotate. I do not trust him. I pry open a couple of fingers and peek through to find Asher standing in front of me, thankfully clothed in a black t-shirt and black jeans.

Lowering my hand, I examine his face. His usual smugness is evident in his tightened chiseled jaw, and crooked grin, but there's something unreadable that glistens in his eyes.

"So, you're my new tutor," he begins. "What's your name?"

I ball my hands up into fists, my nails digging into my palms. Is he joking? He doesn't remember me? I mean, I was wearing heavy make-up and had my hair done but...seriously?

I glower at him for a moment before regaining my composure. "You can call me Miss Sinclair."

Two can play at this game.

Asher takes three purposeful strides towards me and his freshly bathed scent permeates the air around me. "Shouldn't I just call you Cinderella? Seeing as you run out just before midnight."

Crap.

Ok, so he does recognize me. Which makes this equally awkward. I press my lips into a thin line. "About that- uh..sorry."

"Sorry? Come on, Poppy." The corners of Asher's mouth clips up into a smirk. "You really should be saying thank you."

I cross my arms. "Thank-you? For what?"

"Believe me when I say, I exercised an immense amount of restraint when I turned you down. But you should be glad that I did because if we did hook up, you'd spend the rest of your life comparing everyone to me."

Is he for real?!

"You are so, God, what word do I even use?" I flap my arms in disbelief. Asher opens his mouth to chime in but I hold up a finger. "Conceited, arrogant, vain, rude-"

Asher curls his hand over my finger and I quickly tug it away. "That is no way to talk to your student, Miss Sinclair."

In the midst of my blood boiling, I almost forgot the reason I'm here. Closing my eyes, I take a calming deep breath. "You know what? You're right. You are my student, so why don't we get to work." I walk over to his desk and pull out a chair. "Sit," I command.

"Bossy, I like it," Asher notes as he raises his eyebrows in surprise. "What happens if I don't do as you say?"

I roll my eyes. He will not bait me! "If you don't get your butt over here, I'll have to inform your mother that you aren't cooperating with me. And based on my understanding, that won't bode well for you." I smile sweetly as I pull out a second chair. "Shall we start with Accounting?"