“Sounds great. Tell her I said hello.”

  “I will. Wish you could come.”

  I shrug on a deep breath. “Me too, but you know Papa, and it’s not worth the fight.”

  The effort it takes to go to class four days a week is epic. I have to be sure all my chores are done, or at least at a stage where I can finish them the same day. His meals have to be not only cooked but prepped in such a way that he can re-heat them in one dish for exactly thirty minutes at three hundred degrees.

  “I’ll be waiting to watch your next blog post tonight.” She leans over and gives me a hug, which I enthusiastically return. “Have fun in class.”

  “I will. Thank you.”

  We make our way together out to our cars, and I shoot her a small smile before we pull away, still feeling that pang of jealousy.

  The entire drive to school, I’m planning the banana, nutmeg and kiwi torte I’m going to blog and film the how to video for before my one evening class.

  I haven’t told Papa the entire truth about my schedule. I could be at campus a lot less and just attend classes, but my blog isn’t hurting anyone, and for the first time in a long time I’m doing something for me that I love and no matter what God I think about, there can’t be anything wrong with that.

  I stop at the grocery in town on my way and get the ingredients I need for today’s recipe, then change into my new outfit before continuing the drive to Patriot. I’ve developed this sort of alter-ego for my video blog, and she’s a lot more fun than the usual Selma. Her name is Anastasia Snow, and she’s got a flamboyant streak I would have never imagined would come out of me.

  As I make my way into the culinary building where I’ve reserved a sample kitchen for my video shoot, I see Cameron sitting on the floor with a few other students I give him a wave to catch his attention, and when he sees me he’s up on his feet and sprinting down the hall in my direction.

  He grabs my arm.

  “What the heck?” I giggle as he tugs my arm into the small, dark kitchen, and I reach over to flick on the lights. “You okay?”

  He’s panting because he wouldn’t usually run unless someone was chasing him. He’s a culinary student, and he loves his work, and it shows. He’s funny and as unlikely as it seems, we became fast friends the first week of classes. He’s a freshman, except he’s eighteen as is the norm and I’m almost twenty-one.

  He’s from Cleveland, the big city to me, and Papa would never approve of his multi-colored hair and ear piercings, but we are kindred spirits in our own opposite sort of way.

  “O.M.G.” He enunciates each letter, releasing my arm and waving a hand in the air. “Gurl, what is going on with you?”

  “What do you mean?” I set my things down on the side chair, and start to dig out my food items, setting things up for the video.

  “Someone is looking for you.”

  Fear heats my face, sure it’s Papa, and he’s found out I’m not just taking classes. “Who?”

  “Some guy. No, guys. Plural. One slick suit and two goons. Like from The Sopranos or some shit. If they weren’t dressed so nice, I’d think it was the Amish Mafia or whatever your people calls themselves after your good girl ass. But they’re more like Madison Avenue meets Christian Grey. Seriously.”

  Confusion spins inside of me. “They can’t be looking for me.”

  “Oh, yes, they can.” He bobs his head. “They had your video, showing it around to everyone they could find. I followed them on the down low until they went into the administration offices. Gurl, you are either about to have the worst day of your life or the best.” A little grin spreads over his lips, and I get the feeling he’s having fun admiring whoever they are.

  “This doesn’t make any sense...”

  There’s a loud knock on the door and both Cameron and I jump and yelp, reaching for each other’s hands.

  “Gurl, fate has come calling.”

  When the door opens, there’s the most stunning man in a near-silver suit, standing there looking at me like he’s just discovered some long-lost treasure. He’s enormous, nearly as tall as the doorway, with a chest that fills out the front of his suit perfectly and a deep scar along his left jawline that gives his face an odd but sexy anti-symmetry.

  “Anastasia?” He stares at me so hard I back up into the oven.

  I look over at Cameron, who glances at the man then back to me, raising his eyebrows.

  Words fail me as I stutter, and Cameron rolls his eyes and takes point.

  “Yes, she’s Anastasia. I’m her manager, Cameron Collins.” Cameron steps forward and extends his hand. “And you are...?”

  The man considers Cameron for a long moment, then takes his hand and shakes it firmly as he answers. “I’m the man who is about to change her life.”

  T H R E E

  Ash

  THE WORLD MELTS AWAY. Nothing exists except her.

  The need I had as I watched her videos is nothing compared to what I’m feeling right now. The raging thought in my brain is: I don’t think I can ever go another day without her.

  Beautiful is such an insufficient descriptive. The copper-red hair that dangles around her shoulders in waves is more stunning than I imagined. Her sky-blue eyes, shocking against ivory skin so perfect it rivals any China doll. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and touch the freckles on her nose and cheeks before letting her know there will not be another day without me.

  Because I couldn’t bear it.

  I drop the hand of the young man who introduced himself as her manager. He seems friendly enough, but I’m captivated by her lips as they rub nervously against each other. The vibrant green tank dress that drapes over her curves makes my mouth water.

  Even from this distance, her scent is hinted with raspberries and cream, and I wonder how she tastes.

  I catch her confused stare and introduce myself. “I’m Ash Thompson, and I’ve seen your videos.”

  I see her eyes flick to my two bodyguards, who are standing just behind me and the fear in her eyes stirs such a protectiveness inside me I almost lose my cool. I turn, tipping my head to the door, and without a word, they turn on their heels and step out. When I look back, she’s more relaxed, but there is suspicion in her eyes.

  “Ash Thompson.” Her friend hoots. “Seriously?” He does this little jump and backs away, putting a hand on her shoulder, making my pulse race because he’s touching what’s mine. “I imagined you taller, somehow...”

  “I’m six feet six inches. Taller than that, it becomes rather inconvenient, I imagine.”

  Something about him tells me he’s not a threat but seeing him touch Anastasia...my Anastasia...has my heart beating hard, and I feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of my neck.

  “I’m sorry I don’t—” She shakes her head. “—know who you are.” Her fingertips brush over her forehead, and her eyes narrow.

  I clear my throat and try to stay calm and professional, when inside I’m feeling like a schoolboy ready to ask the prom queen on a date.

  “I’m just a businessman. I’ve been looking for you. I run a few companies that are in the food industry, and your videos have come to my attention.”

  The boy next to her squeaks and claps silently, looking frantically between us. “Ash effing Thompson. You’ve come to the attention of Ash effing Thompson.”

  “Wait, but how did you find me?” There’s concern in Anastasia’s voice, and I hate that I’m making her fearful.

  “Please, forgive me. I know this is sudden, and it must be a shock to have someone track you down. Know I am here with all good intentions, I want to talk with you is all.”

  It’s a lie. I want to do so much more than talk with her.

  When she crosses her arms over her chest, and the swell of those incredible tits push up into the V-neck of her dress, my cock hardens to the point of pain. I imagine what her nipples will feel like in my mouth, how they’ll harden, and her back will arch into me.

  “You still didn’t answer her question.” Cameron copies her arm-cross and juts out a hip as he raises his eyebrows. Part of me wants to punch him, but the other part is thankful that she has someone watching her back. Although, from now on, that position will be mine.

  I need her comfortable. I need her talking to me. I need to give her everything in this world she deserves and more. My instinct tells me she would be frozen in fear if her friend wasn’t close, so for now, I deter my compulsion to take over the role of her protector.

  “Sorry, you’re right. I have connections, but I will admit you were difficult to find. The other Anastasia Snows we were able to find were all dead ends. We finally used some technical tracking to find the source and location of your YouTube posts. It led us here, to Patriot, then from there, we did some digging and finally found you. Thank goodness.”

  I swallow hard, watching her eyes dance up and down my body as she pulls her lips between her white teeth.

  “Okay, so what do you want?”

  “It’s a bit of a long story. I’d be honored if you would come and have coffee with me. Let me explain a few things. Anywhere you’d like.”

  “Well, I honestly am about to do a video shoot. Maybe we can talk another time?” My heart sinks as she half-squints one eye, doing that nose crinkle that drives me mad. “I can’t waste all the ingredients I bought, and my followers are expecting a new recipe to be posted tonight.”

  Her practicality and loyalty to her six hundred and twenty-three followers only makes me more crazed for her. With that number of followers, she’s not going to become an influencer anytime soon, but it makes shrewd business sense to put them first, and that’s something I admire. She’s smart, talented, beautiful and kind.

  That’s a killer package, and I feel like I’m losing control for the first time in my life. I squeeze my hands into fists, trying to hold on.

  “Her people are crazy loyal” Cameron adds with a flip of his head. “I’m her manager, and it’s in her best interests to give them what she promised, which is a killer torte thingy posting at eight PM tonight.”

  I admire his moxie and her dedication, so I change my approach.

  “That’s admirable, and as a businessman, I completely understand. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to observe?”

  She stands up straighter and fidgets with her dress.

  “I’ll sit in the back corner. I won’t say a word, just pretend I’m not there.”

  She looks to Cameron who shrugs and tips his head back and forth. The battle inside me rages because as much as I need to stay and watch her, I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself jerking off while she’s making her video.

  She pulls her shoulders back and her lips to the side, making the dimple on her right cheek pull inward, and my heart is beating so loud in my ears. I barely hear her reply.

  “Fine. In the back.”

  Cameron looks at me with a smirk; his arms still crossed over his chest. “No talking,” he adds, and as much as I want to hate this kid, I can’t.

  My gaze drifts back to Anastasia. She has one hand on her cheek and the other locked around her waist, and I look down to see her worn, simple loafers. They don’t fit with the rest of her outfit, and it makes me wonder what the rest of her life is like and whether there’s something the cameras don’t see.

  I know this is a Christian, faith-based school, but I’m not sure what that means in practicality. All in all, it’s a pretty contemporary campus with a mix of students that look like they range from nearly Amish style dress to, well, Cameron. What is still baffling, is Anastasia. Or the last thereof. In this day and age to have nothing available about their life on the internet is unheard of. We even did a reverse face search, and there are no other images of her available on the web outside of her blog and videos. She’s a ghost in an age where we all leave electronic footprints behind.

  Her anonymity only drives me closer to madness. I want to know everything about her.

  I realize she’s staring at me, waiting for my agreement to their terms.

  “Great, I’ll sit in the back. I’ll be quiet. But after, you’ll talk to me. I think you will want to hear what I have to say.”

  F O U R

  Selma

  THE COFFEE SHOP AT the student center is nearly empty. There’s one other occupied table with a group of girls looking like Cameron’s age. The only other occupants are the two monsters that come with Ash, darting their eyes around the room like secret service agents.

  I wiggle the base of my paper cup full of hot tea on the table, trying to digest everything Ash has told me.

  My head is spinning, and I know Ash is looking at me, but I can’t seem to force myself to meet his eyes again.

  I looked a minute ago. I thought I was going to pass out.

  It’s not just the color of his eyes, they look like the full moon. Gray and silver and luminescent. His face is angular; strong, but with a calm confidence I’ve not felt from a man before. He’s clean shaven—almost too clean, as though he shaved just before he came in to find me. Then there’s that scar. I want to know the story behind that scar...

  “Anastasia?” He nods, looking at me from under his thick brow. “I know it’s a lot to take in. You look pale. Are you okay? Are you going to say anything?”

  “I’m...fine. But I’m not sure what to say.” I manage on a croak.

  I bring my hands up to cover my mouth and take a conscious breath.

  Something about this man makes me wildly nervous, yet somehow at ease. He’s also making flocks of butterflies zoom around in my belly, and there’s a throbbing down low that I know is lust.

  And lust is something I’ve never felt before.

  It’s a sin. Such a sin.

  I’ve been lying to Papa and now this. It’s the devil tempting me. I’m falling into the darkness, little by little, just like Papa says happens.

  “Well, let’s start with this.” He reaches to the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a checkbook. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, but I’m hoping this will settle us without the need for any negative publicity. Recipes aren’t actually protected by law. Of course, if you want to take independent advice, I can set that up for you, but either way, I want to make this right between us.” I force myself to meet his eyes, and I see anticipation. I shake my head, unsure what to say. “Know it’s a personal check, but I assure you it’s good. There will be more royalties to come as well, so I would suggest we set up a corporation for you for further proceeds.”

  “A corporation...?” My upbringing has given me zero preparation for anything like this. In my community, women do not handle the day-to-day finances, let alone start corporations.

  Or blogs and YouTube channels.

  Papa gives me a monthly allowance for the chores and work I do, but it’s always cash. I keep it in a jar in the back of my closet. That’s what a bank account means to me.

  “Anastasia Snow, correct?” He glances at me as he writes on the check with a silver pen.

  I stare blankly as the pen moves over the paper, then he rips it from the stack of checks and slides it toward me, spinning it around, so it’s right side up for me.

  And there are no words.

  After a moment, he clears his throat before talking. “That is the estimated profit share we would have negotiated with you to use your recipe for cinnamon, cashew and sriracha muffins, and cookies, that one of our project chefs stole from your blog. Plus, ten percent for my conscience. I run an ethical business to the best of my ability, and I assure you he is no longer in our employ. I do not condone that sort of action, and I want to make it right with you.”

  “I—” I gulp air, trying to keep from hyperventilating. “I can’t accept this.”

  First, what am I going to do with a check made out to Anastasia Snow?

  Second, how will I ever explain this to Papa?

  It would crush him.

  I’m all he has left. My whole life, he’s guided my every move. My mother left us when I was just seven, going back to her life on the outside. I always wondered why she didn’t return for me. Why I wasn’t enough for her to stay.

  She wasn’t from the community. Papa fell in love with her when she was just seventeen, and he was twenty-one. She worked at a feed store in Indiana where Papa spent the summer helping on his Uncle’s farm that year. Against his parents’ wishes, he married her and brought her back here to Ohio.

  Only, she could never adapt to the ways of the community. I remember the arguments over things she was expected to do—and things she was expected not to do—and then one day, she was just gone. No note, nothing. And my father’s heart was never the same.

  Neither was mine.

  Panic grips my throat as I hold the check in my hands. Greed is another sin, and if I accepted this check, I’m sure it would be just another reason for Papa to tell me I’ve got the devil inside of me.

  Ash sits up straight, his fingers toying with the knot in his deep-blue silk tie as he considers my comment before speaking. “It’s yours already. It’s not an accept or decline offer, Anastasia. The money does not belong to anyone but you.”

  Blood is rushing through my ears, and I’m so hot I feel sweat trickling down my spine. When Ash speaks again, I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I jump.

  “You deserve that and more. So much more.” When he reaches across the table, and his hand tops mine, something inside me snaps at the power of that simple touch, and I nearly drop the tiny, powerful piece of paper clutched between my fingertips.

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me. I need the ladies room—” I reach down and grab my backpack, stumbling from the table across the common area and into the restroom, close to hyperventilating.

  When he touched me, a shiver of something wicked overtook me. The feeling centered low, in-between my legs. And all I could hear was Papa’s voice telling me that saving myself for my match is the only way. He would disown me if I ever—

  I’m the preacher’s daughter after all. I represent Papa. I can’t disappoint him.