Offlimits, Professor!
Description
When guarded concert pianist Leo Mercer is assigned to mentor bold jazz prodigy Zoe Washington, their electrifying chemistry strikes all the wrong chords. Haunted by tragedy, Leo swore he'd never feel again-until Zoe's fire reignites his passion. But their growing bond is dangerous. With Zoe's powerful uncle determined to destroy Leo's reputation, their romance becomes a scandal waiting to erupt. Caught between ambition and desire, Leo and Zoe must risk everything for a love that breaks all the rules. From secret rehearsals to stolen kisses, to full-blown love that was meant to last FOREVER.
Chapter 1
Jun 19, 2025
ZOE’S POV
My fingers hovered over the piano keys as I took a deep breath. The grand piano before me gleamed under the auditorium lights, both inviting and terrifying in its perfection. Three faces stared at me from behind a table—the audition panel for the most prestigious music conservatory in the country. My entire future balanced on the next five minutes.
"Whenever you're ready, Ms. Washington," said the woman in the center, her silver-rimmed glasses catching the light.
I nodded, trying to ignore the sweat trickling down my back. The piece I'd prepared had evaporated from my mind. But that was okay. I'd always done my best work when I let go and just... played.
My fingers found middle C and I closed my eyes. The first notes rippled out tentatively, then gained confidence as I felt the familiar rush of music flowing through me. I didn't play the carefully rehearsed Chopin I'd spent months perfecting. Instead, I let a melody emerge—something new, something mine. Jazz progressions blended with classical influences, the rhythm shifting and evolving like a living thing.
I don't know how long I played. Time always disappeared when I was at the piano. But when I finally opened my eyes and lifted my hands, I was met with silence.
The woman with the silver glasses wrote something down. The man to her left looked impressed. The third judge, a thin man with a permanent scowl, was shaking his head slightly.
"Thank you, Ms. Washington," the woman said. "That was... unexpected."
I gathered my sheet music—the pages I hadn't even glanced at—and nodded. "Thank you for the opportunity."
Outside in the hallway, Uncle Marcus was waiting, his tall frame leaning against the wall with the casual confidence of someone who belonged here. He straightened when he saw me, eyebrows raised in question.
"Well? How did it go?"
"I improvised," I said, bracing for his reaction.
His face darkened. "You what? After all the work we put into that Chopin?"
"I know, I know. But it felt right in the moment." I fidgeted with my music folder. "They seemed impressed. Well, two of them did."
Marcus ran a hand over his face. "Zoe, this isn't some jazz club open mic. This is Westfield Conservatory. There are rules, traditions."
"But isn't music supposed to be about expression? About feeling something and sharing it?"
"Save the philosophy for after you've been accepted," he said, checking his watch. "Come on, I told them I'd bring you to the faculty lounge. I pulled some strings to get you feedback right away."
I followed him down the marble hallway, my footsteps echoing. Uncle Marcus moved with the authority of someone used to conducting orchestras, someone used to being obeyed. The famous Marcus Washington, whose recommendation had gotten me this audition in the first place.
"Remember," he said quietly as we approached a door, "be grateful for any criticism. These people can make or break your career."
The faculty lounge was all dark wood and leather furniture. The three judges sat in a cluster of armchairs, and they looked up when we entered.
"Ah, Marcus," said the woman with the silver glasses, rising to shake his hand. "And this must be your niece. Please, sit down."
I perched on the edge of a leather chair, hands clasped in my lap.
"Ms. Washington," the impressed-looking judge began, "you have remarkable raw talent. Your improvisation showed exceptional musical intuition."
"But," the scowling judge cut in, "it also showed a fundamental disregard for technical discipline and preparation."
I nodded, accepting the critique. "I understand."
"What my colleague means," the woman said, "is that your approach is... unconventional. You clearly have a gift, but it needs proper channeling."
Uncle Marcus cleared his throat. "Zoe has a solid foundation. I've been guiding her since she was six. Her jazz tendencies sometimes overshadow the classical training I've given her."
I bit my tongue. Yes, he'd started me on piano, but my jazz "tendencies" had developed despite his constant discouragement.
"Well," the woman said, "we've decided to offer Ms. Washington conditional acceptance."
My heart leaped. "Conditional?"
"You'll need intensive mentorship to refine your technical skills. Your natural ability is exceptional, but undisciplined."
Uncle Marcus nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. She needs structure, boundaries."
"I've taken the liberty of assigning an advisor who specializes in cases like yours," she continued, handing me an envelope. "All the details are inside. Congratulations, Ms. Washington."
The meeting concluded with handshakes and polite smiles. In the hallway, I clutched the envelope to my chest, hardly believing it was real.
"You got lucky," Uncle Marcus said as we walked toward the exit. "That improvisation could have gone either way."
"But it worked," I grinned. "I'm in!"
"Conditionally," he reminded me. "Don't think this validates your... undisciplined approach. You need to buckle down now."
I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking and pulled out my phone. I needed to tell someone who would actually be happy for me.
Meet me at Joey's in 30? Got news. I texted Kai.
His response came seconds later: Good or bad?
GOOD. Drinks on me.
By the time I got to Joey's, my favorite dive bar near campus, Kai was already there, his dark curls falling into his eyes as he waved me over to our usual corner booth.
"So?" he asked as I slid in across from him.
"I got in," I said, the reality of it finally sinking in. "Conditional acceptance, but I'm in!"
Kai's face broke into a wide smile. He flagged down a waitress. "Two of the usual, please. We're celebrating!"
When our drinks arrived, he raised his glass. "To Zoe Washington, future music legend."
I clinked my glass against his, warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Kai and I had been in this weird space for months—more than friends, less than anything official. Neither of us seemed willing to define it, but right now, I was just glad to have someone who understood what this meant to me.
"You got in!" Kai raised his glass again. "So who'd they assign as your advisor?"
I pulled out the envelope, scanning the letter inside. My smile froze as I read the name.
"Leonel Mercer." The words felt heavy in my mouth.
Kai nearly choked on his drink. "The Butcher of Berklee? Jesus, Zoe. He'll eat your jazz-loving soul alive."
Offlimits, Professor!
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