Page 7 of Baby for My Billionaire Rival

I take a seat next to my grandmother, trying to let her comment roll off my back. She’s been critical of my brother and me our entire lives, however, being a girl, I get all thephysicalcritiques.

“Now, I want you to take the lead today,” Gram says, pushing her leather portfolio over to me.

I look at it with big eyes. “Really?”

“Mhm. I want to see what this business degree has taught you so far.”

I’ve only been in classes for two weeks, so I doubt I’m going to make any earth-shattering progress in this meeting with a potential new client, but what Gram says, goes. The great thing about the Trilby MBA is that it’s hybridized; two weeks of classes, two weeks of real world experience and so on, whichmeans I don’t have to spend all my time in Charleston, thankGod.

However, it’s not much respite to return to Savannah when the first thing I have to do is go into a meeting.

I open the portfolio and start to page through it. “Okay, nationwide fast-food chain, wants new napkin supplier. Got it.”

“Wow, you can read. They must be teaching you a lot there.”

I look at Gram. “If you don’t think I have the know-how to do this, then you should lead the meeting.”

My elderly grandmother leans back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’d like to enjoy some of the time I have before I’m dead. Time is ticking, Caroline.”

I roll my eyes. Gram is in her late seventies. Yes, she should have been retired eons ago, but ever since our grandfather died, she’s been insistent on staying in charge of the family business. It’s a miracle she’s even finally training me to take over for her.

There’s a soft knock on the door. Gram’s assistant, Charlie, pokes his head in. “Mrs. Gladstone, Hank Beeler and Terrance Brown here to see you.”

“Send them in,” Gram says. “Showtime, Caroline.”

My heart pounds.This is for all the marbles, Caroline. Let’s do it.

“Our product is fully compostable,” I explain to Beeler and Brown. “Both our napkins as well as our paper towels.”

Beeler chuckles, leaning back in his seat. I hear it creak under him. “Ah, you’re already working the upsell, are you?”

I try not to blush. Of course, I’m working the upsell. He’s a businessman, I’m a businesswoman. That’s the difference between us though. If I were a man (or Gram), I’m doubtful he’dhave the courage to call me out like that. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to increase brand loyalty,” I say. “You understand.”

“Let’s consider this Hank,” Brown says, his nasal voice pitching upward. He sounds like a conniving cartoon villain. “If we bundle our products with Gladstone, perhaps we can get an even better deal here.”

Beeler nods. “I like how you think, Brown.”

They both turn to look at me, owl-like in the way they stare at me.

“That’s something we could discuss, of course,” I say.

Everyone’s eyes are on me. Beeler, Brown, Gram. And everyone is waiting for me to fuck up.It’s the pink dress, isn’t it? Dammit, I should have chosen a more sensible color.

But then that wouldn’t have been me. It’s not fair that I have to tone myself down to be taken seriously. I have the intellect, despite what the blonde hair tells people. I have the know-how, though my choice in clothing might suggest otherwise.

I’m just a woman who wants to look the way that I want. Why is that a crime?

My mind flips ever so briefly to Jake Simmons. He just wanted to wear what he wanted to wear too and I made a snap judgment about him.

Focus, Caroline.

“I’m not sure how I feel about compostable though,” Brown says to Beeler.

“You’re right, a lot of people don’t like compostable. No structural integrity.”

I feel Gram grab my leg under the table and squeeze it.What are you waiting for? Say something. “I can assure you –”

“Although, with the way things are going and how people are pointing the finger at corporate greed…” Beeler goes on. Then Beeler and Brown laugh.

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