Page 11 of My Forbidden Billionaire

“What do you think?”

There he is. It’s the tall, debonair man from earlier—sitting in the middle of the ancient hall, trying his best to fit his massive frame into one of the wooden desks.

“I’m sorry?” I mumble, doing my best to seem unphased by just how hot this dad is. His sharp jawline, chiseled features, and piercing gaze send my heart racing as I try to regain my composure. Which is difficult considering I’m already nervous from talking in front of so many people.

He grins, and I feel my insides clench. “What do you think of Don Quixote?”

I’m a little taken aback by his question. Though, it’s not a condescending one. In fact, the more I stare into his face, the more I realize that he wants to know … my opinion. My personal opinion.

I try to answer as professionally as I can. “Well, sir, Don Quixote is a classic piece of literature—a story about self-delusion and the power of imagination, but it also explores issues of class and gender. It’s a multifaceted work, and I believe that it can benefit young students by exposing them to different perspectives and historical contexts.”

He nods and his lips curl into a small smile.

I feel a twinge of pride as I notice a few other parents nodding along with him in agreement.

I may be a little nervous, but I know my stuff.

“That’s an interesting take,” his deep voice echoes in the stillness of the room, and I do my best to ignore the sudden heat rising within me. “And what’s your take on the benefits of literature outside of the classroom, say, in everyday life?”

I can’t help but smile at his question.

This is what I’m passionate about—teaching literature and its importance outside of the classroom.

I shift my weight, feeling the tension in my shoulders dissipate a bit. “Well, literature, in my opinion, has the power to shape our lives in ways we might not even realize. Reading enables us to empathize with different people from different backgrounds, which helps us become more understanding and compassionate in our daily interactions. It also helps us think critically and creatively, which is invaluable in any aspect of life—be it personal or professional.”

His eyes widen, and I can see his lips part slightly. I watch as he inhales deeply, as if trying to hide his reaction. “You’re quite passionate about this,” he says, leaning back in his seat.

I feel myself blush. “I am. I truly believe that literature has the power to change the world, one person at a time.”

He cocks his head to the side, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Well, I couldn’t agree more.”

I smile at him, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins at his agreement, nearly forgetting that there are other parents in the room.

“Are there any other questions?” I ask to the room at large, hoping to steer the conversation away from this intense connection I feel with the handsome man at the back of the room.

The room remains silent, and I let out a small sigh of relief and continue on with my presentation.

Even though I actively avoid looking at him, so as not to invite more questions, I know that he’s watching me intently. He’s the only parent without a laptop, tablet, or even an old-fashioned notepad on which to scribble a few ideas. He’s just sitting at the wooden desk, watching me as if I’m there for his personal entertainment.

I rush through the slides even though I don’t want to, but it’s the best I can do now.

Finally, the presentation is over and I give a final word about exams. The parents seem satisfied so I shut my laptop, and breathe a sigh of relief as the deafening sound of wooden chairs scraping across the floor echoes within the room.

The parents proceed to get up and exit the literature hall, finally leaving me to breathe in peace, probably for the first time today.

“Excuse me…”

From the sea of people clearing out the room, he emerges like some god of the ancient world, tall and imposing, striding with large steps toward me.

“Yes? Do you have a question about the curriculum?” My voice comes out strained and squeaky, like a teenage boy going through puberty, making me even more embarrassed than I was before. I just know my cheeks are flushed.

“No, not exactly. The curriculum is fine. Perfect, actually. You’re going to do a wonderful job, Miss Andrews,” he says in a deep and gravelly voice.

Is he flirting with me?

I lean against the desk to steady myself.

No, of course not. It’s all in my head.

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