Page 21 of My Forbidden Billionaire

“The Picture of Dorian Gray was written by Oscar Wilde.”

“Yeah, I know. But did he, like, copy the idea from a Jordan Peele movie?”

Moments like these really test my patience as a teacher. Not in the sense that I want to lash out, but more so because I have to control my sarcasm and not deliver ironic jabs at students.

“Anthony, the novel was published in 1891. How could the author have copied an idea from a movie when it was written a hundred and fifty years before the movie came out?”

“Miss, I’m just saying. Maybe this Oscar Wilde guy saw one of Jordan Peele’s movies and…”

I turn my back to the class and pretend to wipe the whiteboard even though there’s nothing on it. I just need something to do. After I count to three in my head, I turn around and face them once more.

“Today, as you all know, is the first, parent-student-teacher meeting of the year. Ms. Abadie hopes to see you all, on your best behavior, in the great hall at three o’clock!”

“Ms. Abadie is probably hoping the museum doesn’t figure out one of their mummies is loose in Boston, and comes to find her!” Anthony says and the whole class erupts in giggles.

“Enough of that, please!”

But I have to admit it is quite funny.

The parents have officially arrived. As I look around the great hall, all I can see are Prada bags, Louis Vuitton coats, Chanel hats, Hermes scarves, and a suffocating cloud of expensive perfumes that are slowly giving me a headache.

And also intimidating me a little.

I try to make my way toward the teachers’ table at the front, among clusters of parents. They don’t bother to move. Many don’t even notice me. Though, I suppose to them, I’m just the staff.

“Miss Andrews?” a familiar voice calls from behind.

I turn around to see Jacob Carlton speed-walking toward me with a giant grin on his face, looking more handsome than ever. Dressed in an impeccable dark green suit that highlights his hazel eyes, Jacob is simply the picture of perfection.

As much as I try to keep a level head and remind myself that we are literally in the middle of a school meeting, it’s simply too difficult.

He catches up with me and stops short. “Hi!”

“Hello, Mr. Carlton. How are you?”

He seems lost for words and just looks at my face for a moment before answering. “I’m great. I, umm … I wanted to … wish you good luck.”

“Good luck?”

“Yes! For the … meeting. The … in case you address the parents,” he stammers, and it becomes obvious that he wasn’t ready for this interaction any more than I was.

And it’s … endearing.

“Oh, I won’t be addressing the parents. But thank you anyway. Have you found Clementine yet? She should be in the group with—”

“Miss Andrews!” A cold, stern voice shouts my name. I don’t even need to turn my head to know who it is.

She’s coming our way like an express train ready to blast everything in its path.

“Yes, Ms. Abadie. What can I do for you?”

“I need you to sit by the door.”

“I’m sorry? Sit by the door? I’m supposed to be at the teachers’ table with everyone else. Why would I sit by the door?”

“In case one of the children needs to use the restroom.”

“Umm … respectfully, Ms. Abadie, we don’t have toddlers at this school. None of the children here need assistance to visit the restroom. They always do it by themselves. Plus, their parents are here. In what situation could I possibly justify going to the restroom with a child?” I ask.

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