Page 14 of My Forbidden Billionaire

He raises an eyebrow. “Well I’m proud of you for putting yourself out there, my friend. What’s stopping you from trying again?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, feeling a sense of vulnerability bubble up inside me. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date, Theo. What if she’s not interested? She’s my daughter’s teacher ... What if I make a fool of myself?”

“Jacob, may I remind you, you’re a billionaire and a single father. You’ve built an empire from almost nothing and raised a daughter by yourself. I think you can handle asking a woman out.” Theo laughs.

“Might I remind you, I haven’t been on a date in a decade.”

Theo chuckles. “Well, there’s no time like the present, my friend.”

I roll my eyes. “It’s not that simple, Theo. What if it doesn’t work out? I don’t want to make things awkward for Clem.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I understand your concern, but you can’t let fear stop you from taking a chance. And who knows, maybe Josephine feels the same connection you do.”

I take a deep breath, considering his words. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now let’s get back to business. We have a meeting to prepare for.”

“You’re late.”

“Funnily enough, you’re the second person that’s said that to me today! And I’m sorry, Clem. Please, believe me, I meant to be here earlier, but my meeting refused to end.”

“I get that. But what I don’t understand is why you insist on picking me up from school yourself, Daddy? Isn’t that the whole point of having a butler and a nanny?” she asks.

As always, Clementine is as sharp as a tack—nothing gets past this ten-year-old little girl, which, in all honesty, both impresses me and scares me a little.

“It’s your first day of school, Clem. I wanted to make sure you had a great time! Also, I’d like to talk to one of your instructors.”

“Ah. Alright, then. Which one? I’ll run and get them for you.”

“Miss Andrews. Is she still in?”

My daughter tilts her head all the way back so that she can look up at me from her diminutive stature. Even though it’s the beginning of September in Boston, and already late in the afternoon, Clem is wearing a pair of Gucci sunglasses that, I must admit, go shockingly well with her posh, private school uniform. As she stares up at me, she pushes the sunglasses down her tiny nose with a finger so small that I can’t help but wonder how it’s even real. Her entire face breaks into a wide grin and I realize in this very moment that … she knows.

“Ooh. Miss Andrews? The new literature instructor? The really pretty blonde one?” She wiggles her eyebrows. “Is that who you want to see, Daddy?” Her voice is extremely mischievous and it’s making me feel beyond guilty.

“Clem, please. You’re being silly, and you know it’s not like that. It’s…” my voice trails off as I suddenly realize that my daughter knows much more about the matters of the heart than I previously gave her credit for.

“Really?” She puffs her cheeks adorably. “Then how come you’ve never asked to speak to Ms. Abadie before, for example?”

“Clem, I simply want to have a conversation with your new teacher. Please, don’t turn this into more than it is,” I reply, trying to steer my daughter away from the mischievous path she’s trotting down.

“Oh, Daddy.” She rolls her eyes. “She is nice, I’ll give you that. If you want to talk to her, she should still be in her office. Second floor, make a right after the big gargoyle statue. Her office is right there. Take the big stone staircase … I’ll wait in the car, but don’t be long, okay?”

I bend down and kiss her forehead, immensely grateful that she exists.

As I enter Jameson Juniper Hall, one of the oldest buildings in Boston, I reflect on the venerable building’s early beginnings. The mansion-turned-school was built by a famous banker named Henry P. Jameson, as his luxurious Boston home. It boasts sprawling acres of gardens, grottoes, and verdant fields, as well as four floors and no fewer than a hundred rooms. When Jameson lost the love of his life in a tragic accident, the grieving widower moved out and sold the property to investors who turned it into an elite school for the children of Boston’s wealthiest families.

Why Henry P. Jameson needed so many rooms, I’ll never understand. Having said that, some of the rooms are rather amazing: a solarium, as well as a glass-encased annex that’s now being used as the astronomy building—a place where, as Clem tells me, students love to go and make out.

Funny how teenagers never change.

I find the stone stairs that Clem mentioned and make my ascent, trying to keep a brisk pace while maintaining my composure. Only a few moments later, I can hear Miss Andrews’ voice from inside her office.

I knock.

“Yes? Come in…”

“Good afternoon, Miss Andrews. May I talk to you for a moment?”

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