Page 16 of My Forbidden Billionaire

“Yeah … I don’t even know what that means,” I continue, “but apparently, the color blue is against the school dress code. And—here’s the interesting part—she was supposed to email me the school rules in advance. Conveniently, she forgot, and rumor has it, she did it on purpose.”

“No! Stop!” Emmy says, her eyes as big as saucers.

“Oh, the drama! How do you know this?” Larisa chimes in.

“So, I talked to this other teacher, named Stephanie, who lent me a coat to cover my outfit and she told me that Ms. Abadie basically bullies all the other teachers because she wants to get promoted to Deputy Director or something. So, now I’m convinced that she’s either trying to scare me, or prevent me from chasing the same position.”

“So? What do you care?” Emmy asks.

“I don’t! She can do what she wants. I’m not even interested in that position nor am I interested in school politics. She’s just insane! Or bored. Or both.”

“You should be careful, though, Jo. It sounds like you’ve got to keep your eye out for her,” Emmy replies.

“Maybe once she gets promoted to Deputy Witch, she’ll stop, if that’s all she wants.” Larisa shrugs.

“Maybe. Well, anyway, that’s not even close to the most interesting thing that happened on my first day.”

Both Larisa and Emmy lean in closer. “So”—I wiggle in my seat as I prepare for the big announcement—”get this, one of the dads asked me out.”

“Stop! Get out of here!” Emmy exclaims.

“You’re joking!” Larisa adds.

“Why would I be joking?” I laugh as I watch my friends’ shocked faces. “I was just as surprised as you are now but … it’s true.”

“On your first day as a teacher at a fancy private school, one of those wealthy dads asks you out? That’s it. I’m switching careers. I’m becoming a teacher, starting tomorrow!” Emmy says, pounding the kitchen table with her fist.

“Wait, what did he even look like?” Larisa interjects. “Please tell me it wasn’t a dad with a beer belly and a bald spot who could easily play George Costanza in a Seinfeld remake…”

Both girls are looking at me expectantly.

“Actually … he was incredibly attractive. And he just so happened to be the same man I bumped into on the sidewalk a few months ago.” My friends gasp in unison as I continue. “His name is Jacob Carlton. His daughter is in my class,” I say, trying to keep my voice level.

The way their faces change when I tell them about my run-in with Jacob Carlton is one of the funniest, and most delightful things that I’ve witnessed in months—and the exact reason I waited to tell them in person, versus putting it in the group text.

“Woah, okay, hold up,” Emmy says, waving her hand. “So, you’re telling me that hot, hot chocolate man is a dad at your school?”

I blush at the mention of Jacob, my mind wandering back to that fateful encounter on the street. “Yes, he is. And his daughter is absolutely delightful. She’s ten years old and so bright. She reminds me of myself at that age.”

A few seconds of stunned silence pass us by and I can tell that they don’t know whether I’m being honest or making fun of them. Their eyes scan my face for the answer. I lift both my hands in the air with open palms, as if I’m about to take an oath.

“And now you tell us? You text us every waking hour about silly book details and … and you couldn’t put this in a text?” Larisa explodes.

“I wanted to see your faces.” I grin.

They look at each other as if they still don’t believe a word I’m saying. And it’s not like I’ve ever been known to lie.

“Okay, wisecrack.” Larisa holds up her hands in surrender. “So, when’s the date? What are you going to wear?”

“Do we need to go on a little shopping spree?” Emmy jumps in.

“You know what, you should wear my little black dress, the one I bought a few months ago at Saks. With that shimmering blonde hair of yours, you’ll look like a supermodel in it—”

“Woah, hold on!” I halt them from continuing their excited rant. If the first piece of news was a revelation, this second one will be a veritable thunderstrike. “I’m not going on any date.”

Their mouths are both hanging open in a bizarre, twisted shape that makes me giggle, and I can already see them trying to form more words. But, before they start ranting again, I continue. “Girls, I’m not going on a date with him. I think it’s obvious why.”

“Obvious? Enlighten us.”

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