Page 44 of My Forbidden Billionaire

Stephanie nods and heads down the hallway as I lock my office door and make my way to the box. It’s wrapped in silver paper with a yellow bow. There’s an envelope neatly attached to it. I carefully open it to reveal a handwritten note.

Dear Jo,

There are many things I could write here to try to dazzle, or impress you. But I only want to say one thing, a confession.

I like you—so much.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day we met and, frankly, I don’t want to stop.

Will you please accept my invitation to dinner this Saturday at 5 PM?

Yours always,

J.

P.S. Please enjoy this small token of my gratitude for all that you are.

My heart flutters as I read the note for the second time, trying to absorb every word. I look at the box, still curious about its contents, and slowly unravel the paper before lifting the lid to reveal a first edition copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude.

I can hardly believe my eyes. This book is my all-time favorite, and this edition is a rare find. It’s worth a small fortune.

I run my fingers over the cover, feeling the silkiness of the paper under my touch. I take out the book and gently turn the pages, reveling in the familiarity of the words.

That’s when I spot the handwritten notes from both him and Clem on the front page.

Thank you for being my favorite teacher and one of my favorite people in the whole world. Love, Clem

Thank you for awakening my soul. Love, Jacob

Tears of joy stream down my face at the sight. This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.

I’ve never felt so understood.

I reach for my phone and tap out a quick message to him.

Dear J,

I would be delighted to join you for dinner Saturday at 5 PM. Thank you for the wonderful gift, it’s one of the best I’ve ever received.

Yours,

Jo

Just then I see a figure through my office door window. My heart races as I quickly hide the gift under a stack of papers, and jump up from behind my desk. I don’t know what Ms. Abadie wants, but I have a feeling it’s not good.

I take a deep breath, unlock and open the door.

“Ms. Abadie, can I help you with something?” I ask, trying to sound cordial.

“I hope so, Miss Andrews,” she replies with a sneer. “I just wanted to remind you that the deadline for student progress reports is coming up next week. I hope you’re not slacking off like you usually do.”

I grit my teeth, trying to keep my composure. “Actually, Ms. Abadie, I’ve already submitted my reports. I made sure to do it on time.”

She looks surprised for a moment, but then quickly recovers. “Oh. Well, I hope it’s up to our standards. Also, don’t lock the door to your office during school hours, it’s against school policy.”

With that, she turns to leave, but not before giving me a once-over, her eyes lingering on my desk. I can tell she’s trying to figure out what’s underneath the stack of papers.

As soon as Ms. Abadie is out of sight, I let out a sigh of relief. It’s clear that she’s not a fan of mine. But I’m not a fan of hers, either.