Baby For My Billionaire Rival (Billionaire Daddies)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Caroline

I have never been so mortified in my entire life. The perfect outfit for my first day of grad school has been ruined by a malfunctioning toilet that, mid-flush, decided to explode all over me.

There’s an enormous wet spot down the front of my light blue dress that makes me look like I peed myself. And, it’s impossible to hide with this fabric.

I turn around to the mirror and look at my reflection. Fuck , I so wanted to make a good first impression on my classmates. I even got a blowout yesterday to make sure not a hair was out of place.

I reach into my purse and check my phone. I only have three minutes before my very first class of my first year of business school is supposed to start.

This is a nightmare.

I go to the hand dryer, hold the skirt of my dress under it, and desperately press the button.

No hot air comes out.

“What the hell… this is just my luck,” I mumble to myself. This is a disaster. I press the button a few more times but the damn thing refuses to turn on.

I grab a bunch of paper towels and start dabbing the wet splotches on my dress, trying to absorb as much moisture as possible.

Someone pulls on the door to the single occupancy bathroom, the door thunking in place from the lock.

“Just a – just a minute!” I cry out.

“Sorry,” I deep voice mutters. “Take your time.”

God, I feel like crying. The only reason I won’t is because of my mascara. The only thing worse than showing up to my first class of my MBA late would be showing up with mascara running down my face.

How did this happen? Everything seemed off to a perfect start when I walked onto campus. Sure, I was already feeling the crunch of time and I barely walked a hundred feet before my Louboutins were giving me blisters on top of blisters, but nothing could break my spirit.

I hadn’t yet visited Coastal Crest University before today. It’s only a few hours from Savannah, where I’m from, but with work and all the drama my brother caused this past summer, I couldn’t make it up here.

I held my head high, relished the passing glances and looks, and ignored the sweat forming on my lower back from the eighty-five-degree balm in the air. As I walked through the quad, freshmen gathered in groups, trying to make friends. I remembered the days of undergrad fondly, although in New England, the trees were already starting to lose their leaves and cable knit sweaters were the uniform of choice rather than summer dresses and crop tops.

It seemed like nothing could go wrong. As long as I made it to class on time. So, when I made it to Trilby Business School with time to hit the bathroom, I was thrilled.

Who knew it would lead to such a catastrophe?

I manage to blot out as much of the hideous pee-laden water stain as I can. I wash my hands with more soap than probably necessary, then haul up my purse in front of the stain. I sigh heavily. “That will have to do.”

Someone knocks again. Shit, I’ve been in here a while . I grab the door handle and throw open the door, finding myself face to face with a tall, bearded guy in a flannel. Totally out of place for the hallowed halls of Trilby Business School. His blue eyes are a shock to my system, but I don’t have time to think about it. I’ve got to get to class.

My eyes immediately flick to his belt where there’s a leather holster, not for a gun, but for a multitool and his car keys. He must be maintenance. “Perfect timing!” I say with a broad smile.

The man’s forehead creases. “Beg your pardon?” he asks in a smooth, country-boy accent. Sends a little bit of a shiver down my spine. Not now, Caroline.

I slide past him, gesturing into the bathroom. “Something’s wrong with the toilet. It just sprayed all over me. See?” I pull my bag away and show off the stain I was so desperate to hide only seconds ago.

The man’s eyes widen as he looks directly at my crotch. I shove the bag back in front of the stain and laugh uneasily. “Yeah. Better get on that so that other people don’t have to suffer my same fate.”

He glances into the bathroom, then at me, brow still furrowed.

Weirdo . “You showed up at the perfect time. To fix it, that is…” I say with a smile, nervously feeling the clock tick down for class to start.

The man lifts his chin, recognition finally passing over his face. “Yeah. Perfect timing.”

There’s something about a man who works a trade that is just so intoxicating. Knowing he’s going to be able to go in there and fix the toilet with his bare hands is… okay, well the toilet part isn’t sexy, but the thought of him rolling up his sleeves and getting to work is. I wish I could stick around, but I’ve got places to be and people to meet. “Anyway, thanks so much,” I say before scurrying off down the hall toward Lecture Hall Four.

I wade through the people coming and going from class to class, catching sight of a brunette ponytail that looks awfully familiar. “Amy!” I call out.

The woman does a doubletake when she hears me call out. “Caroline!”

I rush down the hall and throw my arms around her. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“You too, honey! I’m so glad you were able to get a spot.”

I shouldn’t have been able to start this program until next school year, but a few strings pulled here and there thanks to my grandmother and Amy Trilby (yes, the same Trilby family for whom the building is named) and I was able to sneak into this year’s MBA class.

We link arms and head toward the lecture hall. “I’m so happy to see I’m not the only one cutting it close on time,” I say with a giggle.

“Oh, please,” Amy says with an eye roll. “If you think this class is going to start on time, you must believe that pigs fly.”

I roll my eyes. The Trilby MBA is one of the most prestigious in the country, attracting both those who want to start a business but also those for whom the business is a legacy. That means there are a lot of nepo babies (myself and Amy included) who will inherit companies and need to know what to do with them so they don’t run them into the ground.

For some people, money is an excuse to behave poorly, but for us Gladstones, we believe all our actions are being looked at through a microscope.

I come from a long line of manufacturers, which might not sound all that glamorous, but it is when your family has been building its business in the United States since the seventeenth century. Gladstone Manufacturing is a Fortune 500 company and I will one day, very soon, be the CEO. Of course, this all hinges on two factors. First, my grandmother, Gram as we fondly call her, needs to step down which requires me to shadow under her for at least a year. And second, I have to complete my MBA ASAP, which is why I’m here.

Amy and I find spots amidst the throng of our cohort members, gabbing away about life at home and catching up since the last time we saw each other was years ago at a gala in Chicago.

Turns out Amy was only half right. Our professor only waits two minutes past the hour before getting started. She’s a stern-looking woman in perfectly tailored slacks with circular, black-rimmed glasses, and a thick layer of mauve lipstick on her mouth.

I love her immediately.

“I’m Professor Jacinta Collins Figueroa,” the woman says, leaning up against the desk at the front of the room and crossing her arms over her chest. “I hold an MBA from Wharton and have twenty years of experience in the cosmetic industry. I was the chief executive officer of Tiger Lily for five years before I gave it all up for you heathens,” she says.

We give her a polite laugh in response.

“Oh, come on, that was funny,” she says before striding over to the lectern. “Anyway, I know two names can be complicated for catatonic MBA students working overtime, so you all can call me Fig.”

“Fig?” someone snorts from the first row.

She narrows her eyes at them. I don’t want to be caught dead in that stare. “Yes. Fig. Is that funny for some reason?”

“N-no,” the student swallows.

Fig smiles. “Good.”

“I like her,” I whisper to Amy.

“She freaks me out,” Amy whispers back.

I giggle.

“Now, I want to hear about you. Give us your name, where you’re from, and your logline as if you were a professor standing up in front of a class, asking a bunch of people to trust you with your business expertise.” Fig’s eyes flash and travel all the way to the top of the tiered seating. “Starting with you since you think it’s appropriate to arrive late to my class, Mr.…?”

I turn to look at the poor sap who is on the receiving end of Fig’s ire and am stunned when my eyes land on the handyman I met at the bathroom.

He hauls his sad-looking backpack over his shoulder and looks nervously around the room. “Simmons. Jake Simmons.”

I hear Amy gasp from beside me.

“My apologies for arriving late, Professor –”

“Fig, just Fig. Now, go right ahead, Mr. Simmons.”

The blood drains from my face. Jake Simmons isn’t the maintenance man. He’s a student here. Worse than that, he’s a member of my MBA program, which means we’re going to have to work together.

And I assumed…

Way to be a privileged asshole, Caroline.

“My apologies once again, Pro –” Jake has to recalibrate his country manners. “Fig. And to all of my classmates as well. I’m Jake Simmons. I spent four years in the military before getting a Bachelor of Science in agriculture and animal sciences.”

“I can’t believe it,” Amy whispers.

“What? What?!” I ask urgently in a whisper.

Amy gapes at me. “Simmons. Don’t you know the name Simmons?”

I rack my brain. Simmons, Simmons, Simmons… where have I heard that name before? It’s not an uncommon name by any stretch of the imagination, but from the way Amy is talking about it –

It hits me like a bolt of lightning. “Like the tomato sauce?” I ask urgently.

Amy nods.

I can hardly believe it. Simmons Sauces. Spaghetti sauce that’s been a staple in my pantry since I was a child . Holy cow. I never realized they were a farming company, much less based in the South. I thought they were just in the business of sauces. Shows you what I know.

“I’ve recently taken over the family business and while I have the practical expertise, I’ve found myself lacking on the business side. And, let’s see… I’d be worried if y’all were taking a class taught by me,” Jake says with a modest shrug.

The room laughs and I want to disappear. I treated the heir to the Simmons Sauces brand like he was a maintenance man. Don’t get me wrong, I would never talk down to or speak badly about people who work in maintenance. That’s not the point.

It’s that I assumed. I saw his flannel and his multitool and I just…

I need to get out of the house more. I’ve clearly been suffocated by my privilege.

“I like your honesty. Thank you for your service, Mr. Simmons. Please, take a seat,” Fig says.

Jake Simmons awkwardly walks down the stairs, looking for an empty seat. And as he passes my row, our eyes lock. He gives me a small smile and nods. Like we know each other. Like I’m a joke. And I am.

Amy looks at me with wide eyes. “You know him?”

“Obviously not,” I say and I feel my whole body flush. I don’t know him like she thinks I know him.

“Well, he certainly is acting like he knows you.” Amy smiles slyly, leaning her pen against her face. “Maybe he just likes what he sees.”

I feel my cheeks getting red again and I shift in my seat.

“I’m jealous. I mean, look at him.”

Amy and I both watch Jake as he settles into an empty seat two rows ahead of us. She’s right. He’s tall, clearly has lots of muscles hiding under that flannel, and blue eyes that made my insides melt from the first time I saw them.

But I know the truth. He wasn’t looking at me because he likes me.

He was looking at me because I was a total jerk.

“Yeah, he’s good-looking,” I whisper.

“You there! Blondie!”

I shoot to attention. Fig is pointing in my direction.

“Since you’re such a chatterbox, you’re next!”

“Yes ma’am! I mean, Fig.”

I see Jake’s shoulders bounce with a chuckle.

Yeah, I deserved that.