Baby For My Billionaire Rival (Billionaire Daddies)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Jake

I feel like a total fool walking into the first class of our second two weeks of the MBA. I was dreading coming back all day yesterday, not wanting to get the stares and looks from my classmates. I can’t be sure it’s not partly my fault since I’ve sort of become the weird, quiet guy who keeps to himself. I thought I wouldn’t mind it too much, but I’m starting to think this whole, “I don’t need friends,” thing was more of a front than a reality.

I was so glad to get away from this environment and be back on the farm, working with the plants, tending to my animals, and being around family. Where I could be myself without apology. For a few days I even thought, “To hell with it! I’m not going back!”

However, all it took was a few calls from investors for me to realize how entirely out of my element I still am.

See, my dad passed away about a year ago. Unexpected. Heart attack. Working way too hard and smoking way too many cigarettes. I took up the torch of the business after he was gone. Trouble was, I was the behind-the-scenes guy and he was the business guy. He fielded the calls, went to the meetings, and schmoozed with people. He had a knack for that kind of thing.

I just don’t. But being the oldest boy in my family, it’s my job to take up the reins and move forward. My brothers work on the farm and do the dirty work. And my mom still keeps the house, bless her heart. The grief, though, has hit us all in different ways.

If I can finish my MBA and follow in Dad’s shoes, I feel like that will make me closer to him somehow.

And Simmonses aren’t quitters. Period.

In an attempt to fit in better at school, I thought maybe taking a different direction with my clothing might make me stand out like a sore thumb a bit less. However, this polo shirt was made for guys who golf and I’ve never picked up a club in my life. The light green shirt with a yellow emblem makes me look more like an Easter Egg than a grad student. I’ve also slicked back my hair with some of my brother’s pomade.

“Aren’t you just darling? Like a fresh batch of speckled puppies,” Mama said on my way out the door this morning.

If I had had time to change, I would have done so on the spot. No one wants to be told they’re looking “darling” when going on trial in front of a jury of their peers.

Still, though, I keep to myself. After the first day, I made sure to stake my claim on a spot further back in the room. I don’t need to be up front with all the action. I just need to take my notes and mind my own business.

As I pull out my notebook and pen, a chill runs up my spine before I even hear her or see her. But I know she’s just walked in.

Caroline .

It’s an unspoken fact to everyone that we are enemies. We know how it started, but no one else does. At least not from my perspective. Maybe they know hers. How she made a mistake and tried to apologize, but I just wasn’t having it. If people think I’m an asshole for that, well, then so be it.

I try to stay out of her way and she stays out of mine. And that fact that she’s the social butterfly of the class makes it painfully obvious to everyone that she avoids speaking to me.

I don’t look her way as she walks down the central staircase of the lecture hall. But in my periphery, I see she’s being followed by Amy Trilby and a couple other girls from our cohort. I feel her eyes on me, making my heart lurch. I wish I could just disappear, become a pile of dust and a glop of pomade. It was so childish of me to think I could ever pretend to be one of them .

I finally dare myself to look up and our eyes meet. Warm brown eyes, crinkled at the corners. Is she smiling? I can’t tell.

As soon as she sees me looking, she looks away. And so do I. That was obviously a mistake. We can go back to our mutual hatred in three… two… one.

“Let’s talk ethics, huh?” Fig says, taking a seat on the front of her desk.

We’ve been discussing corporate responsibility for the last hour or so which has put everyone on edge. I don’t have anything to worry about, at least not that I’m aware of. Daddy went green around the time Al Gore was president. Too bad he couldn’t get himself off those cigarettes too.

“Products to consumers,” she says. “How the product gets into the consumers’ hands. Now we’ve discussed employee treatment, we’ve discussed pricing, but what about the actual product?”

A hand with a pen between its fingers goes up in the first row. “What about if we’re not dealing with a physical product?” one of the bros asks.

I shudder to think I might be able to fit in with one of them today in my pastel.

“Okay fine. Actual products or in the cloud or in the –“ Fig crosses her arms. “You know what I mean, Schwartz. The question still stands.”

Crickets.

Fig looks over the rim of her glasses. “Oh, come on. This group? Quiet. Malarkey.” She scans all of us, then gestures to Caroline. “Gladstone. How do you get your product in the hands of your customer?”

Caroline sits up straight, her blonde curls bouncing. I roll my eyes. Just those curls bouncing make me annoyed. Only women in movies have hair like that. Well, women in movies and Caroline Gladstone. “You have to identify your customer and clientele base before you can think about distribution.”

“Good answer, Gladstone,” Fig grins.

I’ll hand it to Caroline, she may give off dumb blonde energy, but she’s anything but. Her answers are always on the money, even when Fig calls on her out of the blue. I’m… begrudgingly impressed. But I’d never admit it to her.

“Okay, you identify your customer base and then what? Anyone.”

I throw two fingers in the air. What the hell?

“Simmons.”

“Find, pick, and develop distribution avenues.”

“Say more.”

I twist my pen in my hand, capping it and uncapping it as I speak. It’s hard for me to look people in the eye when I’m talking business. I need more practice, but with all eyes on me, I feel bashful. “For instance, my product is in the food and beverage industry. So, if I was starting from square one, I’d need to identify the stores that I wanted to be in as well as the stores I was capable of being in. And develop e-commerce, of course.”

“Don’t be shy, Simmons,” Fig says, a glint in her eye. “Your word is more valuable than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

Caroline’s hand shoots up in the air.

“Gladstone.”

“Question.”

“Go ahead.”

“So, forgive me for sounding sort of ignorant. I think a lot of us in this room can say we are privileged not to have to build a business from the ground up,” she says, glancing around the room.

Dammit, I hate being lumped into a category with her, but she’s right…

“But let’s say you’re starting from scratch. Manufacturing or something like that.”

Fig wanders toward the front of the lecture hall’s well, eyes narrowing.

“If you’re looking to get into mass production, looking to work on business contracts rather than…” Caroline turns and gestures to me. “Getting a product on the shelf of a grocery store, well, how do you even begin? When capital is limited and therefore time is too?”

Fig gets a curious smile on her face. Oh no. Two weeks with this professor and I already know what that means. “I’ll open the floor to your peers. Does anyone have an answer to Caroline’s question?”

Right off the bat, many do. I can see floods of heads bowed down, scribbling notes as people rattle off their thoughts on the most effective strategies. I try to tune it out, shutting my eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah, Simmons! Are you asleep up there? This not interesting enough for a Monday morning?!”

Everyone in the hall looks at me. I scan the faces of my peers. Aw, fuck it, they’re not buying my clean-cut look. Why am I even pretending? I run my hand through my hair, splitting up the pomaded pieces so that it has a bit more movement. “Forgive me, professor. I wasn’t sleeping, I was just…”

Her eyebrows rise. Do it, Simmons. Do it.

“I think that there’s an ethical problem with choosing consumers like that,” I say.

The room is silent. I chew on my lower lip.

“What I mean is…” I clear my throat. “To say that corporations deserve access to things that consumers can’t access feels…” This is not the place to get on my corporate greed soapbox although I’ve been on it many times before. “It’s not ethical. I’ll leave it at that.”

Caroline grips the back of her chair and stares me down. “Most average consumers don’t need six thousand napkins at a time, Simmons.”

People chuckle, but I roll my eyes. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then tell me what you meant,” Caroline says.

I lean forward on my desk, folding my hands in front of me. “What I’m saying is that putting barriers in front of products based on order sizes and types that are meant to favor corporations over the individual is exactly why so many people are saying that capitalism is the problem.”

“You’re in a business school, we’re not here to worry about capitalism being a problem,” someone mutters.

“Hey, relax, this is between Simmons and Gladstone,” Fig announces. “Go on, you two.”

I can tell Fig is eating this up. And so am I. Caroline’s forehead is crinkling as she thinks of her next point and it’s so fucking cute it makes me want to scream. Why does someone I dislike as much as Caroline Gladstone have to be one of the most decent-looking girls I’ve ever seen?

“I mean, we aren’t here to worry about the ethics of capitalism when it comes to an average consumer. You might because your business deals directly with the average consumer, but my business –”

“It’s irresponsible to think that Gladstone Manufacturing is somehow above the average consumer,” I smirk, letting my eyes travel down to her diamond necklace. Don’t you dare stray any lower, Simmons . “Although I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you would believe you’re on the same level as the average customer.”

There’s a collective, “ooo” from the crowd and I have to laugh. “How old are we, guys?”

Fig tries to calm everyone down while Caroline and I square off. I might be afraid of eye contact most of the time. But not with Caroline. I have a need to intimidate. To tease. To win .

“It might surprise you to know, Simmons, that Gladstone Manufacturing has committed to being carbon neutral in the next decade. Not only that, but we’ve already seen a twenty-five percent decrease in our carbon emissions. Though our product might not end up in the hands of consumers in a direct way, we’re doing a hell of a lot more than corporate giants like PepsiCo and Coca-Cola. And arguably they’re the kings of consumers.”

Another round of jeers from our classmates. And if I wasn’t on the receiving end of her takedown, I’d be inclined to join them. I keep my mouth shut.

“Alright, alright, that was good for now, let’s keep moving forward, shall we?” Fig says.

I drop my gaze to my notebook. Caroline looks at me a while longer before turning back to her friends and undoubtedly whispering about me.

The rest of class, I chew on my lower lip, unable to focus, thinking about how nice it would be if I could go home to my dad later and tell him everything. He’d pat my shoulder, tell me the city slickers don’t know the difference between a cup and a flange plunger and be done with it. And it would make me feel so much better.

Except Dad won’t be there when I get home. Never again.

And that makes it all feel that much worse.