Not Daddy Material (Billionaire's Contract Duet 2)

No arguments here. He clasped my hand in a firm grip and I pushed off the ground. The biker pulled me straight up before I was ready to be vertical. I caught myself before I slipped again.

“You sure you’re ok?” He tilted his head. I noticed earbuds dangling from around his neck. He was wearing a long-sleeve T-shirt. Not exactly cold weather gear.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.” I dodged his concerned look and retreated in the direction of the bus stop.

“Uh. Ok. Bye.”

As I scrambled from the scene of the accident, I thought I felt him watching me. Not wanting to get caught with a sneak peek, I waited until I crossed the street before turning around. I watched as he grabbed his handlebars, slung one leg over the side of the bike, and pushed down on the pedals.

Through a confetti parade of snowflakes, he wheeled off and disappeared behind Graham Memorial. I hadn’t even bothered to berate him for his crazy steering or thank him for taking the time to help me up. After four years of dodging maniac bi

kers, one had finally hit me. It was bound to happen.

A deep sigh produced another hovering crystal cloud of breath, I thought I could reach out and grab. Bike Guy had been kind of cute with his deep-set eyes and sandy brown hair. It was hard to miss his arms with that T-shirt. I shook my head. No, he was just a random guy that plowed me down on the sidewalk and saw me act like a complete idiot.

The unmistakable sound of the air brakes for my bus squeaked to an ear-piercing stop. I dashed off before I was stranded on campus for another hour. Nina was probably already waiting with pizza and zombies.

2

Professor Garcia swished a red pashmina over her left shoulder and strolled to the front of the lecture hall, letting the impact of her heels on the floor command attention.

The sudden sounds jerked me out of my dreary thoughts. The left side of the auditorium was flanked with floor-to-ceiling windows, and the only thing I could see from my seat was a gloomy gray sky and naked oak trees glistening with melting icicles. The January temperatures hovered around forty degrees, making it a miserable existence on campus for my cold-natured body.

“Welcome back, everyone! Let’s get started.” Jumping into the presentation, she pointed her remote at the smart board. “This is the day you’ve been waiting for. It’s finally here. It was a long few days, wasn’t it?” A Cheshire-like smile spread across her face. “I’m going to reveal your final project.”

Ok, this was starting to feel like student hazing in some twisted kind of academically acceptable way. The three-day buildup for the mystery assignment had manifested itself in unrecognizable nervousness in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t even get this worked up before walking on stage. Why was Professor Garcia being overly dramatic about this?

“Ok, gang. Here it is. I had a little help from last year’s class with the video.” The outlandish professor lowered the room’s lights and pressed play on the screen with the quick click of the remote.

The growing mumbles and whispers circulating in the seats around me halted once the video began to roll.

The young announcer’s voice boomed over the footage. “In today’s world, television is dominated by reality shows. But is it real? Can people really survive on a deserted island? Would you fall in love going on perfect dates? Do the wives of athletes lead the most glamorous lives? Could you convince your friends to eat roaches for money?”

I winced at the image of a scrawny, sunburned woman cramming a handful of the creepy pests into her mouth. Pictures of other popular shows flashed across the screen. I recognized scenes from The Islanders, World Race, Matched, and Roommates—all shows I didn’t have time to watch since I was always in rehearsals.

The music carried to a frenetic pitch. “Now it’s your turn to prove whether there is any reality in reality TV. Is this all just a network scheme to get viewers and money, or is it real? This semester you are one of these reality stars.”

The students gulped and the whispers were almost deafening.

Professor Garcia smiled and raised the lights in the lecture hall. “All right. All right. Keep the comments to yourselves. This is how it works. Using a handy little computer program, I have paired each of you with another classmate. Each pair has been assigned one of these reality shows. You will incorporate the theories from your weekly reading assignments into your final assessment of the show. At the end of the semester, you will present your findings to the class.”

She followed the steps to the top of the hall and surveyed the highest row of students, apparently still trying to absorb the assignment being thrown at them. She slammed the remote on the podium.

“I do not want a paper. You can write a paper in your other classes. I want you to live this. Discover it. Be it. Understand?”

I was certain I wasn’t the only one who had no understanding of what was going on. How could this be happening? My final grade, the one I needed to graduate, was hinging upon some outrageous project that I had to work on with some random student and was being hijacked by Professor Crazy. I didn’t even watch reality TV.

“You are probably anxious to see who your semester partners are. The pairings are listed in alphabetical order. Raise your hand when you see your name and find each other. Once everyone is paired up, I will give you your reality show. I’ll let you take the rest of the class to meet and come up with a game plan. Ready?” She paused with precision timing. “Oh, this is so exciting.”

The students stared at the white screen, waiting for their names to appear.

The presentation music started again. The first name on the screen flashed once and crawled into the left-hand column. Chuck Adams timidly raised his hand and waited for the name of his partner. The entire class turned and watched as Meredith Cruise smiled brightly, gathered her belongings, and relocated in the seat next to Chuck.

I got the sinking feeling this was like something out of The Hunger Games. Come to think of it, Professor Garcia would fit in nicely in the Capitol. There was nothing I could do but sit and await my reaping results. Whom was I going to end up with for an entire semester?

The roaring music drew my focus back to the screen. The next name to appear was Beau Anderson. That name sounded vaguely familiar. Before I could place where I had heard it before, the next name to flash on the screen was London James. Doing my best to catch my breath and look like this was the most natural selection process in the world, I cautiously searched the seats for Beau, whoever he was.

Scanning the rows behind my seat, I hoped this guy was just as serious about getting an A as I was. No luck. I kept my hand high above my head, feeling more and more like an idiot on display in a bad game of middle school dodgeball. Where was this guy? I seriously considered giving up and asking Professor Crazy for a redo in her computer’s matching game.