Kidnapping the Billionaire's Baby

“But that would be good, right? Someone who will actually listen to your side of things.”

“Yes. I know I can prove to them that what I accomplished out there is the real deal. Maybe they can get in touch with some of their partners and get the actual data to —”

The office phone rang, and Amara snatched it up, a sudden feeling of dread washing over her. It was the dean’s office, his secretary. Damn.

Amara knew what came next. She was getting fired.

Chapter Two

A FEW SMALL, QUIET AFFIRMATIVES made up the entirety of Amara’s side of the short call, and she carefully hung up. Everything had changed to slow motion.

Her fingers slipped into her hair, palms pressed tight to her forehead. Her voice sou

nded strangely distant. “The dean’s secretary says Dean Wilson wants to see me immediately … no delays. She used those words exactly. No delays.”

Kari’s eyes went wide as she sat up. “Fu — that is, I mean, do you usually get called in like that?”

Amara groaned, sitting back heavily in the chair. “Never. This has got to be about the shit Frederik’s been talking.” She quickly sat up ramrod stiff. “He’s going to fire me. I know it.”

Kari’s mouth opened slightly, clearly meaning to dismiss the notion outright, but nothing came out for a telling moment. Finally, she said, “Maybe he just wants to talk to you. He knows what you do, what you’ve done for this school. Maybe he wants to get the whole thing sorted out real quick, you know?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he wants me to be packed and gone by the end of the day. Damn.” Amara stood up quickly, pacing back and forth in front of the window again. “What am I supposed to do? I have to go, right now. I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to go.”

Kari made her way around the desk and wrapped her arms tightly around Amara. “Don’t worry. Whatever happens, you’re gonna be fine. You always are. Even if it’s … the worst … it won’t be your first setback. The best thing you can do is get down there quick, and get it over with. Like ripping off a bandage.”

Amara gave Kari a half-hearted hug in return before stepping back. “Yeah, I know. Don’t wait around on me. I know you’ve got another class coming up soon. Don’t miss it on my account. No matter what, I’ll catch up with you after, okay?”

“We’ll grab some drinks downtown or something. Good luck!” Kari managed an earnest, encouraging smile. “See you soon.”

With a little wave, Kari turned and left the room, rushing to get back to the art building in time for her next class. Amara followed her out the door, but they parted ways immediately, Amara bound for the Dean’s office on the second floor of the administrative building.

AMARA WALKED WITH HER HEAD low, eyes cast to the ground, heaving a shaky sigh now and then. She couldn’t stop thinking of her great-grandmother and how disappointed she would be.

Amara’s great-grandmother was Nigerian, and in Amara’s quest to discover her ancestry when she was a girl, she first learned of cassava’s central role in the African diet. Already science-minded as a child, she became determined to make her mark on the world by easing the burden on the families who relied on the root crop.

With cassava as a mainstay in the Nigerian diet, Vitamin A deficiency was endemic to the region, as were goiters and even hypothyroidism. Moreover, the unprocessed root contained dangerous levels of cyanide. While the starchy root was drought-resistant and hardy, it had to be heavily processed before it was minimally safe to eat.

Amara had made remarkable strides in raising nutrition and lowering toxins. Her whole life, it seemed, had been leading up to the point where she found herself three days ago — finally ready to move into full-scale production and distribution of the beta carotene-rich, yellow cassava, Amara’s creation. Her hope for a better tomorrow for millions.

And then the unthinkable had happened, and thanks to lies and deceit, all her hopes and work may have been for nothing.

As she passed in front of the student union, she almost literally ran into the last person she wanted to see.

Frederik.

Damn.

Standing a full foot taller, he loomed over her in the same sort of way she used to find comforting. But that was back when she thought of him as her protector, not her enemy.

Before she even looked up, she recognized him by the way the rings on his fingers were arranged, his arms folded over his chest. His spicy cologne filled her nose the moment she approached.

She kept her gaze low for a long moment, gathering the wherewithal to look up at him coldly, squelching her despair because she’d be damned if she’d let him see what he’d done to her.

“Ah, best to watch where you’re going, Professor Davis,” Frederik said, his mellifluous voice carrying a heavy Uruguayan accent.

It was a beautiful voice, but when he was being sarcastic or condescending he laid it on thick, dragging the words out and rolling the “r” wherever present.

“Where might you be off to in such a hurry?” he asked in a snide tone, as if he already knew the answer.