Silver Fox Professor

Silver Fox Professor An Age Gap Billionaire off Limit Romance Sylvia Rae Copyright Silver Fox Professor Copyright © 2023 by Sylvia Rae. All rights reserved. Published by Brookside Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form by any means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews – without written permission. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are on construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return it to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author and publisher. For more information, contact Sylvia Rae [email protected] Contents 1. Chapter One 2. Chapter Two 3. Chapter Three 4. Chapter Four 5. Chapter Five 6. Chapter Six 7. Chapter Seven 8. Chapter Eight 9. Chapter Nine 10. Chapter Ten 11. Chapter Eleven 12. Chapter Twelve 13. Chapter Thirteen 14. Chapter Fourteen 15. Chapter Fifteen 16. Chapter Sixteen 17. Chapter Seventeen 18. Chapter Eighteen 19. Chapter Nineteen 20. Chapter Twenty Chapter One I gripped the straps of my backpack and looked up at the building in front of me. Red bricks and a colonial design. Built in 1880, if my memory served me correctly. I focus on facts when I’m nervous. I didn’t expect to be nervous today. I’d been looking forward to going to college since I was five years old. And I’d always wanted to go here, to Lawson University. When I was a little girl, my dad had taken me on his knee and showed me pictures from when he was an undergrad. I’d daydreamed about walking through the old buildings and under the tall oak trees, a textbook in my hands. I’d spent three years working at a bookstore in my hometown after high school, saving for tuition. Some of my best friends had done the same thing. College had been a huge goal for us: a shining city glittering on the horizon, slowly getting closer and closer. Now that I had found myself here, six hundred miles from home, staring up at the Willard Laurence Center for History and Philosophy, I was definitely nervous. “You’ve got this, Katie,” I told myself. “Take deep breaths. Take it one step at a time. Your first step is going up those stairs.” I smiled a little at my semi-unintentional pun and climbed the stairs. The building smelled of old paper and lemons. Probably a cleaning product. The halls weren’t crowded, but even the handful of students I saw walking through at this early hour of the morning made me swallow. Back home, I’d been popular. Kind, athletic, and smart – it had made me a lot of friends. Now the prospect of having to start building a new community all over again felt overwhelming. I felt my phone buzz in my pocket, and I pulled it out. Have a great first day at school Katie!!!! It was my friend Allison. I smiled and took a deep breath. I suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore. Thank you! I texted back. Enjoy your last day of freedom! ;) Allison started school tomorrow at a college in New York on the other side of the country. I’d been excited to be in California, in the beautiful northern wine country, close enough to L.A. to make a weekend visit easy enough. In this moment, though, I would rather have my friends with me. Maybe I should have gone to New York, too. “Make new friends, Katie,” I told myself. “Stop moping. One step at a time.” I’d walked around campus finding each of my classrooms yesterday. I’d read that that was what you should do. So, I knew where my first classroom was. I walked down the hall, down a flight of stairs, and to the left. There it was. I stepped inside. It felt a little bit like the dungeon classroom of Professor Snape – the only windows were high up and narrow. No direct sunlight was coming through on this side of the building. The desks were old, probably from the seventies. I did like that. I’m not a history major for nothing. I found a desk in the front of the class. I sat down and took out my pencil case and the notebook I’d designed for this class. I’d decorated the cover with stickers of ghosts and maps and little cartoon heads of famous people. “I like your notebook.” I looked up and saw that a girl had just set her backpack on the desk next to mine. She had long brown hair, which she’d braided into a crown around her head, and was wearing dangly purple earrings. Her t-shirt said, “History geek. I’d find you more interesting if you were dead.” It was an oddly rude t-shirt for someone who was smiling so warmly and had a face like a pixie. She seemed really nice. “Thanks,” I said, grinning. “I like your t-shirt.” She grinned back and sat down in her desk. “Too heavy-handed for the first day?” she asked. “I bet the guys will think I’m just a wannabe.” I turned my body towards her. “What is it with guys and thinking girls aren’t really into history?” I complained, grateful for someone to commiserate with. “I know!” she said. “It’s like, ‘Pish, you’ve never been in a Civil War reenactment, so you obviously don’t actually know anything.’” I threw my head back laughing. “I have literally