The Unwilling CEO's Love Game novel Chapter 8

Monday.

First thing in the morning, Jocelyn pounced on Preston at the classroom door, demanding his written reflection.

Truth be told, she felt awkward around Preston.

With Melvin crashing at her place these past few days, he hadn't lifted a finger to look after his nephew.

Melvin's justification was, "The kid's big enough to fend for himself. He won't starve."

What would Preston's folks think if they knew they'd entrusted their son to such an unreliable dude? Would they be kicking themselves?

Preston fished a piece of paper from his backpack and handed it to her, all casual-like, and quipped, "When's my uncle heading home?"

Jocelyn felt a lump in her throat, her gaze fluttered in confusion.

Trying to appear calm, she fiddled with the textbooks in her hands. "Why don't you call him and ask?"

"Hmph, if I could get that out of him, would I be asking you?" Preston gave her a sidelong glance, his backpack twisted in his grip. "Didn't you say you had a boyfriend? Are you playing the field now, or is this some secret love affair?"

Jocelyn almost choked.

Raising an eyebrow, Preston teased, "You're not planning to become my auntie, are you?"

Turning her head and covering her mouth, Jocelyn took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure.

"Forget about it. Dream on, but don't get your hopes up," he said before strutting into the classroom.

Jocelyn felt a chill run down her spine.

Maybe before, Melvin's reluctance to tie the knot was just a passing thought. But now, Preston's words seemed to confirm that Melvin wasn't just temporarily against marriage; he'd planted this idea long ago and was dead set on it, unlikely to change his mind.

...

Back in the office, Jocelyn saw several students from the class next door standing with their heads down in front of their teacher, Freya's desk.

"What's up with them?" Jocelyn asked casually.

Freya glanced at the students. "Caught them using their phones during class."

Jocelyn chuckled. "What's so fascinating that even your class monitor risked getting caught by you to sneak a peek?"

Freya passed her phone to Jocelyn. "Some starlet who hit the big time the moment she debuted."

"Willow?" Jocelyn glanced at the screen. "My folks were glued to the TV for that talent show. They were rooting for her too."

Freya shook her head, "She got famous on a foreign talent show, debuting with the whole innocent scholar image. Heard she's coming back home soon, and some hotshot director's got his eye on her for a leading role. The whole nation's buzzing, counting down the minutes till her plane lands so they can welcome back their goddess."

"How do you know all this?" Jocelyn was curious.

Freya gestured to the kids in front of her. "They spilled the beans just now."

Jocelyn let out a laugh.

"Don't just stand there grinning. Keep an eye on the students in your own class," Freya warned her.

During a class in the afternoon, Jocelyn didn't dive straight into teaching. Instead, she chatted with the students about their idols, and naturally, the conversation turned to the nation's newest darling, Willow.

At the mention of her name, the excitement in the room was palpable.

Even Preston, who usually couldn't care less about anything, perked up.

"I know you all love her, and why not? She's hardworking and a brainy beauty. I'm a fan too," Jocelyn said. "I've checked, and she's due back at the beginning of next month. If you guys can top the grade in the upcoming monthly exams, I'll see if I can organize a trip for those who want to go welcome her at the airport. How's that?"

The room erupted in cheers.

Jocelyn's smile brightened even more.

Only Preston rolled his eyes and slumped onto the desk, muttering under his breath, "Dumb."

After evening class, Jocelyn was packing up in the office when she spotted Preston lounging on the flowerbed steps outside the school gate.

He got up as soon as he saw her.

"Why haven't you gone home yet, Preston?"

Preston, lugging his bag and slouching like he couldn't stand straight, his hair almost covering his eyes, complained, "I'm sick of takeout. Can you cook?"