Even though she was in her final year of getting a master's degree in social work-even though she'd been on this campus for five years-she still knew this wasn't her world. Not for the first time, she felt like an interloper. Trish's world was one of abject poverty, of neverending babies that no one planned for and, therefore, no one cared for. This was not her world, this college full of young, beautiful people who could casually hook up and hang out without worrying about an unexpected pregnancy, much less how to feed that baby. The sight of so many young, beautiful women made Trish feel uneasy. Over half of the mostly female crowd looked like they were hoping for a wild ride in a limo to happen within an hour. Instead of listening, Trish scanned the crowd. Trish tuned the woman out as Jennifer went on about SFSU's 'long and proud' history of social programming, other 'distinguished guests,' blah-blah. 'Welcome to the Speaker Symposium at San Francisco State University.

The plan was to box him into a corner he could only donate himself out of.įinally, the lights in the auditorium dimmed and the president of the Student Activities Board came out in a remarkably tight skirt. The plan was to make him feel like she was a kindred soul in all things nerd-and all things compassionate. He was six foot two, broadly built and according to her internet searches, single. As far as Trish could tell, there wasn't anything particularly boyish about him. Longmire was twenty-eight, which didn't exactly make him the 'Boy Billionaire' that the press made him out to be. Everyone was here to see Longmire, the newest billionaire to come out of Silicon Valley's wealth generators. People continued to filter in for another thirty minutes. It was a half size too small, but she had on her black velvet suit jacket, so it looked fine. It was a distressed blue T-shirt with a vintage-looking Wonder Woman logo emblazoned over her breasts. Trish had planned everything down to her shirt-a great find at Goodwill. Timing an ambush of one of the wealthiest men on the planet required precision. She was as ready as she was ever going to be. She wished she could afford a cell phone-then she could at least play with that until the talk started instead of being the only person in the room who wasn't connected.

She'd gotten here early enough that no one had seen her smuggle in the check. Trish had been sitting in her spot-end of the third row, to the left of the podium on the stage-for over an hour.

No billionaire would risk looking heartless by saying no to a charity in front of a big crowd. A good crowd would leverage some social pressure on her target. Maybe four hundred people had crowded into the lower level and, in addition to the journalists from the college paper, some reporters from the San Francisco television stations were in attendance. The auditorium was filling up, which was exactly what Trish wanted.

The Nanny Plan by Sarah M. Anderson