I was known in certain Manhattan circles as the most cost-effective sugar baby on the market, which sounded glamorous until you learned that my greatest financial demand from a billionaire had been a $14.99 group lunch order and a pink bicycle.
Chapter 1
Other women on the wealthy-companion app asked for luxury condos, monthly allowances, and designer handbags. I once made Liam Hayes leave a Fifth Avenue boutique because I found the same cotton T-shirts at a Queens flea market, three for $49.99. When he begged me to ask for something expensive just once, I finally gathered my courage.
“Could you buy me a Schwinn?”
Liam stared at me. “Is that German?”
“It’s a bicycle.”
“A German bicycle?”
“An American bicycle, Liam.”
He bought it anyway.
That should explain why I was completely unprepared when Audrey Sinclair burst into my office one Monday morning and announced to thirty-seven employees that I had stolen a mansion, a sports car, and millions of dollars from her fiancé.
“Where is Chloe Evans?” she shouted.
I slowly raised my hand.
Audrey swept toward me in heels that probably cost more than my annual grocery budget. She had glossy blond hair, a cream-colored suit, and the kind of posture people acquired after being told from birth that the world would move furniture to let them pass.
“So you’re the gold digger.”
“I prefer Chloe.”
“You’ve been living off Liam Hayes.”
Technically, she was correct. Liam had originally hired me from a companion website one year earlier. I had student loans, a modest office job, and a profile that read: Available for social events. Will not embarrass you in public. Will not ask for stupid things.
Apparently that last sentence intrigued him.
Audrey held out her hand. “Keys.”
“To what?”
“The car and the house he bought you.”
Several coworkers were already filming.
I opened my purse and gave Audrey two keys.
One was attached to a little rubber tag. The other was old brass.
Audrey lifted the first.
“What luxury-car company uses this ridiculous logo?”
My coworker Martin leaned closer. “That looks like a Kryptonite bike-lock key.”
“It is,” I said.
Audrey stared at me.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. My bike is downstairs. Pink Schwinn. Quick-release front tire.”
Someone snorted.
Audrey grabbed the brass key. “Fine. Then this opens the penthouse.”
“No. East Forty-Seventh.”
She looked triumphant.
“Aha.”
“The old brick building beside the laundromat.”
Her smile faded.
“My studio is on the fourth floor. Four hundred eighty square feet, although I think the landlord counts the fire escape.”
My coworkers lowered their phones slightly.
Audrey’s face hardened. “Do you expect me to believe Liam Hayes, heir to one of the largest shipping fortunes in America, lets his mistress live in a dump?”
“Girlfriend,” I corrected. “And Liam wanted a penthouse. The rent was ridiculous.”
I reached for my apartment key.
“I need that back. It belongs to my landlord. You can take the bicycle if you absolutely insist, but my helmet stays with me. It has a rear light.”
A nervous laugh rippled across the room.
Audrey’s eyes landed on my purse.
She seized it.
“This is designer.”
“It’s from Amazon.”
“That logo is Miu Miu.”
“It says Meow Meow.”
With a furious movement, she dumped the contents across my desk. Pens, receipts, lip balm, mints, grocery coupons, and a little foil packet scattered everywhere.
Audrey pounced.
She held up the packet between two manicured fingers.
“Oh, how classy.”
Several people laughed.
She waved it toward me. “So this is how you keep a billionaire interested.”
Heat rushed into my face.
“Give me that.”
“Why? Embarrassed?”
She tore open the edge.
I took it from her and pulled out two clear plastic deli gloves.
Silence swallowed the office.
“The sandwich place gives extras,” I explained. “They’re useful when I clean the bathroom.”
Martin turned away because he was laughing too hard.
Audrey looked ready to set the building on fire.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You’ve taken money from Liam.”
“Not much.”
“How much?”
I opened my banking app.
Checking: $5,020.
Savings: $513.
Emergency account: $367.
Audrey stared.
A coworker whispered, “She may be the worst gold digger in North America.”
“That money is from my paycheck,” I said. “I can show you the deposits.”
Audrey’s mouth tightened. “I am Liam’s fiancée.”
That surprised me.
Before I could answer, my manager, Richard, hurried from his office.
“What is going on?”
Audrey turned toward him. “Your employee is sleeping with a man who belongs to me.”
Richard blinked. “I thought Chloe was dating Mr. Hayes.”
“I am Audrey Sinclair.”
Recognition hit him immediately.
The Sinclair family owned hotels, investment funds, and enough real estate to make otherwise sensible men begin bowing.
Richard practically did.
“Ms. Sinclair. I’m terribly sorry.”
“Handle your employee.”
Richard looked at me and found courage because he was not looking at her anymore.
“Chloe, pack your things. You’re terminated.”
Three days before payday.
That bothered me more than Audrey.
“Without cause?”
“For misconduct.”
“What misconduct?”
Richard hesitated.
“Exactly.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my little spiral notebook. “You owe accrued PTO and two weeks’ pay in lieu of notice.”
He stared.
“According to the employee handbook and New York law, the total after withholding should be approximately $1,422.16.”
Audrey laughed.
“You’re fighting over fourteen hundred dollars?”
“Fourteen hundred twenty-two dollars and sixteen cents.”
“You’re dating a billionaire.”
“That doesn’t make fourteen hundred dollars disappear.”
Richard’s face went red. “You’re getting nothing.”
A man spoke from the doorway.
“Excuse me?”
Every head turned.
Liam Hayes stood there in a dark suit holding a greasy brown paper bag.
He had the kind of face financial magazines liked to put beside headlines involving acquisitions, private equity, and words like ruthless. Right then, however, he looked deeply troubled.
“Chloe,” he said, “the deli was out of the two-for-one turkey.”
I closed my eyes.
“I told you to go before eleven-thirty.”
“I had a board meeting.”
“And the gloves?”
“They wouldn’t give me extras.”
The entire office stared at him.
Liam finally noticed my desk.
Then Audrey.
Then Richard.
“What happened?”
Audrey rushed toward him.
“Liam, thank God. I came back and discovered this woman has been taking advantage of you.”
He stepped neatly around her attempted embrace.
“Audrey?”
“Yes, darling.”
“What are you doing here?”
She blinked.
“I came back for you.”
Liam frowned. “We dated for three months when we were eighteen.”
“Our families had an understanding.”
“You left me for a French count because I wouldn’t buy you a yacht.”
Audrey’s face tightened.
Liam looked at Richard. “Why is Chloe packing?”
Richard swallowed. “Ms. Sinclair informed me that—”
“Why is Chloe packing?”
“I terminated her.”
“Did you pay her severance?”
Richard hesitated.
“No.”
Liam turned to the quiet man behind him, his executive assistant, David.
“Terminate Richard.”
Richard went pale.
“Mr. Hayes—”
“Pay Chloe everything she’s owed first.”
“Sir, Audrey said she was your fiancée.”
Liam looked genuinely confused.
“She isn’t.”
Audrey gasped.
Liam crossed the room and started placing my scattered belongings back into my purse. He picked up the bicycle key.
“Are we riding home?”
“No. You shifted too hard last time and threw the chain.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“We’re taking the subway.”
He smiled. “Fine.”
Audrey’s voice cracked like glass behind us.
“You think this is over?”
We stopped.
“Arthur Hayes will never accept her,” she said. “The foundation gala is Friday. Let her walk into that ballroom wearing her cheap little clothes and tell your grandfather how proud she is of living in a slum.”
Liam’s expression changed.
Everyone in New York finance knew Arthur Hayes.
He had built the Hayes shipping empire from two leased trucks and one warehouse into a global company. At eighty, he was still chairman, still feared, and still capable of cutting relatives from trust funds with a fountain pen.
Liam squeezed my hand.
“We can skip the gala.”
I looked at Audrey.
She smiled because she thought fear had finally worked.
“No,” I said. “We’re going.”
Her smile widened.
She thought she had just arranged my public execution.
What none of us knew was that before Friday arrived, Audrey Sinclair would spend five million dollars trying to get rid of me—and I would turn her down.
