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 2
Liam and I took the subway home.
He had grown strangely fond of public transportation after I calculated what he spent keeping a chauffeured car available around the clock. The first month I convinced him to buy an unlimited MetroCard, he had examined it with the wonder of a man discovering electricity.
My apartment was less inspiring.
The building was old enough to have opinions. The radiator clanged, the bathroom faucet leaked, and the upstairs tenant practiced trumpet at unpredictable hours.
Liam sat on my futon with his deli sandwich while I rinsed the reusable plastic bag it had come in.
“I’m sorry about the job,” he said.
“I’ll get another.”
“I can cover your expenses.”
I stared at him.
He sighed. “Right. Offensive suggestion.”
“Very.”
“I’m learning.”
A year earlier, Liam had hired me for entirely different reasons.
He was fighting with Arthur over what his grandfather called “undisciplined spending.” Liam, furious and immature, decided the perfect revenge would be bringing a sugar baby to a family dinner.
Then he met me.
For our first outing, he took me to a restaurant serving $400 truffle pasta.
I asked the waiter whether there was a lunch special.
There wasn’t.
So I took Liam to a food truck, where two tacos, rice, and a soda cost $18.
The next week, I discovered he was paying $4,000 a month for membership at a private gym he had visited twice.
I made him cancel it.
Then I found duplicate streaming services, an unused wine-storage subscription, three premium airport memberships, and a standing order for exotic flowers he had forgotten existed.
Within three months, he was saving money for the sport of saving money.
Within six months, we had stopped pretending our relationship was business.
Now he looked around my tiny apartment.
“Audrey will tell Grandfather everything.”
“Probably.”
“He already thinks I make terrible decisions.”
“You used to.”
He smiled. “You’re supposed to comfort me.”
“I canceled a gym membership. I didn’t become a liar.”
He laughed and put an arm around me.
Then came Tuesday.
My landlord, Gus, knocked while I was sewing a hole in a sock.
“Chloe, I got bad news.”
Gus was a chain-smoking widower who regarded human conversation as an inconvenience. Seeing him nervous immediately worried me.
“What happened?”
“Building sold.”
“That was fast.”
“Cash buyer.”
“Who?”
He rubbed his face.
“Blond woman. Came in a black SUV. Paid almost twice what this dump is worth.”
I slowly lowered my sock.
“She wants me evicted.”
Gus nodded miserably. “That was part of the deal.”
I stood.
“Has she signed?”
“Everything closed this morning.”
A smile crept across my face.
Gus backed away.
“Why are you smiling?”
“Because Audrey Sinclair just bought forty-seven housing-code violations.”
For six months, I had been documenting broken emergency lights, exposed wiring, water damage, cracked masonry, and a basement ventilation problem Gus kept promising to fix.
I had not reported him because he had been slowly repairing things himself.
Audrey had inherited all of it.
By Wednesday afternoon, city inspectors had issued repair orders that could cost more than $250,000.
Liam called me from his office.
“You did what?”
“I informed the city about a safety concern.”
“You sound delighted.”
“Tenants could have been hurt.”
“You’re delighted.”
“Maybe a little.”
On Thursday, Audrey found me eating lunch on a park bench.
Her SUV stopped beside the curb.
“Get in.”
“No.”
She climbed out.
“I need five minutes.”
“My lunch break has twenty-three minutes left.”
She dropped a check beside my sandwich.
I looked at the number.
$5,000,000.
Even I needed a moment.
“Five million dollars,” Audrey said. “Leave Liam. Leave New York. Never contact him again.”
I picked up the check.
My heart pounded.
Five million dollars could erase every student loan. It could buy a home outright, take care of my parents, fund retirement, and still leave enough to invest.
Audrey saw the calculation on my face.
Her smile returned.
“That’s what you wanted all along.”
I studied the check.
Then I tore it in half.
Her mouth dropped open.
I tore it again.
“What are you doing?”
“The offer is financially irrational.”
“It’s five million dollars!”
“Yes, but you’re paying me to abandon someone I love.”
For once, she had nothing to say.
I dropped the pieces into a trash can.
“And if you insist on looking at it as an investment,” I added, “Liam’s future earning power makes five million a terrible buyout.”
Audrey’s eyes narrowed.
“You really are a gold digger.”
“I’m making fun of you.”
Her face purpled.
“Tomorrow, Arthur Hayes is going to humiliate you in front of everyone.”
She stormed toward the SUV.
“Audrey?”
She turned.
“You overpaid for my apartment building.”
The door slammed.
That night, Liam came over and found me searching online estate-sale listings.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding a gala dress.”
“I can buy you one.”
“No.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
By Friday afternoon, I had found an emerald-green evening gown at an estate sale in Queens.
The owner had loved vintage couture and apparently red wine.
Price: twelve dollars.
A dry cleaner would have charged eighty.
I removed the stain myself.
At seven-thirty, Liam stared at me in complete disbelief.
“That cost twelve dollars?”
“Twelve even.”
“You look like a million bucks.”
“That would be a terrible return.”
He kissed me.
