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 3
The Hayes Foundation Gala occupied the largest ballroom of a Fifth Avenue hotel where even the flower arrangements seemed to have investment portfolios.
I had never seen that many diamonds outside a jewelry store.
Liam kept one hand on the small of my back as we entered.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You’re squeezing your purse.”
“I brought containers.”
He stared at me.
“There’s prime rib.”
“You brought Tupperware to a charity gala?”
“Donations were made. Food was purchased. Waste is immoral.”
“I love you.”
Before I could answer, the crowd parted.
Audrey approached wearing gold.
Beside her walked Arthur Hayes.
He was taller than I expected, thin but commanding, silver-haired, with sharp gray eyes and a silver-tipped cane. Conversations faded as he passed.
“Liam.”
“Grandfather.”
Arthur looked at me.
“This is Chloe Evans,” Liam said. “My girlfriend.”
Audrey sighed dramatically.
“This is the woman I told you about.”
Arthur’s expression cooled.
“The gold digger.”
Liam stiffened.
I held out my hand.
“Mr. Hayes. Nice to meet you.”
He ignored it.
“How much has she taken from you, Liam?”
Audrey answered before he could.
“She’s clever. She pretends not to want anything. She rides a bicycle. She lives in a dreadful apartment. She was even arguing with her employer over fourteen hundred dollars in severance.”
Arthur stared at me.
“You embarrassed yourself over fourteen hundred dollars?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I demanded money I was legally owed.”
His brows pulled together.
“A person with dignity would have walked away.”
“With respect, sir, a person with sense doesn’t abandon $1,422.16.”
A few nearby guests stopped pretending not to listen.
Arthur tapped his cane.
“You’re standing in a room filled with people who routinely lose more than that at lunch.”
“That doesn’t make it worthless.”
He looked irritated.
So I continued.
“In your autobiography, you wrote about suing a supplier in 1978 over a four-hundred-dollar billing discrepancy.”
His expression changed.
I quoted from memory.
“‘A leak in the hull, no matter how small, can sink the ship.’”
Silence.
Liam looked at me.
Audrey looked thrilled, apparently assuming I had just committed social suicide.
Arthur leaned slightly closer.
“You read my autobiography?”
“Only the business chapters.”
“Only?”
“I skipped the yachting stories.”
A man nearby coughed into his champagne.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“What’s wrong with yachts?”
“They’re floating expense accounts.”
Audrey inhaled sharply.
Liam murmured, “Chloe.”
I continued because stopping now seemed cowardly.
“Maintenance averages can be enormous. Then there’s crew, insurance, dockage, fuel, repairs, depreciation. If the thirty million dollars you spent on the Odyssey in the nineties had been invested broadly instead, compounded returns could have produced far more useful capital.”
Arthur went absolutely still.
Audrey smiled.
“Security—”
Arthur raised one hand.
She stopped.
He stared at me another moment.
Then his shoulders moved.
At first I thought he was coughing.
He was laughing.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
Arthur Hayes threw his head back and laughed so loudly that half the ballroom turned.
“Floating expense account!”
He struck his cane against the floor.
“I told my accountant nearly the same thing last month.”
Audrey’s smile disappeared.
Arthur looked at me.
“The severance. Did you get it?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“I filed with the state. Their attorney offered three thousand to settle.”
“And?”
“I countered at five.”
“Why?”
“Human resources missed a required filing deadline.”
Arthur’s eyes brightened.
He turned to Liam.
“Where did you find her?”
“Online.”
Arthur stared.
Liam shrugged.
“It’s complicated.”
Arthur looked back at me.
“Audrey says you live in a slum.”
“Lived.”
“Past tense?”
“Audrey bought the building to evict me.”
Arthur’s head slowly turned.
Audrey stepped backward.
“You bought an entire building to remove one tenant?”
“I was protecting Liam.”
“Did you inspect it?”
She said nothing.
“Did you review the maintenance liabilities?”
Nothing.
“Property taxes?”
Silence.
I raised my hand slightly.
“The city estimated at least a quarter-million dollars in mandatory repairs.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“You reported your own building?” he asked Audrey.
“No! She did.”
His eyes opened.
He looked at Audrey with something far worse than anger.
Disappointment.
“You paid above market price for a distressed building without due diligence because you were jealous?”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
Audrey’s voice broke. “Her family is nobody. She has no standing. She doesn’t belong with Liam.”
Arthur glanced at my twelve-dollar dress.
Then at Liam.
Then back at Audrey.
“What did you offer her?”
Audrey paled.
I answered.
“Five million.”
Arthur’s eyebrows rose.
“She refused?”
“I tore up the check.”
Someone nearby whispered, “Good Lord.”
Arthur looked at me.
“Why?”
“I love your grandson.”
The humor vanished from his expression.
For the first time that night, he seemed to look at me as something other than a financial puzzle.
“And the money?”
“I like money.”
Liam snorted.
I squeezed his hand.
“I just don’t like being bought.”
Arthur nodded once.
Then he turned toward Audrey.
“You should leave.”
Her eyes widened.
“Arthur—”
“You tried to purchase a woman’s relationship, bought hazardous property out of spite, and spent five million dollars trying to solve a personal problem that wasn’t yours.”
“But Liam—”
“Is an adult.”
Audrey’s eyes filled.
Arthur’s voice remained calm.
“Do not involve yourself with my grandson again.”
She looked at Liam.
He said nothing.
Then she looked at me.
For a moment, all that remained of the polished heiress was a furious, wounded woman who had been certain money guaranteed possession.
She turned and left.
Arthur watched her disappear.
Then he faced me.
“I have a board meeting Monday.”
“Congratulations.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
“We’re losing money in Pacific Northwest logistics.”
“That sounds unfortunate.”
“I want you there.”
I blinked.
“As what?”
“Consultant.”
“At what rate?”
Liam covered his face.
Arthur smiled.
“Five hundred an hour.”
“Six hundred.”
“Five-fifty.”
“Six, and you reimburse transportation.”
“You ride a bicycle.”
“Bike maintenance isn’t free.”
Arthur laughed.
“Six hundred.”
We shook hands.
He turned to Liam.
“Don’t lose this woman.”
“I’ve been trying not to.”
Arthur walked away.
Liam stared after him.
Then he looked at me.
“What just happened?”
“I got a consulting job.”
“You argued with Arthur Hayes about a yacht.”
“Math was on my side.”
“You told him he wasted a hundred million dollars.”
“More, potentially.”
He started laughing.
I pointed toward the buffet.
“Prime rib.”
“Of course.”
We filled our plates.
I also discreetly filled one container.
I was working on the second when Liam caught my wrist.
“Come here.”
“What?”
He led me toward a quiet alcove beside the ballroom windows.
Manhattan glittered below us.
“What are you doing?”
“Something financially responsible.”
That frightened me more than anything Audrey had done all week.
Liam reached into his jacket.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“If that is what I think it is, we need to discuss budget.”
“Chloe.”
He opened a small velvet box.
Inside was a simple platinum ring with a clear stone that caught the light in brilliant flashes.
My first emotion was love.
My second was panic.
“How much?”
He laughed.
“That’s your response?”
“How much?”
“Under eight hundred.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Explain.”
“Moissanite. Lab-created. More brilliance than a diamond. Recycled platinum.”
I stared at him.
He looked almost nervous.
“I researched it.”
“You researched jewelry?”
“For three months.”
“Three months?”
“And I used a promo code.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Liam blinked.
“Why are you crying?”
“Fifteen percent?”
“Plus free shipping.”
That did it.
I covered my mouth.
He smiled softly.
“Chloe Evans, will you marry me?”
I looked at the man who had once believed wealth meant never looking at a price tag.
Now he took the subway, used coupons at gas stations, asked delicatessen employees for free gloves, and had spent three months researching the best-value engagement stone because he understood that extravagance was not what made me feel loved.
“You really used a promo code?”
“I can show you the receipt.”
I threw my arms around him.
“Yes.”
His arms closed around me.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
“We’re not spending a fortune on the wedding,” I warned.
“I assumed.”
“And no thousand-dollar floral arrangements.”
“Agreed.”
“And absolutely no yacht.”
“Never.”
I looked at him.
“Food truck.”
“For the wedding?”
“Tacos.”
He kissed me.
“Deal.”
