Ava read the judgment on Nat’s face. “As women, we’re expected to give men our attention and our support . . . even our bodies for free. Getting paid for it is empowering.”

Nat forced a slight smile, while her mind grappled with the concept.

“If there’s chemistry with a daddy, we might set up an arrangement,” Ava continued. “We discuss everything up front. How often we’ll see each other, what we’ll do together, how much money he’ll give me each month . . .”

It may have been crude to ask, but Nat had to. “How much?”

“It depends.” Ava’s finger traced a dark, circular watermark on the table. “If I see a man four times a month, I usually get between twenty-five hundred and five grand.”

“Wow.”

“I won’t undersell myself.”

Sell myself. The prefix did not change the meaning. Nat leaned in. “And sex?”

“It’s like any relationship. If I’m into the guy, I’ll sleep with him. If I’m not, I don’t.”

Nat was almost afraid to ask. “How old are these men?”

“It varies”—Ava lifted her beer to her lips—“midthirties to seventies.”

Seventies? Images of saggy butts, shriveled penises, droopy testicles flitted through Nat’s mind. Ava was twenty-two! How could she go there? But these men were rich. They paid for Ava’s beautiful apartment, bought her pricey art for her birthday. Maybe generosity compensated for gray pubic hair? An involuntary shiver of disgust rattled Nat’s shoulders.

Ava clocked it, and her tone became defensive. “Success is an aphrodisiac. I enjoy being with powerful men. They’re more mature and more caring than all the selfish, horny boys I was dating before.”

Nat sipped her beer and thought about her own dating life. Cole had been selfish and horny. Not to mention insecure, cloying, unstable. . . . Miguel was sweeter, kinder, but also needy, clingy . . . and, yes, selfish and horny. And neither of them could take her to a Michelin-starred restaurant, buy her a Birkin bag, or even help pay back her roommates. But still . . . Nat simply could not fathom a romantic relationship with a man old enough to be her father.

“I’ve always liked older men,” Ava continued, a suggestive twinkle in her eye. “There’s a lot to be said for experience.”

Nat suppressed more images of elderly genitals. “Are these guys married?”

“Sometimes. But sometimes they just work a lot. Or travel a lot. Or they’re socially awkward.” Ava toyed with her coaster. “I’m busy, too. I like my space. When I’m with a daddy, we enjoy each other. When we’re apart, we’re completely free.”

She made it sound so mature, so reciprocal, almost liberating. Ava and her suitors were up front with their needs, their wants, their parameters. It sounded positively evolved.

“We’re living in the best city in the world,” Ava said, “but you can’t enjoy it without money. I eat at the best restaurants. I shop at exclusive boutiques. I live in a gorgeous apartment.” She took a sip of beer. “One of my blessers took me to Rome last year. He bought me a Versace dress.”