Retrieving her battered canvas wallet, she opened it and peered inside. Three ones and a five. Disappointment crushed her chest. Why hadn’t she gotten the money up front, like Ava had suggested? A successful date would have paid off her debt to her roommates. A couple more dates would have lined her bank account. But she didn’t even have enough class to be a fucking sugar baby. She flopped back down on the bed. Tears of self-recrimination slipped from her eyes, ran down her temples, wet her hair.

“Natalie!” It was Mara’s voice, shrill, irritated. As usual.

She dried her eyes with the bottom of her T-shirt and got up. She was too tired, too hungover to feel anything but resignation as she wrapped her robe around her and stumbled to the kitchen.

Her roommates were standing by the counter, arms folded, faces stern. Toni was in scrubs—either coming from or going to a practicum shift; Mara was in workout gear, her red hair piled on top of her head, making her resemble a woodpecker. Nat smelled spices, lemon grass, coconut, before she even spotted the brown paper bags full of Thai food.

“Ummm . . .” It was Toni, her hands migrating to her hips, “we’re just wondering how you can afford to order a feast of Thai food when you owe us money?”

“I didn’t order any Thai food.”

“Really?” Mara said. “I’m not quite finished with my master’s, but I think I can read your name right here on the bag.”

“I didn’t fucking order it, okay?”

Toni sniped, “Did your fairy godmother order it for you?”

No . . . But someone had. Without a word, Nat turned and hurried back to her bedroom. She grabbed her phone and opened the sugar-dating app. There were more messages—thirty-two more, to be precise, but she went directly to her conversation with Angeldaddy. With Gabe.

One new message. She opened it.

Thai food is the best hangover cure.

It came flooding back to her then. The driver, the big black car. Gabe helping her up the steps of her building. Her fumbling with the key, him taking it, opening the door. Had she kissed him? Invited him in? No, no, she hadn’t; she wouldn’t. Contrary to her roommates’ opinions of her, Nat did not have sex with men she’d just met. Especially not fifty-five-year-old multimillionaires. But now, Gabe knew where she lived. Another rule broken. But he was not dangerous. He was sending her Thai food. He was thoughtful, kind, generous.

Something pinged in her consciousness. Her wool coat hung on a hook on the back of the door. She yanked it down, shoved her hand into the nylon pocket, and removed five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. He had paid her, after all.

With the money clutched in her hand, she marched back to the kitchen. “Here’s three hundred dollars.” She shoved it at Mara, relishing the shock on her face. “That more than covers what I owe you.”

Snatching up the Thai takeout, she went back to her room.