“Good girl.” Ava pushed her bowl away. “If you play your cards right, you’ll be able to move into Manhattan one day.”

Nat gave an ambiguous smile, tossed her napkin into her empty bowl. She knew what it would take to get an apartment in the city. She knew she would never have one.

* * *

The man she was meeting that night was a rich tech guy from Silicon Valley, in New York for business. His name was Nick, and he was thirty-nine, according to his profile. He was single, fun loving, a risk-taker who worked and played hard. He was looking for an adventurous girl who could keep up with his wild side. Nat knew she was not that girl, but she could play along for an hour. And she could play along for the four hundred bucks he’d promised her. Nick had suggested they meet at the bar of his hotel, but Nat feared that would send the wrong message. She’d suggested a piano bar on West Fifty-Sixth, only a block from his accommodations. He had agreed.

She was only mildly anxious as she rode the subway uptown from Ava’s place. While she’d botched the date with Gabe, it had been a valuable learning experience. She knew how to do this now. She was sober this time and planned to stay that way. And her previous date had given her a certain comfort level. Sugar daddies could be kind, respectful, normal. Sure, some may be creepy, some might be perverts, but there was virtually no danger in meeting a man in a public place, having one drink, collecting the cash, and leaving.

She emerged from the subway at Columbus Circle and headed to the bar. It was only a couple of blocks, but her faux patent leather pumps (courtesy of Payless) pinched her toes as she walked. Ava had lent her a black pencil skirt, a low-cut silk top, a sleek, black coat. Her friend’s feet were a size and a half bigger, precluding Nat from borrowing a pair of designer heels. Cheap shoes aside, Nat knew she looked the part: sexy, sophisticated, worth the money.

Nick had described himself as “mixed race.” The two photos he’d shared showed a slim man with a thick head of dark hair, a groomed beard, and intense brown eyes. He was attractive, and significantly younger than her last date (though still way too old for a real relationship). Nat had been pleasantly surprised that most of the men on the dating site were not the ancient, hideous monsters she’d envisioned. But why did a young, wealthy, attractive man need to pay for a date? Perhaps it was just simpler. Perhaps men like Nick didn’t want to put in the effort that a real relationship required.

Her phone pinged in her pocket, the sound of the text reminding her to silence it. She’d been mortified when her mother had called during her date with Gabe. It was just one of the many faux pas she’d committed that disastrous evening. While Gabe had been understanding, amused even, Nick might not be so convivial. Digging out the device, she checked the text. It was her mom. Again.