The sugar website offered tips on ending relations with one’s sugar baby. Do it in person, over a nice lunch. This rustic, Italian restaurant in the financial district was one of the best in the city. Give her a goodbye gift. A white-gold-and-diamond necklace rested in his pocket. It had set him back almost five grand, paid on his personal credit card attached to a secret account. He never left any evidence for Celeste to find; not that she was suspicious. Be gentle with your sugar baby’s feelings but firm in your resolve. Gabe was an attorney, a master negotiator. He could handle this.

Emily would not cause him any problems. Gabe was her fourth or fifth sugar daddy; she’d been open about that. It hadn’t bothered him. In fact, it had provided him some comfort. This girl wouldn’t expect too much or make too many demands. And when he cut her off, she would take it like the pro she was.

He watched her enter the bustling restaurant on sky-high heels, looking hot in a tight dress the color of desert sand. His groin tingled pleasantly as he thought about the body beneath the clinging fabric: tight, compact, strong. She taught some kind of exercise class—kickboxing or boxercise—and it showed. For a beat, he considered keeping things going with Emily on a more casual basis. Financially, he could probably swing it, but the time commitment would be too much. He stood to greet her.

“Hi, Gabe.” She kissed his cheek, then took a seat across from him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Shit. He’d completely forgotten. His assistant would have sent Celeste flowers. He made a mental note to call her later.

Emily crossed her legs. “You look handsome.”

So slick, so professional. He thought of Natalie’s shy, slightly awkward presence and felt his heart swell. He was doing the right thing.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “Shall we get some wine?” It was for her, to soften the blow. He had a divestiture to deal with this afternoon, so he had to keep his wits about him. “Red or white?”

Emily smiled. “Whatever you’re in the mood for.”

He ordered a bottle of white and their lunch—a plate of pasta and clams for him, a caprese salad for her. This place was fast, catering to the bankers, traders, and attorneys who had to get back to the office. He’d picked this restaurant, and this meal, for that exact reason. He didn’t want to eat a long, lingering lunch with a breakup hovering over him. Emily asked about his work, but he shifted the conversation back to her and her workout class. As she droned on about boxercise (he knew it was something like that), he wondered what she was wearing under that beige dress. Emily always wore expensive lingerie. Was she expecting their meeting to end in sex, as usual? Could it end in sex, as usual? Would it be crass and cruel to break it off with her after she’d serviced him? He nibbled a breadstick and decided it probably would be.