She’d splurged on another Uber. She knew that, at the end of the night, her wallet would be lined with hundred-dollar bills. It was a luxury she could grow accustomed to, the kind of perk that made life in Brooklyn easier. But when her car had stopped in front of the cool establishment, she paused before exiting. Her pulse was skittering, her heart hammering in her chest. It was like her intuition had known that this rendezvous was a turning point. That it would change everything.

She was at campus now, the walk through the chilly streets a blur. Hustling toward her illumination lab, she tried to shake off the reminiscence. But as she slid into her desk, booted up the computer, she knew it was fruitless. A smile flitted across her lips, chased away by a queasy feeling in her stomach. As the instructor, annoyed by her late entry, shot her a look, her mind drifted back to the previous night’s date.

The club had been dark, almost hazy, though the fog may have been in her brain. She was on her third rusty nail (she had told herself she’d have no more than two, but Gabe had a way of making her feel adventurous, almost reckless). Onstage, a beautiful woman was singing, silky notes effluviating from her throat. The ambience was undeniably sultry.

“I love this place,” Gabe said. “I come here when I’ve got a difficult case. Nothing as relaxing as Scotch and smooth jazz.”

“Totally,” Nat agreed, as if this was also a habit of hers.

Gabe smiled at her, then took her hand in his. “I’d like to talk to you about making this more . . . official.”

The whiskey (she was developing a taste for it) burned her throat. “Umm . . . I’m not sure.”

He removed his hand. “You’re not interested?” His blue eyes were cold, his tone accusatory. He was angry at her for leading him on, for wasting his time. But she saw the pain beneath it. Her ambiguity had hurt him.

“Of course I am,” she said quickly. It was her nature to smooth things over. Ten years with a volatile father had ingrained it in her. “I’m just new to this. I don’t really know what that means.”

He smiled, his eyes melting. “I’d like to set up an arrangement so I can see you regularly. I’ll give you an allowance of thirty-five hundred a month.”

Three thousand five hundred dollars. Every. Month.

“In return, I’d like to see you a couple of times a week. Our schedules permitting, of course.”

She gave a slight nod, a small smile. Her throat was too dry to speak. And even if she could, how to verbalize the thoughts swirling in her head? This was never her plan, not what she’d wanted. But suddenly, she couldn’t find any downside to it. She enjoyed spending time with this man who had introduced her to Scotch and jazz. She loved the way he looked at her, touched her, spoiled her. All her financial worries would be eliminated with this arrangement. And she had made peace with accepting money in exchange for her time, her attention, and whatever else might happen between them. At least she thought she had. . . .