Since I can remember, my mother has listened to billionaire romance audiobooks every single day. It's why the term "billionaire CEO" makes my skin crawl. While my mom was weeping over the 'chase-and-apologize' trope—the part where the male lead grovels for forgiveness—I'd be silently calculating his net worth, drafting a preliminary divorce settlement offer in my head. When she'd lament the heroine being a mere placeholder for the 'Golden Girl'—his one true love—I’d tell her, "Then she should be aggressively shaking him down for every penny he has!" Unfortunately, I was born with a face that screams "don't even think about it." No man ever dared to approach me. It meant my carefully crafted dreams of becoming a professional gold digger had never once materialized. That is, until the night of a graduation mixer at a downtown bar. A group of guys in tailored suits—the kind that look expensive even when you can’t name the designer—spent a good minute sizing me up. “Holy hell,” one of them muttered. “She’s a dead ringer for Vivian.” The most attractive one—the one with the quiet, commanding presence—walked up to me. He smiled, a slow, practiced gesture that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You look uncannily like someone I once desperately wanted and couldn't have,” he said. “If you’re willing to stay by my side, I’ll make it worth your while.” A thrill shot through me. Finally. I immediately pulled out my phone and opened my payment app. “Venmo me a million dollars right now,” I told him, holding the screen up. “And the stand-in fee, the emotional damage fee, and the 'lost youth' compensation fee will all be calculated at triple the market rate.” “If you hesitate, I’ll package up that whole speech you just gave and send it directly to your Golden Girl.” 1 The man froze instantly. His entourage looked completely bewildered, taking a few long minutes to process what I'd just said. “Shit, she’s a hustler!” one of them exclaimed. “What a waste of a gorgeous face. Link, let’s go!” They started pulling him away, but Lincoln Rhodes didn't budge. He just stared at me, a flicker of disgust adding a new shade to his expression. “Right. No one can compare to Vivian.” “Even a perfect likeness couldn't capture her pure, untainted soul.” I swirled the drink in my glass, tapping my foot impatiently. “Hold on, hold on. If you need an acting partner, the studio lots are downtown. I am not contractually obligated to play a role in your little melodrama.” The second the words were out, the guy closest to me reared back, his hand shooting toward my face. “You bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?” he roared. “You don't disrespect Link! I'll teach you a lesson!” Just as his palm was about to connect, Link’s hand shot out, grabbing his friend’s wrist in a death grip. He ignored the commotion, his eyes still burning into mine. “A million dollars, you said? Fine.” “Three times a week. I set the schedule.” He pulled out his own phone, ready to scan my code. I locked my screen and looked at him coolly. “The million is the non-disclosure fee, not the retainer, big shot.” “Billionaire CEOs these days are getting cheap. The old-school ones threw around hundreds of millions. Now they haggle?” Link’s eye twitched. A flash of irritation, quickly masked, crossed his face. But he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm, and asked, “So, what are you suggesting?” I held up my right hand, palm facing him, and spread my fingers to show a five. Link understood immediately. He considered it for ten seconds, his jaw tight, then nodded. “Six million. Done.” When the notification popped up—six million dollars deposited into my account—I nearly burst out laughing right there. His friends were losing it, jumping up and down in impotent rage. “Link, are you insane? You’re letting her dictate the price? This is blackmail!” “You have dozens of women throwing themselves at you! Why pick this mercenary lowlife?” “She’s nothing without that face, man, she’s not worth it…” I lifted a hand to silence him. “One more word out of you, and I’m raising the price.” I met the furious glare of his friend. “If you’re so upset, take my photo to a plastic surgeon and see if they can replicate the results. Or maybe consider selling your own services? It’s a growth market.” With that, I leaned back into the sofa and opened a game on my phone. Six million dollars! I’m clearing out my entire shopping cart and buying my mother two massive gold necklaces. Link pulled his friends aside, gave them a stern dressing down, and they sheepishly filed out of the bar. He tossed a business card onto the table. “I’ll contact you when I have time. Do not attempt to reach out to me.” I immediately flicked the card onto the floor. “I’m free Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons. Weekends are reserved for my personal schedule.” “If you need me on a weekend, that’s time and a half. Federal holidays are triple pay. You know the drill.” Then I picked up my bag and left without a backward glance. I didn’t need to see his face to know the look of furious indignation stamped on it. On the ride home, I texted my mother. “Mom, I landed a huge offer at a major firm!” “Only three days a week, and the pay is unbelievable!” 2 Monday morning at nine on the dot, my doorbell rang. Lincoln Rhodes stood on my stoop, impeccable in a bespoke suit, flanked by two assistants. “Change into this.” He handed me a designer shopping bag containing an expensive dress. “We’re going somewhere.” “The service contract didn’t specify required travel or location changes,” I said, leaning against the door frame. “Ten times the hourly rate,” Link said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. “The itinerary is highly confidential. Requires an additional non-disclosure agreement. That’s billed separately.” I pulled out my phone. “Ten thousand dollar retainer up front.” Link’s eyes narrowed. The assistant behind him audibly gasped. “Ms. Shaw, with all due respect…” Link cut him off with a raised hand and completed the swift transfer. “Now,” he said, the word clipped. “Can we go?” The car stopped outside the Rhodes Global corporate headquarters. Link led me into the top-floor conference room. Through the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows, the entire city skyline stretched out before us. The long table was packed with serious-faced executives. “Sit down and listen,” Link ordered, pushing me into a chair in the corner. His tone brooked no argument. “Keep that mouth of yours shut the entire time. Don’t say anything you shouldn’t.” I knew this plot twist. Bringing the stand-in to the company to piss off the real girlfriend. Rich people are so predictable. He turned and walked to the head of the table. The meeting began. The screens displayed complex financial data and the title, “East Side Land Acquisition.” The executives argued fiercely, the main point being how to crush a small company called ‘Lancaster Holdings’ to force a cheap buyout. I was bored, idly examining my manicure. That is, until a CFO quickly skipped past a section containing an abnormal set of financial correlations during his report. I raised my hand. The entire room went silent. All eyes pivoted to me. Link frowned, furious. “What now?” “Could you go back to the previous slide?” I pointed at the screen. “The reconciliation between your third-quarter cash flow and the fixed asset movements looks off.” The CFO’s face instantly changed. “Look, Miss, if you don’t understand, please don’t interrupt.” “I don’t understand?” I smiled, stood up, and walked to the screen, using the laser pointer to circle a few numbers. “The incremental increases here, and here, don't align with the publicly disclosed construction in progress. Who is this surplus being laundered for?” The conference room was deathly quiet. Sweat beaded on the CFO’s forehead. Link’s gaze was sharp, sweeping between me and the executive. “Keep talking.” “Business consulting is billed by the minute,” I said, looking at Link. “Are we starting now?” Link ground the word out. “Start!” I immediately launched into a rapid-fire assessment, pinpointing three crucial financial loopholes. Each one pointed directly to embezzlement from the project funds. “My preliminary estimate puts the compromised amount at no less than this.” I held up my hand, showing an eight. Not eighty thousand. Eight million. The CFO’s face was ashen. Link’s expression hardened to steel. He gestured to an assistant. “Escort Mr. Lee to a private room. Assist him thoroughly in auditing his books.” He stressed the word ‘assist,’ making his meaning chillingly clear. After the meeting, Link brought me back to his corner office. “How did you see that?” He scrutinized me as if I were a biological anomaly. “Basic training,” I shrugged, keeping my tone deliberately cold. “Also, my consulting fee for those ten minutes, calculated at ten times my hourly rate, comes to eight thousand dollars. You can scan my code.” Link didn’t move. Instead, he stepped closer, his presence immediately dominating the space. “You’re more interesting than I thought. Not just a pretty face.” “Thank you for the compliment. Compliments are free.” I took a step back, maintaining the boundary. “Crossing this line, however, is not.” At that moment, the office door was violently flung open. Vivian Lancaster burst in. She stopped short when she saw me, then recovered, bursting into tears. “Lincoln! How could you bring her to the company! And you fired Mr. Lee for her? He works for my father!” Link immediately moved backward, putting distance between us. “Vivian, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice softening with concern. “Of course, you didn't want me here!” Vivian pointed at me, her voice shaking with righteous indignation. “This woman! She was secretly taking pictures of the lobby’s security layout downstairs! She’s clearly a spy!” My heart dropped. I had taken a few photos while waiting downstairs, but they were of the artistic chandelier. I wanted to show my mom an idea for our new apartment décor. Link’s gaze immediately locked onto me. “Explain yourself.” A flicker of smug victory crossed Vivian’s face. I met Link’s intense, searching look and slowly pulled out my phone. “I can explain.” “But the accusation of corporate espionage is a serious one. The compensation for my damaged reputation…” “Ten million,” Link stated, his eyes boring into mine. The air thickened. He suddenly laughed, a sharp, bitter sound of disbelief. “Ten million? Sydney Shaw, your appetite is becoming insatiable.” “Thank you for the compliment. Inflation is high, and my market value naturally increases.” I rattled my phone. “Pay up, and I’ll prove my innocence instantly.” Vivian shrieked, “Lincoln! Don't listen to her!” Link ignored her, waving his hand toward his assistant. “Transfer it.” The deposit notification chimed. I immediately unlocked my phone, opened the photo gallery, and turned the screen toward them—a series of close-ups of the ornate, luxurious chandelier. “Your company’s lighting is impressive, Mr. Rhodes. I was taking photos for my mother’s interior design inspiration. Is that a copyright infringement?” Vivian’s face went white. Link shot her a dark, menacing look. “Vivian, apologize.” “I…” I casually twirled a strand of my hair, smiling sweetly. “Apologize, or I’ll call your fiancé and let him know why you spent your afternoon here.” Vivian instantly clamped her mouth shut. She glared at me, humiliation etched into her features, and choked out three words. “I’m sorry.” “I recorded that,” I said, pocketing my phone. “Next time, the price doubles.” Vivian ran out of the office, sobbing. Link drove me back to my apartment. He pinned me against the floor-to-ceiling window. “Sydney, who the hell are you?” “Your creditor,” I said, pushing him away. He didn't listen, closing the distance and kissing me hard, with a punishing intensity. I managed to turn my head, dodging his mouth. “Kissing is a separate charge. Ten thousand dollars a pop.” His action stilled. His eyes were turbulent, filled with rage and a newly sparked, aggressive desire to dominate. That night, he proved physically that he was indeed very rich and very strong. But even in bed, I didn't forget my principles. “A change of position? Sure.” I gasped, looking up at him. “Add another ten thousand to the tab.” Link’s movements instantly became rougher. He squeezed my waist, a cold mockery in his voice. “You charge for everything. Sydney, doesn’t it make you feel cheap?” I laughed, meeting his gaze. “And doing it for free is somehow nobler, Link?” “It’s a transaction. Don’t flatter yourself by thinking of it as anything else.” He lost control then, taking me with a savagery that felt like an attempt to devour me whole. When it was over, he leaned back against the headboard, lighting a cigarette. “Vivian is getting married.” “Oh. Congrats.” I was too tired to move. “I’m not interested in your love life, and I can't offer comforting words.” He crushed the cigarette out. The smoke obscured his eyes, leaving them dark and unreadable. “The Lancasters need the Ashworths' financing. It’s a business alliance.” “So, she dumped you for money?” The logic clicked instantly. “And you hired a stand-in to punish her and console yourself?” Link didn’t answer. “Pathetic,” I scoffed. “But don’t worry, Mr. Rhodes.” I propped myself up and leaned close to him, my fingertip tracing the line of his chest. “Here with me, you can always experience something more honest than love, something money can truly buy.” “Like what?” “Like right now. Post-coital cleaning services. Fifty thousand. Cash or transfer?” Link stared at me, then slowly, a chilling smile spread across his face. He gripped my chin, his fingers digging in. “Sydney Shaw, you better stay this sharp forever.” After that night, Lincoln’s visits to my apartment became more frequent.
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