Chapter 1

Back when I was playing my part best, I'd packaged myself as the stubborn heiress earning her own tuition.

After I landed Neal Gilbert, crown prince of the East Coast elite circle, he covered every expense of my years studying abroad.

I even fleeced him hard right before I cut him off cold and came home.

But he loved me so deeply that the harshest thing he ever said to me was only this.

"Georgia Henson, you have no heart."

Until eight years later, when I saw Neal Gilbert again at the club where I worked part-time.

He found out I badly needed money for Grandma's treatment, and he cornered me in the restroom.

"Georgia, be my secret mistress. A million a month."

"You've always been someone who'll throw out every line for money. This offer, you can't turn it down."

...

I said yes.

Neal froze for a second, like he hadn't expected me to nod without a moment's hesitation.

Then he pulled a black card from the inside pocket of his suit, pinched it between two fingers, and waved it in front of my face.

"When do I get the money?"

I stared at the card and asked.

"What's the rush."

Neal slipped the card back into his pocket and looked me up and down, his gaze landing on my shirt, washed pale from too many washes.

"Change your clothes. You're coming to a dinner with me."

His people moved fast. Before long they'd sent over a champagne-colored slip dress.

The style was one I used to like, only the size ran a little large.

When Neal saw the ribs pushing sharp against my chest, his brow tightened.

"Eat more from now on. I don't want people thinking I mistreat you."

I didn't say anything, just followed him up to the top floor of the club.

He pushed open the door to the private room. A few men lounged across the sofas, each with a woman tucked against him.

Someone whistled.

"Mr. Gilbert, and this is..."

Neal wrapped an arm around my waist and said, careless about it.

"New little girlfriend."

"Yeah? She looks kind of familiar, though."

The man who said it was a regular at the club. Back when I'd just started as a hostess, he'd made a pass at me too.

A glass of liquor was pushed in front of me almost at once. On instinct I turned my head to look at Neal.

Back when we were abroad, when people at parties tried to make me drink, he always put out a hand to block them, smiling as he said, "She doesn't drink. I'll take it for her."

But this time Neal just leaned back into the sofa and said nothing. He didn't even glance my way.

I picked up the imported liquor, tipped my head back, and threw it down, then reached for a second glass and a third.

By the fourth my head had started to swim, and I told them all,

"Sorry, I can't drink any more."

Someone jeered that I wasn't playing along.

Neal turned his head to look at me, half a smile on his face.

"If you can't drink, then I'll have to think about finding a different girlfriend."

I pressed my lips together and didn't answer, dropped my eyes and downed two more, until I couldn't hold it back and rushed into the restroom to throw up until the world spun.

Neal followed me in, took the glass out of my hand, wiped my face with a tissue in a few rough passes, then dragged me down the hall and shoved me into the car.

"If you drink yourself to death, you don't get the money."

I found it a little funny, and shot back without any softness.

"And here I thought Mr. Gilbert was trying to drink me to death on purpose so he could weasel out of paying."

Neal let out a cold snort.

"Georgia, that mouth of yours is going to be the death of you one day."

The car stopped at the foot of a downtown apartment building. A brand-new pair of pink slippers sat at the door, and there were new toiletries in the bathroom too.

Like someone had prepared it all long in advance.

"From now on you live here."

Neal said it as he tossed me the entry card for the lobby.

"When you get a chance, go register your face with building management. Spare keys are on the coffee table. The door code is your birthday."

He paused, then added,

"Don't read into it. I just got used to using it. Too much trouble to change."

"Mm."

Whatever the man paying says, goes.

The next morning when I woke, Neal was already dressed. He stood beside the bed, his outline against the light overlapping with the one from eight years ago.

"There's an engagement party the day after tomorrow. You're coming with me."

"Whose engagement party?"

Neal turned, looked into my eyes, and said it one word at a time.

"Mine."