Chapter 1

Billionaire heir Ethan Cole offers to keep me because I look exactly like the first love he never got over.

What he doesn’t know is that my mother raised me on billionaire romances, so I know exactly how this story goes.

The other replacement girls cry and fall in love; I’ve always wondered why none of them just send the billionaire a bill.

-

My mother has listened to billionaire romance novels for as long as I can remember.

Whenever some arrogant CEO spends three hundred chapters destroying his marriage and finally starts begging for his wife back, Mom cries.

I calculate the divorce settlement.

Whenever the heroine discovers she only got the ring because she looks like his first love, Mom gets furious on her behalf.

I have one question.

Why doesn’t she charge him?

Unfortunately, I’ve never had the chance to test my theory.

According to my friends, I have the kind of face that keeps men at a safe distance.

So my dream of becoming a shameless gold digger remains tragically unfulfilled.

Until my college graduation mixer.

I’m sitting at the bar when a group of men in tailored suits starts staring at me.

One of them nearly drops his drink.

“Holy shit. She looks exactly like Vanessa.”

Another looks me over.

“That’s actually creepy.”

The best-looking man in the group walks toward me.

Tall. Expensive suit. The kind of confidence that only comes from never having to check a price tag.

He stops beside my stool.

“You look a lot like someone I used to want.”

Used to want?

Interesting.

He studies my face for another few seconds.

“If you stay with me, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

There it is.

The replacement plot.

Finally.

I pull out my phone.

“Great. Wire me a hundred thousand.”

His expression goes blank.

I continue.

“That’s the confidentiality fee. Replacement fee, emotional inconvenience, and reputational risk are separate.”

The man stares at me.

I hold up my phone.

“If you don’t like the terms, I can always send what you just said to Vanessa.”

Silence.

Then one of his friends bursts out laughing.

“Jesus. She’s a gold digger.”

“What a waste.”

“Ethan, forget her. Let’s go.”

So his name is Ethan.

Good to know.

They try to pull him away, but Ethan doesn’t move.

The interest in his eyes cools into open disgust.

“Vanessa really is one of a kind.”

I take another sip of my drink.

“Please don’t start.”

His brow furrows.

“No matter how much you look like her, you’ll never have the kind of heart she has.”

I raise a hand.

“If you want to perform a tragic billionaire monologue, do it somewhere else. I’m not getting paid enough to listen.”

One of his friends steps forward.

“You bitch.”

He lifts a hand toward me.

Ethan catches his wrist before it reaches my face.

“Enough.”

The man swears, but Ethan is still watching me.

“A hundred thousand?”

“Confidentiality only.”

His jaw tightens.

“What do you want for the rest?”

I hold up five fingers.

“Five hundred thousand?”

“On top of the first hundred.”

His friends explode.

“You cannot be serious.”

“She’s extorting you!”

“She only has Vanessa’s face. That’s it.”

I look past Ethan.

“Keep talking and I’ll raise the price.”

They actually shut up.

I smile.

“If you’re this upset about my face, take a picture to a plastic surgeon and ask what it would cost to get one like it.”

One of them looks ready to argue.

Ethan cuts him off.

“Leave.”

“Ethan—”

“Now.”

They go.

Ethan looks back at me.

For ten long seconds, neither of us says anything.

Then he pulls out his phone.

“Fine.”

A few minutes later, my banking app lights up.

$600,000.

I nearly laugh out loud.

Six hundred thousand dollars.

I can clear my entire shopping cart, pay off Mom’s mortgage, and still get her the diamond bracelet she’s been pretending she doesn’t want.

Ethan gives me a business card.

“I’ll contact you when I need you.”

I glance at it.

“Okay.”

“Do not contact me unless I contact you first.”

I drop the card onto the bar.

“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons work for me.”

His face darkens.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You’re getting my schedule anyway.”

I pick up my purse.

“Weekends cost extra. Federal holidays are triple.”

“Claire.”

I pause.

So he saw my name on the transfer.

“What?”

His jaw flexes.

“Nothing.”

“Great.”

I walk out.

On the ride home, I text Mom.

Mom, I got an amazing consulting gig.

Only three days a week.

The pay is unbelievable.