“Billionaire playboy Luke Pardini was spotted partying in San Francisco last night.”
The screen flashed a series of images of a young, twenty-something man stumbling out of nightclub with tall, gorgeous women hanging on each arm.
“The troubled billionaire left Ruby Skye with two employees at 3am and was seen entering a Pardini hotel in Union Square. Luke’s father, Giacomo Pardini, is the owner of the multi-billion dollar hotel industry. Last year, he was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. The business magnate has had a reportedly strained relationship with his son, who is expected to take over Pardini Worldwide.”
“He’s like Bruce Wayne.” Natalie sniggered as she took a swig of her bottle.
Yes, he was just like him: rich, famous, handsome, and a playboy.
What’s it like being filthy rich? I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I went to a five-star Michelin restaurant. Hell, I wouldn’t be able to navigate through the spread of silverware. Still, it’s fun to fantasize about dining at the most fabulous restaurants in the world, staying at expensive hotels and paying ridiculous amounts of money for bottles of vodka at the VIP section in clubs.
I remembered the whole sugarbaby thing, and wondered if Luke was on one of those websites.
No way. He’s too gorgeous.
I looked at Natalie’s face and wondered if she’d be receptive toward my idea, but she looked back at me with a rather serious look and I lost my nerve.
“Hey, listen. I don’t want to rush you, but I really need money for rent this month.”
“I’m working on it, I promise.”
There’s no way in hell I’ll have the money for her in time.
Her quiet disappointment burrowed into my chest. I stood from the couch to head straight for my room. Natalie was the only family I had, and I hated myself for putting her in this difficult position. I sat in front of my computer and stared at the screen as my fingers typed in the website’s address. My mouse hovered over the registration button to make my sugarbaby profile.
Jesus. I’ve done nothing remotely resembling online dating. This is stupid. I should at least wait to see if anyone contacts me.
But there were only three weeks left in the month, and Natalie needed her half of the rent money. I looked around my room as my fingernails dug into my palms and tried to find something I could hawk. My closet consisted of clothes from the Salvation Army and some gifted from Natalie’s family. My old Super Nintendo system sat in the corner, but it would net me at the most a couple hundred dollars. The only real asset was my computer, and I couldn’t sell it. No one would bother buying my other possessions. Natalie usually gave me clothes she would no longer wear. It was lucky that we had the same body type. Everything I owned was frayed and unwanted.
I’m so fucking poor. Helplessness suffocated my chest—I couldn’t deal with it.
Just wait a few days.
I clenched my fists as a tear rolled down my face. I bit my knuckles to keep myself from sobbing out loud. A voice screamed inside me, repeating the same question over and over—What am I going to do?
I waited in the dark, hoping that a brilliant idea from the back corner of my mind would scream out something I never considered. But all I came up with was—I don’t know.
Two
I can’t believe I’m considering this.
Hell, I more than considered it. I went through the registration process to pimp myself out to unknown men. Two retail jobs and they were still not enough to make ends meet. Desperate times.
I paused over the username and weighed using a fake name.
Anastasia? Isabella?
Despite the thrill of going by something exotic, I decided to use my first name. The world was flooded with Jessicas. I entered my height and body type. Then I realized I would need a profile picture, and it needed to be good. I grabbed a black cocktail dress from Natalie’s closet and peeked into the hallway. The bathroom door was open. I rushed inside, closed it, and looked into the foggy mirror.
I was a mess.
My blonde hair looked like a bird’s nest. I attacked it with my brush, bemoaning the split ends I found. I lined my makeup on the sink like toy soldiers. These billionaires only cared about having a hot chick dangling on their arm.