Chapter1
My uncle cut off my allowance the moment he spotted my new tongue piercing. That night I found a stranger online asking how to make his friend's “gold-digging girlfriend” leave him. I gave him some very expensive advice. Minutes later, money landed in my account—from my uncle's best friend, the handsome, buttoned-up man who apparently thought my uncle was my boyfriend.
I was doom-scrolling late one night when a post on a relationship advice forum caught my eye.
HOW DO I GET MY FRIEND'S GOLD-DIGGING GIRLFRIEND TO BREAK UP WITH HIM?
Someone replied, “Shouldn't you be talking to your friend?”
Another wrote, “Stay away from gold diggers. She might set her sights on you next.”
The poster replied right away. “Wait. She might?”
“My friend has less money than I do. Better pecs, too. He always acts cold and tells her she's asking for too much. What's wrong with a girl spending a little? Every time he gives her money, she buys treats for the stray cats. Once she even offered me one. She's so sweet.”
The thread went dead silent.
“Hold on. Are you trying to steal your friend's girlfriend?”
My roommate and I had gotten tongue piercings on a whim. When I asked my uncle for this month’s allowance, I grinned so wide that he caught a glimpse of mine. He canceled the transfer without a flicker of remorse.
“Clearly I'm giving you too much.”
I was still fuming past midnight, and my stomach kept growling. All I could do was scroll through my phone and try not to think about food. That was when the post appeared: HOW DO I GET MY FRIEND'S GOLD-DIGGING GIRLFRIEND TO BREAK UP WITH HIM?
The comments condemned the girl as greedy and immoral. The poster seemed strangely unconcerned by all that. He sounded more interested in taking his friend's place. And what was wrong with a girl wanting money? I typed before I could stop myself.
“People need money. What's so terrible about letting her be a happy little freeloader?”
“For all you know, she's a college student whose entire allowance got cut off. Maybe she's lying awake hungry right now!”
The poster sent me a private message almost immediately.
“She asked my friend for money this morning. He scolded her for ages, and she left crying. Maybe she's going through something.”
That sounded uncomfortably familiar. I felt an instant kinship with her. Why did asking for a little cash have to be such a struggle?
“If you love her, send her $8,888,” I replied.
The typing bubble kept popping up and disappearing. Finally he wrote, “Would that scare her? We hardly talk in person.”
As if $8,888 could scare anyone.
“Believe me, nothing moves a broke girl at the end of the month like the words ‘You received $8,888.’”
Even just imagining that notification was music to my ears.
Ding. “You received $8,888.”
I was so startled I dropped my phone right on my face. Pain shot through my nose and brought tears to my eyes. I opened the transfer and sucked in a breath. The money had come from my uncle's best friend, Adrian Foster.
The note attached to it said, “For the stray kitten’s treat fund.”
Adrian. The aloof, untouchable man I didn't dare think about that way, not even in my dreams. Was I the girlfriend he was trying to steal?
Adrian came from a family of scholars and artists. His father was a politician, and his mother was a famous painter. He was disciplined and unfailingly courteous, and his face never gave much away. His looks were stunning, but they were almost the least interesting thing about him.
The friend in his posts had to be my uncle, Miles Hale. They'd been college roommates, founded a company together after graduation, and still worked side by side. Three years ago, I moved to Miles's city for college and met Adrian through him.
Miles was only five years older than I was. People kept taking us for a couple. Eventually we got tired of correcting them. To keep persistent women at bay, he even set my picture as his phone wallpaper. In return, he covered almost all my expenses—and then grumbled every time I asked for my allowance.
“A girl shouldn't be such a gold digger,” he liked to say. I could hear his voice in my head every time I brought up money.
I lay under the covers and checked Adrian's transfer again. My heart raced for reasons that had nothing to do with the amount. Adrian Foster, the man who never lost control, was planning to go behind his friend's back. The very idea was thrilling.
I made a grabbing motion in the air. I was twenty-one, had never dated anyone, and had never so much as touched a man's chest. And Adrian's chest—well, apparently he had opinions about it.
He messaged me again on the forum.
“She didn’t send it back! She sent me a puppy-eyes GIF. It was adorable.”
“Do you think $8,888 was too little? I want to give her every dollar I have.”
I nearly choked on my own saliva. Who knew a man so straitlaced could fall this hard?
“Slow down. Take it one step at a time. Didn't you say you had better pecs—”
He went quiet for a long time. “I'm not that easy,” he finally wrote.
Easy? What was he even thinking?
Then a text came in. I opened it and found myself staring at a photo of Adrian just out of the shower. The gold-rimmed glasses and impeccably tailored suit were gone. His lips were pressed together, and a tiny dimple showed near one corner of his mouth. Drops of water slid down his chest and vanished into the loose towel around his hips.
I swallowed. I was about to enlarge the picture when he unsent it.
“Sorry. Sent that to the wrong person. You didn't see it, did you?”
Was he baiting me? I wanted another look, but now I couldn't say so.
My phone chimed again. This time he sent a picture of two concert tickets. They were for my favorite rock band; I'd been waiting for my allowance so I could go.
“Sorry to bother you. Consider these an apology. I hope you like them.”
I liked them more than I could say. “How did you know I love this band?”
“Their songs are all over your Instagram stories.”
Were they? I hadn’t realized I’d posted that many. Adrian added, “Have you decided who you're going with? Miles seems busy.”
I heard the question beneath the question. Besides, I wanted to find out whether his chest was as impressive as he claimed.
“Are you free, Mr. Foster?”
His reply came almost instantly. “Miles is my friend. It wouldn't be appropriate.”
I stared. Had I gotten his intentions completely wrong?
