Refunded the Billionaire

Callum couldn't stop trying to give me money.

I'd text him a photo of my lunch. He'd send back enough to buy the restaurant.

My friends said it meant he was crazy about me. Money goes where the love is, right?

Then I overheard him with his buddies.

Cal, man. Still out here playing Santa Claus? She doesn't even know who you really are and she's already bleeding you dry. Imagine when she finds out.

Callum didn't look up from his phone. Flat. Bored.

"She makes a scene, we're done."

I didn't want us to be done.

So the next time he sent me money, I sat there for one long second.

Then I hit return.

The whole booth lost it.

"She she gave it back. She gave it BACK. That's it. I'm not gonna make it."

Me: ?

His buddies: ???

Chapter 1

My best friend says I'm magic.

Every guy I've ever dated couldn't wait to throw money at me. I never asked for a cent.

Right now that magic was doing nothing for her.

Demi's face was scrunched up, mascara sliding, deep in a rant about her ex.

"I took one bite of his ice cream. One bite. He made me Venmo him for half." She gulped air. "There were napkins on the table. Free napkins. I used two extra and he called me high-maintenance."

"You want the worst part? He'd get a haircut before he saw me and bill me for half of that too. And his bangs were down to his jaw. He looked like a ghost out of a horror movie. I never once charged him for my face."

She wailed into my shoulder. "An ex you can show people is an ex. An ex you can't is just a criminal record with better hair."

I patted her back. I'm bad at this. After a while, all I had was:

"The next one will be better."

Demi melted against me, sniffling.

"Wren. When do I get to be lucky like you?"

"Let me rub your arm. Maybe it's contagious."

Her perfume was nice and very close. I don't love being that close to people. Heat crept up my neck and my mind drifted off.

My history is short. Two boyfriends, total.

The first was a college thing.

Rich kid, the type everyone in the lecture hall knew by name. One day he walked up and confessed in the middle of a crowd. I looked up into this big, burning stare.

I figured it was a Truth-or-Dare thing. A dare. I said yes so nobody would be embarrassed.

He was not on a dare.

What came after felt less like dating and more like a home invasion, and it ran all the way to graduation. Then his family wanted him studying overseas.

He started dropping hints. He hated the idea of long-distance. Also, did I know how much money he had?

I took it as a soft breakup. So I left him one line.

"Wishing you the best."

Then I blocked him everywhere.

I thought that was the end of it.

His mother showed up at my door with a check. One million dollars to walk away from her son.

The two of them were honestly identical. The son decided that if I wouldn't take his money, I didn't love him. The mother decided that if I wouldn't take hers, I was scheming to crawl back. So the number climbed. One million. Five.

I held her pleading look for a moment, and I took the check.

Rich overnight.

Here's what none of them could hear: you can't buy out a girl who was never in it for the buyout. To them, no just sounds like a bigger number waiting to happen.

After that, for boyfriend number two, I went looking for a normal guy. A regular nine-to-five.

My phone was buzzing itself off the counter.

I propped up my drunk friend with one arm and unlocked it one-handed.

In the quiet of the app, one name kept stacking up. Callum. 99+ and climbing.

The man was clingy.

And somehow, thinking that, I caught myself smiling.

Chapter 2

Up top sat a few dice I'd flicked back through the app the night before, not really thinking. Four, five, two, one.

Below that: Callum's check-in. Both hands up to the camera, a slow pan across the table, the room. See. Being good.

And a transfer with one extra zero on it.

I let it sit. He got antsy fast.

Callum: [Why won't you take it? Did I screw up again?]

Callum: [The drink on the table isn't mine. Only a guy with no home drowns himself in a bottle. I'm not a stray like them.]

Callum: [Can I come home early? Ten thirty is so far away. I barely know these guys. We met a couple times as kids. We're not close. Baby. I don't need friends.]

The texts went sour line by line.

Callum: [Or is someone holding your hand down? My mistake. Didn't realize I was interrupting.]

His way of throwing a fit was simple. He just sent money. Wildly.

The check-ins were his idea, too. He'd pitched it like this: whenever the guys went out, his coworkers filmed little clips to show their girlfriends, all proud. Everyone but him. Like he was the one nobody thought to care about.

He'd said it with his eyes gone hollow, his voice cracking, asking if I was only playing with him. If I didn't plan to take him seriously.

I've always been soft. I caved.

But four dice was as far as I'd go.

He kept whining for more, so I gave him a pitying look he couldn't see and typed back.

"You work hard for your money. Keep some for yourself. Don't push it."

His reply stalled. Then a mumble about his boss being a great guy, always handing out bonuses.

"Your boss sounds like a saint," I said.

His next message took even longer.

I didn't want him actually ditching his friends to come running home.

I thumbed out a reply one-handed.

Me: [Demi got dumped. I'm on damage control.]

It made me think of the last time I brought lunch to his office.

His coworkers couldn't get away from him fast enough.

The looks they gave him. Darting. Careful. Like he might go off any second.

We rode the staff elevator together and three of them practically threw themselves out the doors.

"Mr. Mr. Sinclair. You two first. You first."

The doors were almost shut when I caught the tail end of it.

"God, Sinclair is terrifying. I'm taking the stairs next time."

No wonder he raced home the second the workday ended.

Poor thing. The bullying was even worse than I'd thought.

I worried he'd shut all the way down. So when his friends invited him out, I was all for it. Stay out as late as you want, I told him.

We haggled. He talked me down from midnight to ten thirty.

Callum: [Thanks, baby. Go get something good to eat with Demi.]

Then he sent five transfers. A hundred and forty-three dollars each. Every one tagged: given freely, no strings.

I left them sitting.

Up at the bar, I covered the tab.

Demi had ordered ten male strippers and kicked off a small war of champagne towers.

I checked the total and tapped to pay. Face ID cleared before I even saw which card it used.

Right then Demi coughed, twice, and went pale.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

My scalp went tight. No room left in my head to look at the screen and notice it had charged the card Callum linked to mine.

By the time I got Demi settled, it was almost ten.

I showered fast, made sure there was nothing on me but body wash, and finally breathed out.

I was about to curl up with something good to watch when a text came in.

Chapter 3

A text lit up my phone.

Unknown: [Yo, it's one of Cal's boys. Come grab your man? He's wasted.]

Then an address.

I almost second-guessed it. But the location matched the check-in Callum had sent me down to the letter, and the doubt just evaporated.

I changed and headed out. Ordered a hangover soup on the way.

The delivery and I reached the door at the same time. I pressed my fingers to the lid. Still warm.

I cradled the little container and went hunting for the right room.

A888. This was it.

The door sat open a crack. I reached to push it.

Then I heard one of Callum's friends.

"So when are you ending it, Cal? It's been almost a year. You're not actually planning to keep her for real, are you?"

"I literally just watched you send her money. All those hundred-and-forty-threes. Tsk. You are never seeing that again."

"Zane's about to be back in the country. You'd better move fast. He finds out you've been messing with his ex, sure, it's payback for him, but it still steps on the bro code."

Callum, bored:

"I've got my own timeline. Did I ask?"

Then his voice dropped, gone rough.

"And anyway. She didn't take my money."

Stunned silence. Then:

"You're joking. A gold-digger who won't dig? Cal, be honest, how much did you send that she turned down?"

Callum thumbed through his phone, counting it off like it bored him.

"Under a million, probably. Send it, she won't spend it. Bought her a few bags, few hundred grand each. She thinks they're knockoffs, too scared to carry them. The no-logo couture, though? She wears that into the ground." His voice dipped at the end. Went soft. "Little hick."

The whole room seized up like a hand had closed around its throat.

In the dead quiet, somebody finally managed it.

"Cal. That's not digging?"

"You loaded her up with stuff. Real hard to claw any of it back once you dump her."

Callum, like the words disgusted him:

"Could you sound any more broke? It's pocket change. You hand a girl a gift and then want it back?"

The others didn't buy his mood. They cracked up.

"You don't get it. Cal's just not done playing Santa Claus. Watch yourself, though. She's digging and doesn't even know who you are. Imagine when she does."

Callum, eyes on his phone, flat:

"She makes a scene, we're done."

"Breaking up's the small stuff. She's running a long game, I'm telling you. Don't come crying to us when she's got you begging to marry her."

The room filled back up with laughter.

Outside it, my hand curled into a fist.

My eyes stung.

A year of his money, and I'd never touched a cent. And in that room I was the gold-digger. The one girl in there who didn't want any of it.

I hadn't wanted to break up.

Even if Callum had been faking the whole thing, being with him had made me happy. That part was real.

I pulled up our chat.

One by one, top to bottom, I hit return on every transfer he'd ever sent. The 0-043s. The one with the extra zero. The five he'd tagged given freely, no strings.

Each one chimed as it bounced back to him, soft and steady, while the party laughed on three feet away.

My hands didn't shake once.

Then I typed.

Me: [Stop sending me money. I just want to be with you for real.]

I hit send. My shoulders came down.

I was turning to slip away when the laughter behind the door cut off. All at once, like a switch.

Then, through the quiet: Callum. Crying. Coming apart at the seams.

"Oh my god. She gave it back. She gave it BACK. I'm not gonna make it."

Me: ?

So maybe he'd only been talking tough.

My feet stopped. Something small and stupid lifted in my chest.

It died fast.

"Holy she's really got her hooks in you, Cal. Pull back to reel you in. Being the future Mrs. Sinclair is worth a whole lot more than a few transfers."

Right.

Of course.

Rich people are all the same. I don't take the money, and the only thing they hear is that I want more.

Chapter 4

I trudged off, gripping my phone, too wrung out to notice my thumb had just liked one of Zane's gym selfies.

His reply came fast.

Zane: [?]

I sighed.

Me: [Got dumped.]

A voice memo came back. He sounded like he'd just finished a workout, still winded.

Zane: [Dumped, and your first move is to text your ex. Wren. You asking for it?]

Why so hostile?

Wasn't he the one who made me promise to tell him if I ever got dumped?

I sniffed.

Me: [Sorry. Nobody told me breaking up means we can't be friends.]

Me: [Maybe I'll just block you.]

He fired back before I'd finished typing.

Zane: [You wouldn't dare.]

I picked up the call.

"Where are you?"

Rustling on his end.

I mumbled out the name of the bar.

A cold little laugh.

"A bar. Classy. You dump me, and the upgrade was a guy who let someone else dump you?" A pause. "Honestly, I'm insulted. Your taste used to be better. It used to be me."

Getting chewed out right after a breakup. My temper finally pricked up.

"Then don't come."

"Oh, I come when you say come and stay home when you say stay? Since when do I answer to you? You're not my boyfriend. You don't get to boss me around."

A sports car turned over on his end.

Zane, leaving no room for it:

"Quit talking. Sit there and wait."

Blocking Zane the day we broke up had taken everything I had. He hadn't made it easy.

After he moved overseas, he pulled some strings and added me back. And the daily check-ins began.

At parties, he'd send pictures. Everyone packed in together, and him alone in a little dead zone off to the side, looking tragic.

Zane: [This is your fault, Wren. Everybody knows I'm the guy you used up and threw away. Four years, and who's going to want me now. You wrecked my whole life.]

Sometimes it was the dead middle of the night his time, and a gym-mirror selfie would land. Abs front and center. A man with a point to prove.

When we split, it happened fast. Zane sent me a pile of money and told me not to bother coming for my things. The sight of any of it turned my stomach, so I threw it all out.

Turned out he'd carted it overseas with him.

Around that time, I was walking the department's new intern through his work. A text from Zane flared on my screen before I could kill it. Something clingy and possessive, the kind of message that doesn't leave you room to breathe.

The intern read it. Something thoughtful moved across his face.

"So that's the kind of thing she likes," he said, almost to himself.

I told him it was just my ex being dramatic. He only smiled, like he hadn't landed on whether to believe me.

After that, he kept finding small reasons to come ask me questions.

Zane, meanwhile, never stopped telling me I owed him. He said it often enough you'd think repetition made it true. I never bought it. But arguing with Zane was a full-time job, and I already had one.

He'd told me to wait. And since I was the one who'd called him, I waited.

Zane got there fast.

I'd planned on the back seat. He'd brought the two-seater. So much for that.

The day he flew home, he'd asked me to come pick him up.

I'd chewed on it for ages and landed on no.

"I have a boyfriend now," I'd told him. "Can I at least give him a heads-up first?"

Zane had laughed. No humor in it.

He never asked again.

The gym selfies just started coming more often.

We hadn't been this close, face to face, in a long time.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did I.

Chapter 5

I'd figured this much time apart would have changed him.

It hadn't. Same hoodie. Same loose curls falling over his forehead.

He took one look at my thin little dress, and his brow pulled tight.

"What's this? One breakup and you're trying to freeze to death? Watch too many soap operas? All these years, and you still haven't grown up."

I pressed my lips together. I didn't fire back.

One of the big reasons I'd ended things with Zane was that mouth. It could draw blood.

Maybe because nobody had ever loved me carefully, I liked being handled gently. Called baby, every day, ideally.

Zane only ever did it now and then, always like it was a joke.

"Baby. Chin up. You've got this."

He clicked his tongue at me sitting there refusing to look at him.

"Cute. Now you're the wronged one."

He reached for my hand.

I pulled it back before he got there.

"Don't. Friends friends don't do that."

Something flickered across his face.

"You're broken up. Who exactly are you behaving for?"

I didn't answer. His eyes narrowed.

"Or. Wren. You didn't actually end it clean, did you?"

My voice came out thin as thread.

"...Not clean."

I don't have many friends. Demi was drunk and freshly heartbroken, and I couldn't make myself dump this on her too.

Zane was the only other name I landed on.

When we broke up, he'd sworn he'd never get back with someone who walked out on him. He only added me again so he wouldn't lose a friend. He said it, so I took him at his word.

I'd stalled forever before messaging him. Then thumbed straight into his feed by accident and left a fingerprint all over it. Nothing to be done about that now.

He laughed, with nothing warm in it, and his face soured.

"So what does that make me? Your dirty little secret?"

The word landed too heavy. I couldn't sit under it.

I looked up, half-ready to clap a hand over his mouth.

"Friend. You're my friend. Don't put it like that." I dropped my voice. "If your mom ever heard you say that, I'd have to give the money back."

The sight of me, all darting eyes and careful, did nothing good for his face.

He reached out again, like he might pull me in.

I leaned out of reach.

He drew his hand back and let his mouth twist.

"Relax. I'm not trying anything." A dry scoff. "Don't flatter yourself. I just didn't want frostbite on my passenger."

I let it go. Other countries were probably just like this, and Zane was a decent enough guy.

I was opening my mouth to move us past it when a voice came from behind me.

"Zane?"

My whole spine locked. Callum's people. Callum, right there.

I ducked my face into Zane's chest before anyone could place me.

The move caught him off guard. Then his eyes went dark, fixed on the cluster at the door, reading something into them.

A long-overdue reunion, and here he was, staring them down like that. The whole group stood there, lost.

Chapter 6

Zane spoke first. Light. Like it cost him nothing.

"Wrapping up early? That's not your style."

"Ugh, blame Cal. Running home to play house with his girl."

Zane lifted an eyebrow and looked over at Callum, off to the side, scowling at his phone.

"Oh? When did Callum land himself a girlfriend? Didn't even tell his big brother."

A fast-mouthed one jumped in.

"Tell you? Then it'd be game over."

He caught it half a second too late and clamped his mouth shut. Zane had already heard.

"Game over how? Someone I know?"

Light. Easy. But the arm around me tightened.

It hurt. I couldn't make a sound, so I gave his side a small, careful poke.

It landed with his guard down. He grunted.

The noise pulled every eye over. The tension cracked and let go.

Somebody whistled, low and knowing.

"Zane. Are we interrupting something?"

Zane leaned back into the chair, lazy, and didn't bother denying it. Just smoothed a hand over my hair.

"She's shy. Throwing a little fit at me."

That was him clearing the room. The others traded looks and took the hint.

All except Callum.

His stare burned into the back of my neck, locked on the small mole there.

Then, out of nowhere, flat and strange:

"Not over it yet, Zane? She looks a lot like the one you nearly died over. A stand-in? A rebound?"

The words had hooks in them.

The whole group sucked in a breath at once.

Zane's face went cold.

"Funny. I didn't know you knew my girlfriend well enough to read her off the back of her head."

Someone scrambled to patch it.

"Cal's just got a good memory. Good memory. Zane, we'll get out of your hair."

They folded Callum into the back seat and packed in tight on either side of him, like a guard detail.

His friend finally exhaled.

"Cal. Zane's moved on, man. You should cut it clean with that girl too, before it wrecks the bro thing."

"Seriously, Cal. Even Zane doesn't care anymore, and he's the one it happened to. You don't have to keep punishing yourself just to get back at her. Different worlds. Don't actually let her walk off with the prize."

Callum laughed, dry and short. Nobody got an answer out of him.

His face had gone terrible. His screen was a wall of messages, all going one way. Nothing coming back.

Except every time his thumb hit send, the smaller phone in Zane's hand lit up and buzzed.

Zane didn't say a word the whole drive.

My heart wouldn't sit still.

The car stopped. I opened my mouth to explain that I hadn't known the two of them were brothers when I started seeing Callum.

Zane got there first. Certain. Settled.

"Wren. You're still not over me."

"What?"

"You went and dated my own brother to get back at me."

My head emptied out.

"I didn't. You've got it wrong."

"Don't play dumb. You think I missed it? Back there, when you poked me, your hand slid down. You squeezed."

A beat.

"What was that? Checking the goods?"

I poked you so you'd loosen your grip. You were crushing my ribs.

My cheeks burned. I opened my mouth to say it.

He cut me off with a single sentence.

Chapter 7