My Broke Boyfriend Is a Billionaire

The private investigator took one look at my boyfriend's photo and nearly dropped to his knees.

Please, lady. Nobody touches this man.

I'd come in thinking some rich older woman was keeping him. He was too broke, too gorgeous, and lately too cold for it to be anything else.

The night before, I'd seen his phone. A contact saved as Sugar Mommy had just wired him fifty grand. Pocket money, she called it.

I bankrolled that man for three years. Clipped coupons. Rode the bus. Stretched one carton of discount eggs across a week.

I just want my money back.

All three years of it.

Chapter 1

Ten days into suspecting he was cheating, I walked into a PI's office and slid my phone across the desk.

"That's all the messages I could get." I kept my voice flat. "He wipes the rest."

The PI thumbed through the screenshots I'd taken the night before. One page. Every message from the same contact.

Sugar Mommy: [Wired you fifty grand to patch up that wounded ego. Feel better now?]

Sugar Mommy: [Be here tomorrow. Not optional.]

Sugar Mommy: [I must've wronged you in a past life to get stuck with you in this one.]

He raised an eyebrow, unbothered, like he'd seen a thousand of these.

"So, Miss Hale. What do you need from me?"

I smiled, looked down at my lap, and blinked against the sting.

"I need proof they're sleeping together. The kind that ends careers."

"He's got nothing to lose. But a woman with money like that has a reputation to protect."

"He wants to climb. Fine. I respect the hustle."

"But I kept him fed for three years. That money comes back to me."

With the money in hand, I could finally afford to fall apart.

"Next photo's him," I said.

The PI glanced at me, something like approval in his eyes, and swiped.

"Let's see what kind of pretty boy reels in a whole sugar mom"

The phone hit the desk with a crack.

He'd gone white. His whole body pulled back, spine flat against the chair, like I'd handed him a live grenade.

He stared at me like I was a ghost.

"Are you out of your mind?" he breathed. "Why are you showing me his face?"

I blinked. For a second I thought I'd pulled up the wrong photo. I leaned over and checked.

Nope. That was him.

"What's wrong with the photo? That's my boyfriend."

Three years ago he'd plowed his motorcycle into my e-bike and shattered his leg. Hospital bills and a payout later, all he had left was a pretty face and empty pockets. That crash was how we met, how we fell in love, how we ended up in a cramped rental together, three years of packed buses and racing the clock for the discount rack.

That boyfriend. The one who lately kept "working late," slipping out before dawn, going quiet on me. Typing to someone he wouldn't let me see.

Roman Sinclair.

"What?!"

The PI's face did something complicated.

"Sweetheart, are you concussed? Trying to marry rich so bad you're messing with me?"

"That's Roman Sinclair. The Sinclair heir. Manhattan's most notorious playboy."

"That's your boyfriend?"

Chapter 2

"The man's worth billions." The PI shoved my phone back across the desk. "Women line up to throw money at him. He doesn't need to climb anything. Kept by a sugar mommy? Go get your head checked."

I took the phone back.

Here's the thing. Before I ever walked into that office, I'd run through every version of this. He was bored of me. He'd met someone else. He wanted to trade up. I'd made my peace with all of them. Every one had a clean, dignified exit.

I just never ran the one where he was one of the richest men in the city, slumming it for fun. Three years of being broke together had felt so real. How was I supposed to imagine that?

So I did something I never do. I took a cab.

Straight to the most exclusive members' club in Manhattan. The Meridian.

The place Sugar Mommy had ordered him to be.

I wasn't there to make a scene. I just wanted to ask him why. I wanted the clean ending I'd rehearsed.

The door to his private room stood half open when the voices stopped me.

"Roman, come on, let us grovel before your mother shows up. We felt awful back then, we really did."

"Your dad cut off every cent to toughen you up. Our hands were tied."

"But credit where it's due. He froze your accounts and forgot you still had that face."

"Who'd have guessed you'd land some sweet little Cinderella to wait on you hand and foot?"

"Three years slumming it, and honestly? Looks like you had the time of your life."

My hand froze on the door.

A cold started at my ankles and climbed.

"Your dad's exile ended a month ago. Why are you sulking out here instead of coming home?"

"Right! Your mom called all of us here today just to drag you back."

"Don't tell me you're actually going to keep rotting in that dump instead of the estate. What, you fell for the Cinderella? Ready to settle down? Guess the old man's little lesson really worked"

"Please."

Roman's voice cut through, low and bored, resentment sitting just under it.

"Winter's the witness to the most humiliating stretch of my life. Nothing more."

"I want her gone. I want my life back."

"A girl that broke finds out who I am, she'll cling like a leech and never let go."

"Better to let it die slow. Toss her some money on the way out. Call it a fee for three years of playing nurse."

The heat drained out of me in seconds.

They had the room cranked warm enough to sweat through the down jacket I still had on.

And I was freezing.

Cold in the marrow.

Every question I'd been too stubborn to stop asking finally had its answer.

I lifted a hand to my cheek.

It came away wet.

Chapter 3

I'd been crying without knowing it.

"Sweetheart? Are you looking for someone?" A gentle voice, right at my side. "Why the tears?"

An elegant older woman stood beside me, watching me with concern. The instant our eyes met, she said my name like she already knew it.

"Wait. Are you... Winter?"

Inside the room, the talking stopped dead.

Not a minute later, the door flew open. Roman.

The panic on his face was impossible to miss.

"Winnie?" His voice cracked. "What are you doing..."

Then he saw the woman standing behind me. Mrs. Sinclair.

Whatever was on his face froze solid.

His hand started to reach for mine. Stopped in midair. Curled into a loose fist and dropped back down.

His voice came out heavy. "You brought her here?"

"No. Pure coincidence." Mrs. Sinclair shook her head, her smile soft. "Though I've known about Winter for a while. My son's away learning the ropes. Of course I keep watch. Three years of a steady, honest relationship. I was pleased, actually. I kept assuming you stayed away because you were waiting for your father and me to hand you a way to save face."

A beat. "Turns out you just couldn't give yourself one."

Bitterness pooled under my ribs.

I looked up at the stranger wearing my boyfriend's face and made myself smile.

"You really didn't need the whole cold-war, force-a-breakup routine, Mr. Sinclair."

"I'm broke and greedy. But I know my place."

"Pay me out and I disappear. No clinging."

I dragged the back of my hand across my eyes and kept it light.

"One year of rent and living, I'll bill you fifty grand. Fair?"

"Five times five, twenty-five. Two years, that's two-fifty."

"Twenty-five times twenty-five. Three years." I paused. "Six-twenty-five."

Then it landed. That sales job of his. Three grand a month, base only, dead last in the rankings every single quarter, half a year off for the leg, and somehow never fired. Of course. The heir, planted in the trenches to toughen up.

"You did pull a paycheck those last two years, though. So I'll be generous."

"Round it up clean. One million." A pause. "That work?"

Truth was, I'd wanted to say ten. But Roman was a liar, not an idiot.

Then again, pricing three years of love made no damn sense to begin with.

So.

"Cash? Check? Wire?"

"Can we settle up now? I don't take payment plans."

The room, and the hallway behind it, went dead silent.

Every eye turned to Roman.

He just stared at me, something dark and unreadable churning behind his eyes. Then he dropped his gaze and laughed, no feeling in it at all.

It was a stranger's laugh. Rich. Arrogant. Careless. A version of him I had never once met.

"Look at you. Running the numbers."

"Did your math teacher moonlight as a mugger?"

My heart dropped straight through the floor and hit hard.

And somewhere in the landing, it came strangely loose. Something like relief.

I gave a small, self-mocking shrug.

"No mugging. But she did teach me one thing worth keeping."

"Rather guess wrong than leave it blank."

Chapter 4

"Isn't that exactly what you did for three years, Mr. Sinclair?"

He'd never thought much of me. Never planned a future with me. But he'd made three broke years comfortable for himself anyway. So he reeled me in.

"It's a cold winter."

"Heartbreak makes it colder. A girl has to find new warmth to fill the space you left."

"And fun costs money."

"Wouldn't you say?"

I lifted my eyes, pressed down everything churning underneath, nails biting into my palm, and looked at Roman.

Somewhere in there, his face had gone thunderous. Something dark and heavy pooled in his eyes.

He looked... angry?

Oh. Right.

"You don't have your accounts back yet, do you."

"So... Mrs. Sinclair?"

She lifted a brow, her glance grazing her son's face.

"You're certain you want to cut a girl this good loose?" she asked, still smiling.

Roman's lips pressed thin. His throat bobbed. Something dark flickered through his eyes and settled back into that cold, arrogant blank.

"I've said it before."

"Agreeing to run the company is as far as I bend."

"The rest, you could drill me another ten years, it wouldn't take."

"I'm not spending my life circling one person. The same face, every single day."

"It's mind-numbing."

Pain lanced through my chest. My fist clenched on its own.

Mrs. Sinclair only kept smiling. There was just something knowing in it now.

"Is that so. What a shame."

She drew a checkbook from her bag and uncapped her pen.

"Ability and temperament can still be trained. But love? You're on your own there. Sink or swim. Wreck it however you please."

"As a parent, the one thing I can still do..."

Her pen paused.

Her eyes curved, warm, as she held the check out to me.

"...is round Miss Hale's million up to two. Even."

"A little something to warm the cold winter."

Two million. Even.

And I'm not exaggerating. The second my fingers closed around that check, I felt warm.

I don't know what a normal broke person does the moment they strike rich.

Me, I walked to the bank and cashed it.

Then I went back to the rental and, in complete silence, smashed every last thing that had ever belonged to Roman Sinclair.

When I was done, I stood in the wreckage, looked at the sunrise climbing outside the window, then at the balance on my card.

I turned and walked out. Straight back to the club.

"Strongest liquor you've got. Biggest suite. Softest bed."

"And the best-looking man on the floor."

The bottle swung from my hand. I was standing in that club again.

This time as the one holding the card.

A row of companions waited along the wall. I kept the two best-looking ones.

"I'll take you both tonight."

They blinked, thrown, a flush of awkwardness crossing their faces. The taller one hesitated a few seconds, then apologized, careful and soft.

"I'm sorry, Miss Hale."

"We're we're not that kind of company."

That one stray, irrelevant sentence landed somewhere it had no business landing.

My chest gave a sharp, stupid ache.

Chapter 5

I threw back a mouthful of the strong stuff and laughed, loose and drunk.

Walked over and poked a finger into the solid muscle under his shirt.

"What's with the attitude?"

"You sell the fantasy, I pay for it, and now you're too good for me?"

"Should've thought of that before you reeled me in..."

The companion went still.

But not, I think, because of my slurred, nonsensical raving.

Because I was crying. All at once, crying.

Tears spilling out with every word, dropping, hitting the floor without a sound.

A whole day of held-down feeling tore open in one clean rip.

I pressed a hand over my face and finally sobbed like something inside me had cracked apart.

"Roman Sinclair."

A sob. "Damn you."

The next afternoon, my phone buzzed me awake.

My head throbbed, thick and dull with the hangover.

I mumbled, rolled over, and patted the person beside me. "Roman, grab the phone for"

The words died.

I stared at the handsome, utterly unfamiliar face in front of me.

And realized, a beat too late, that I was cradled between two people. In the middle.

It came back slowly. Last night, drunk out of my mind, sobbing myself hollow in the arms of two companions.

A whole night. Just liquor and tears.

Nothing else. I hadn't wanted anything else.

I'd only wanted the softest bed and a warm, solid pair of arms to fall apart in. To get through the worst of the heartbreak, aching and grateful at the same time.

That was all.

The phone was still buzzing.

The companion frowned in his sleep and mumbled something shapeless.

I finally snapped to and grabbed the call. My voice came out shredded. "Who is this?"

A beat of silence on the line.

Then Roman's cold voice through the speaker.

"You're not home. Where are you?"

I frowned. The last of the fog burned off at once.

Right. I'd blocked him everywhere. Forgot to delete the number.

"You need something, Mr. Sinclair?"

A pause. His voice dropped, stiff and hard.

"I'm coming to get something."

"Be home. Now."

Be home. The man who'd called me a stain, who'd paid two million to make me vanish, was handing out orders like the lease still had his name on it.

Cute.

What piece of junk could possibly be worth the trip?

"Smashed all of it. There's nothing left."

"Buy new, Mr. Sinclair. If that's everything, I'm blocking this number too."

Yesterday I'd taken two million and promised no contact, and here I was with his number still live. My fault. I should make my position clear.

Silence again, just the hiss of static.

Then, stubborn and cold. "Are you"

Half a syllable. The phone, dead all night, cut him off as it died.

I clicked my tongue and reached on reflex for a charging cable.

Forgot this wasn't my apartment. No outlet by the bed. No charger.

Just warm, solid muscle.

My wrist got caught. I was pulled into a firm chest. I'd woken him, patting around, and now both his arms folded me in.

His voice came lazy and low.

"You like touching, touch all you want."

"Don't trade me out tonight. I want more time with you."

I burrowed into the crook of his arm and smiled.

"Don't get greedy. Gotta give the other pretty faces in here a chance to shine."

I was starting to understand Roman.

Chapter 6

Turns out Roman had a point.

When it's just two people using each other with no future in it, staying loyal to a single one really did get... dull.

But I honestly hadn't expected this.

A club this size, and there were only seven real companions on the roster.

At my pace, two a night and a fresh pair every day, I ran into the best-looking one again on day four.

Our eyes met and I curled my toes into the carpet, mortified.

He just smiled, eyes crinkling, and tipped his head at me.

"I'm Reid."

"Happy to be of service again."

"Oh. Then could you..." I rubbed my nose, awkward. "Go grab a portable charger from downstairs? I didn't bring mine."

Reid blinked, then ducked his head and lost it, laughing. "Sure."

The door opened and shut.

I stood there gripping the handle and pressed a hand to my face.

One more day. Then I'd end this. Really.

Knock, knock.

I startled, figured Reid had forgotten something, and pulled the door open.

Roman's face. Storm-dark.

Reid stood behind him, gone pale, shaking his head at me hard.

Alarms screamed in my skull. I moved to slam the door.

Roman's leg shot out, his foot wedging it open first.

His eyes bored into me, and he laughed through his teeth, ice-cold.

"Were his arms warm?"

"Warm enough to burn through eight of them in four days