Chapter 2 : A Sugar Baby

Ava

I can't believe what I just heard—my dad was arrested for murder?

My mind races as I scramble to think clearly amidst the chaos of emotions. I've always considered myself level-headed, but this situation has thrown me through a loop. There was no way it was true, of course. My dad wouldn’t hurt a fly. I scramble to pull up flights for tonight on my phone, sitting in the dark parking outside the bar. There's a late-night flight leaving in a few hours, and without hesitation, I book it.

I can't wait until morning to find out what's going on—I need to be there now. I have to take a large portion of my savings out to buy the plane ticket, but it has to be done.

My heart pounding, I make the drive home like a bat out of hell and throw the essentials into a bag. Then, I hurry out of our apartment again, making my way to the airport as my mind races. I don't even notice the bustling atmosphere around me—people chatting, announcements over the intercom, the anticipation of departures and arrivals.

It's all white noise.

The flight seems to pass in a blur, a mixture of anxiety and impatience. Before I know it, I'm landing in Chicago and standing outside the jail. I’m running on coffee and adrenaline when I spot my stepmother coming out of the sheriff's department, her head bowed and phone in hand.

"Catherine, what's going on?" I ask, putting aside our general apathy for one another for my father.

She looks at me like she’s surprised, then sneers. "Your father is a murderer. That's what. I'm done with this. Good luck." With that, she turns away and then drives off, leaving me stunned but not entirely shocked.

Catherine and I have never seen eye to eye, and her attitude toward my dad's situation is exactly what I expected from her. The selfish cow. I doubted she even really believed the accusation—she was just looking for her out.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come, and enter the jail. After talking to the lady at the window and getting permission to step into one of the tiny visiting rooms, I'm finally able to see my dad.

Joseph Williams is a burly man—a typical dad. Seeing him in the orange jumpsuit, looking up at me with red eyes and cuffs on his hands and ankles, I nearly burst into tears.

"Ava," he breathes, and I can hear the tremor in his voice. The relief, as if I can do anything more than anyone else.

I don’t know how to break it to him that I’m even more useless than the cops who picked him up.

So instead, I take a seat across from him, trying to maintain my composure. "Dad, what happened? Why are they accusing you of murder?"

He leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "Ava, I swear, I'm innocent. I was at a job site, just doing my routine walk-through before the workday started. I heard a gunshot, and when I followed the sound—there was a gun on the ground, but nobody was around. When I found that man, he was already dead. All I heard was someone running away. I didn't see anyone." His voice is raising in pitch, and I drop my hands on his as he takes a steadying breath.

I struggle to process his words, my mind whirling. "But why would they arrest you? There must be evidence that clears you."

His eyes are haunted as he continues. "They said there were no fingerprints on the gun but that I could have wiped them away easily. Ava, I promise you, I had nothing to do with this."

The desperation in his voice tears at my heart. He's my dad, and I want to believe him. But the situation is dire, and I'm overcome with a sense of helplessness. Why would someone set him up like this? What kind of danger had he stumbled into? How could this have even happened?

But there's no point in asking anyone here. Nobody had the answers—that’s why dad was being accused in the first place.

The weight of the situation crushes me as I stand to go.

"Dad, I'm so sorry about Catherine. You deserve better than her."

He manages a weak smile, his eyes full of gratitude and worry. "Take care of yourself, Ava. Please don’t worry too much, we’ll get this all sorted."

I don't think either of us believe it.

As I leave the jail, I'm filled with a whirlwind of emotions. I return home in near-tears, needing to vent and just … share the burden of all of this.

Luckily, when I burst through the door of our apartment the next day and Emma is right there, her eyes widening at the sight of me.

I’m absolutely positive I look like a complete wreck. I got a few hours of sleep on the flight home, but not nearly enough, and I know my eyes are swollen from the cry I had in the airport bathroom.

"Hey, what happened?" She rushes over to me, concern etched across her face. “I tried calling you when I realized you hadn’t come home last night but—”

She breaks off when I scrub a hand over my eyes and clear my throat, her hands just sort of fluttering around me like she’s not sure if I want a hug or not. I finally just make the choice for her because, to be honest, I could definitely use one. I manage to choke out the story, my voice wavering despite my best efforts as I step into her arms, letting her hug comfort me.

"I need to get him a lawyer, Emma. But I don't have enough saved up to make a dent in a freaking murder case." I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that any of this was happening to us—my dad was a good man. He didn’t deserve to be going through this when all he’d ever done was try to take care of me.

I blink back the sting in my eyes and try to take slow, even breaths.

She looks at me, her brows furrowing with worry. "Should I call my dad? He might be able to help."

"No!" I practically snap, realizing how desperate I sound. "I mean, not yet. Let me figure something out."

I couldn't ask her dad—my mystery man with the plush lips and recurrent visitor in my daydreams—for money. It wasn’t even an option. I didn’t know why he hadn’t mentioned it to Emma or if he’d even recognized me, but this weird, silent agreement we had to keep the whole thing between us would just have to continue.

She hesitates, then offers a suggestion. "Ava, you know there are other ways to make quick money, right?"

My heart sinks at the implication of her words. "What do you mean?"

Emma looks reluctant, a mix of sympathy and understanding in her eyes. "There are … events for wealthy men looking for women to make them look good. It's not about marriage or sex most of the time, just appearances. It could give you the money you need."

I'm taken aback by her suggestion, my mind reeling. Could I really do something like that? But as I think about my dad, sitting in that jail cell, I realize I'm out of options. I don’t have the money or any other means to get it right now—I don't have anything.

It's time to find out how far I'm willing to go to save him.

I nod, my voice barely a whisper. "Okay … I need the money, so could you help me set something up?"

Emma frowns a bit but nods.

***

Liam

"Sounds like you've got it bad, my friend." Mark leans forward, his eyes locked onto me, his tone dripping with curiosity as I recount how the party had gone—and my mishap with Ava coming out of the bathroom.

A chuckle escapes me as I recline further into my chair, the soft creak of the leather barely audible. "It's like there's a kind of magnetic pull—at least on a physical level," I admit, and my friend chuckles in return.

Mark leaned back, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against his chin. "Remind me why you can’t just hook up with her?”

I chuckled. “You mean besides her being much too young for me?” Mark rolls his eyes, so I continue, shifting my gaze to the mesmerizing city view. "Sophia."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "I was under the impression the two of you were on the outs."

We were—because I couldn’t stop fantasizing about my daughter's friend. It was hard to force myself to entertain her when all I wanted was to chase after the woman who’d slipped through my fingers a week ago.

I nodded, feeling a bit guilty over it all. "Yeah, and I can't figure out if that's for the best or not."

Mark laughs, then waves me away apologetically when I give him a blank look.

The conversation is interrupted by a brisk knock on the door and Samantha, the PR powerhouse of our company, strides in with a determined air, her high heels clicking lightly against the hardwood floor. She leans against my desk, her perfectly styled hair catching the light as she raises an eyebrow at me.

"Liam, seriously, we need to find a good match." Sam is exhausted—not that anyone else could tell but me. I know I’ve caused her heaps of trouble by ignoring Sophia's texts and calls since the party—the woman is nothing if not dramatic—but I hadn't thought it would be eating into her personal time enough that she’d be this run down.

I glanced up, my eyes meeting hers in a silent exchange before turning back to Mark.

"You won't believe what Samantha's been going on about," I told him, rolling my eyes slightly. "She's all about ‘creating a stable image’ lately. Apparently, Sophia's at the top of her list for that—connections and charm, you know."

Mark let out a low whistle. "Pressure's on, huh?"

“I’m just saying, she’s very—” Samantha tries to interject, and I smirk as we ignore her.

I nod, my fingers tapping against the arm of my chair as I continue, "Yeah, and it's not just that. There's this event coming up. It's like a matchmaking thing for successful folks like me and women who are okay with … arrangements like that."

“I’m not saying—” Samantha starts, and this time Mark interrupts her.

His eyebrows shot up in faux surprise as if he himself wasn't the one who introduced us to them. "Arrangements? Surely she’s not insinuating you should get a sugar baby."

I nodded once more. "Apparently, it's practical—a chance to find someone who's up for playing along in this scripted game."

Samantha groans.

Mark let out a low, appreciative whistle. "Sounds ... interesting."

Sam can’t resist chiming in with a raised eyebrow and a sarcastic smile now that we’d finished teasing her, "Oh, I'm sure you'd find it fascinating, Mark."

Mark turned on the charm, leaning forward and grinning playfully. "Well, Samantha, I've always been drawn to interesting things."

Samantha's eyes rolled dramatically as she let out a scoff, her annoyance thinly veiled. "Save it. We've got business to discuss. This is serious, Liam."

Mark leaned back, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Business it is."

Samantha turned her attention back to me, her professional demeanor back in place. "I just want you to see the opportunity here, for both you and the company. If Sophia won't work, fine, but consider what I said—you need someone to make you less…" She waves a hand between Mark and me.

“Like a bachelor?” Mark guesses, and I snort when she nods emphatically.

“Exactly! You’re getting older, and the suave businessman thing isn't as reassuring when you don’t have any kind of commitments in your personal life. People want to know you can give your all to something.”

“Never mind that he’s been running the company for years, right?” Mark drawls, and Sam glares.

Rather than listen to them bicker, I lean back, folding my arms. "Samantha, I'm on it, but let me take my time to find the right fit. It's not something you pick off a shelf—we’re talking long term, if not forever."

She let out a sigh, a hint of frustration evident in her features. "You’re running short on time, Liam—in case you hadn’t noticed?”

“We’re only in our forties!” Mark protests, choking on his coffee, and I chuckle, shaking my head.

My gaze softens as I meet her eyes. "I know what's at stake. Just let me handle it my way. Everything is fine, Sam, I promise." She purses her lips but nods before turning and heading out, her heels clicking once more against the floor.

As the door closed behind her, I leaned back in my chair, my fingers steepled in thought. This whole situation was like navigating a labyrinth—and Sam was right, to some degree. We’d already had several potential partners pass us over in favor of competitors, and it would only make me look better to have a partner. It’s hard to relate to people when you’re lacking something that they consider so important.

“We’re not old,” Mark points at me accusingly, and I grin.

“Of course not! Forty is the new twenty.” He scoffs at my joke, shaking his head.

“I think it’s all ridiculous, personally,” my best friend grumbles, ever the bachelor.

I’d never been particularly fond of being on my own, but things were easier when Emma was around. Now, I was admittedly a bit lonely at home—it was turning me into a workaholic.

“I see what she’s saying—long-term partners show commitment. It’s the same tactics they were using when I was raising Emma. People feel more secure when they’re dealing with family men.” When my daughter was all grown up and off to college, suddenly I was back to seeming like a bachelor to the general public—it didn’t matter how many family dinners we had, or times we let the paparazzi ‘catch us’ doing things together.

I wasn’t exactly a fan of the changes in their attention to my daughter either, though she had been mostly left alone once she moved out on her own. The early articles discussing her appearance and dating habits had been grating for both of us, though I think she was more hurt than angry. It was a far cry from the doting ones about how cute she was as a kid.

“It’s all stupid. You’re not even a celebrity or anything—you’re just some guy running a company.” I toss one of my pens at him and Mark laughs as he dodges it, standing with a grin.

“Anyway, your next chance at an arrangement is tomorrow night. Do me a favor and show up on time? I know you’re used to doing whatever you want and all of that, but the powers that be are so easily offended.”

“I’m never late,” I scoff and watch my friend leave with a roll of his amber eyes, shutting my office door gently behind him.

I guess it’s now or never.