PRICED BY MY BILLIONAIRE NEMESIS

I should have said no. I should have blocked Mia's number, thrown my phone into the ocean, and moved into a monastery where the only men I'd ever see again were carved out of stone. But instead, here I am-standing in the marble lobby of the Corinthian Hotel, wearing a dress I definitely cannot afford, waiting to escort a seventy-eight-year-old millionaire to dinner because my best friend's mother slipped in the bathtub and fractured her hip. Reality has a cruel sense of humor, and my bank account is its favorite punchline.

"Please, Lena," Mia begged three hours ago. "He's harmless. He just wants company. He'll be asleep by ten. And he tips like he's allergic to money."

I'd been too broke-and too exhausted from pretending everything in my life wasn't on fire-to refuse. So I said yes. I painted my face, curled my hair, and stepped into a dress that felt like it was held together with hope and desperation. Then the universe decided to punish me for that optimism, because the moment I step out from behind the column to greet Mr. Harold Sutton-bald, cheerful, wearing suspenders and orthopedic shoes-I feel a familiar, icy burn slither down my spine. A presence. A memory. A ghost I never wanted to see again.

I turn-and there he is.

Adrian Vale. Eight years older. Infinitely richer. Unfairly hotter. And looking at me like I just crawled out of the sewer and tracked filth across his Italian leather shoes. My heart leaps into my throat so fast I nearly choke on it.

No. Not him. Not now. Not while I'm doing this. Not while I'm playing the role of "pleasant female dinner companion" when he is the last person alive I ever wanted witnessing this chapter of my life.

I try to pretend I don't see him, but he's impossible to ignore. Adrian always commanded a room, even back in college when he was just a brilliant, infuriating boy who could make professors stutter. But now? Now he stands in the center of the lobby like a lion blocking the only exit, posture relaxed but predatory, eyes cutting straight through me the second Mr. Sutton's hand touches my arm.

"Lena?" Mr. Sutton beams. "You look lovely tonight!"

I force a bright smile. "Thank you, sir."

Adrian's face goes razor-flat. Then-because fate enjoys stabbing me in the ribs-Mr. Sutton lifts my hand and presses a polite kiss to my knuckles. The look on Adrian's face darkens instantly, sharp and lethal, as if he's watching someone defile a holy relic. I part my lips to explain-well, lie, but with dignity-when his voice slices through the lobby.

"I didn't know you were still working your way through wealthy donors."

My stomach plummets. "Excuse me?" I whisper.

He steps closer, slow and controlled, hands in his pockets like he owns the oxygen in the room. "You left me for money in college. I see nothing's changed."

My blood freezes. I left him? For money? He has no