My heart plunges into my stomach and I almost tumble out of my chair. "Hold on. What? Excuse me?"

"My companion. Someone who attends events with me. Someone to eat with on a Friday night, like this. Someone to keep me company."

Dammit, why did he have to go there? I was having a good time and starting to like him as a friend. He's ruined everything with this stupid fucking idea. I have to remind myself to close my mouth, because otherwise I'm going to scream.

I take three deep breaths.

"Oh my God. You want to pay me to have sex," I blurt. The wine has apparently erased all my filters, or maybe it's the sheer outrageousness of his request.

He chuckles. "No. Definitely not."

I'm even more confused now, and gulp down the wine. (It's our second bottle). Then a light bulb goes off. "Oh," I whisper, leaning in and putting my hand on his forearm. "You're gay. I totally get it now. In that case..."

He put his hand over wrist and smirks. "No, Juliette. I'm not gay. And I would like to have sex with you, so, so much. You are stunningly beautiful."

I try to swallow the lump in my throat but my mouth is as dry as the wine we'd been drinking. His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, that soft space where Griffin used to kiss.

Where didn't Griffin kiss me?

"But I would never pay you to have sex. That's crass. I want to pay to make your life easier. Pay you to get to know me, and hopefully, you'll come to adore me as much as I adore you. And when that happens, I'll stop paying you, and we can have a different kind of relationship. Think of this as a twist on an arranged relationship."

I sit, stunned. This doesn't make sense. "So you want to pay for my company and gamble that I might want to sleep with you?"

"I like to take calculated risks. I'm willing to take one for you. You're a different girl, Juliette. Really special."

Frowning, I sway a little in my chair. "So why not ask me on dates? Get to know me the traditional way. You know, movies and dinners and picnics in the park?"

He shrugs. "You might say no. You might not give me a chance. I'm older. I want to cut to the chase. You might not initially be attracted to me – although I guarantee that once you get to know me, you will be. And we can do all of those things you mentioned."

Oh god oh god oh god

"And I truly want to help you. I want you to have enough money for school and whatever else you need. Whatever else your family needs."

What the fuck is this...

He clinks his glass to mine. "Juliette, I have a lot of money. I don't have time to look for a girlfriend. I want someone sweet and kind to spend time with. A lot of women my age are bitter and angry."

Oh, little does he know how bitter and angry this eighteen year old is. I arch an eyebrow in response. He ignores my sarcastic expression.

"Even if we never have sex, even if we never do so much as kiss, I'll know I'm helping a friend."

This leaves me stumped, if not semi-grossed out. Still, it all sounds logical, or at least it does to my wine-addled mind.

"This is kind of weird. You have to admit it," I say.

"It's pretty common among my male peers."

Gross, I want to yell. "How do you know I won't tell anyone about this?"

"Because I helped you when the Miami police detective called me in the middle of the night. And because if you agree to my offer, I'll make sure your brother gets the best care. He'll move to the top of this list for a stem cell transplant."

"You can't orchestrate a stem cell transplant out of thin air. There's a huge waiting period." I make a little pfft sound.

On some men, a smirk is sexy. On him, it's chilling. "One of the top administrators for the Jacksonville Cancer Clinic was my college roommate."

"Oh," I mumble.

The way he takes a casual sip of his brandy after he says this sends a chill down my spine. I'm beginning to think that Dr. Sebastian Engel is a dangerous man. More dangerous than Griffin ever hoped to be.

"How do I know that's true?" It's the only comeback I can think of, because I want to stall for time while my mind absorbs this insanity.

He takes out his cell and squints at the screen. He probably doesn't wear reading glasses because he doesn't want to look old.

"John Poe. CFO of Jacksonville Cancer Clinic. Would you like to talk with him now? He can vouch for me." With a smirk on his lips, he holds the phone in my direction, his finger poised on the green call button.

That's when it hits me. Sebastian resembles that old cartoon fox, the one who played Robin Hood.

I shake my head. "I believe you."

"So it's a win-win for both of us, mein liebling."

My baffled look is evident because he grins and follows quickly with, "Liebling is the word for darling in my language."

"You want me to be your sugar baby," I whisper, losing all decorum. "Holy shit."

"That's such a crass term, but yes. You get so much out of this arrangement. Your brother will have his lifesaving treatment, you'll be taken care of in a proper way with rent and beautiful clothes and anything you need. I get the pleasure of your company whenever I desire. Except when you have classes, because that's a top priority. I want you to succeed in school."

How accommodating of him. He's a sugar daddy with a conscience.

"Have you ever done this before? Pay a girl to be with you like this?"

He studies me for a beat and I squirm under his gaze. "Once. About five years ago. I lost her suddenly, much in the way you lost your love. So I know what you're going through. I cared for her deeply."

"I'm...sorry." Why am I accommodating this madness? I glance up at the glass chandelier, which seems menacing and altogether too sparkly for such a low-lit room. I half expect people's faces to melt off, the vibe has suddenly become so strange in this restaurant. Hesitant, I stare into his eyes.

"There are professional girls who do this sort of thing, you know. My roommate Victoria is acquainted with a lot of them. I'm sure she could introduce you to someone really pretty and smart."

He chuckles. "I don't want a professional. I want a real woman like you, with real ambitions and real feelings. I'm not attracted to just anyone, but when I met you, I felt an instant draw. It was such serendipity when I saw you again at that party."

I stay silent. My mind's shutting down, and I think about how good it will feel to cocoon into bed.

"And think about this, Juliette: you'll also get the added benefit of learning about healthcare from me. Who knows? Perhaps in time you'll want to go to medical school. I know you're smart enough for it."

I grab the brandy and drink half in one gulp. It's like a river of fire all the way down my throat. Fortunately, I don't puke. Although my stomach is in knots.

On one hand, this doesn't seem all that bad. I picture a cartoon version of Victoria sitting on my shoulder. "Jesus, Juliette. Why would you ever turn this down?" she'd ask.

On the other hand, it's a slippery slope into prostitution.

No, it is prostitution.

I rearrange the unused silverware in front of me. "No sex?"

He shakes his head. "Not unless you want to. I promise."

I lick my lips and the brandy on my tongue leaves behind a sting. And right then, I'm reminded of Griffin's kisses, how he'd pressed his mouth to that spot behind my ear right in this very restaurant. The memory makes me sway, and my confused mood plummets into darkness.

What would Griffin say if he knew I was considering this arrangement? Thank God he's not alive because I'd die of shame if he knew.

"If you're considering what your boyfriend would think about this, I wouldn't go there," Sebastian says coolly. "He's not here to make choices for you."

How does he know what I'm thinking? It's eerie. I nod slowly. He's right about that, and doesn't have any idea how much I hate Griffin for putting me in this position to begin with. "I'll think about it. It's an interesting offer. Can you give me a couple of days?"

"Of course. I'd expect no less." He signals the waiter for the check and I guzzle the rest of the brandy.

I'm a little unsteady as we walk out, and instinctively hold onto his arm. Sebastian doesn't feel like Griffin – he's much shorter, yet muscular, especially for an older guy. He's not horrible looking. He's charming and somewhat funny. And really smart.

I coldly assess all of his characteristics while we wait for the car and while we ride to my building.

He's silent, staring out the window at the Art Deco hotels. "Have you ever been on an art deco tour? It's fascinating."

"I haven't." Is that the kind of stuff he'll want to do together? It sounds boring but maybe I'll learn something.

Why am I trying to put a good spin on this? What the hell is wrong with me?

At my building, the car pulls up into the circular driveway. The driver opens my door, and Sebastian gets out. My heart starts to pound because I wonder if he's going to try to kiss me, given everything we just talked about.

Given everything he just offered me.

We walk into the lobby and make our way to the elevator. He pushes the button. "This is where I say goodnight, and will say goodnight until you tell me otherwise. I had a lovely time with you tonight, and I hope we can have many more nights together."

I muster a weak smile but inside my stomach feels sour. "Thank you for dinner. And, uh, I'll call you about that other thing. Your offer. I need time."

"Of course you do. And if you'd like to talk with any of my friends or colleagues, make sure I'm not a serial killer, I'd be happy to provide references."

Is that what rich men do? Provide their friends as references to prospective sugar babies? Gag.

"We'll see," I respond lamely.

He nods, then leans down and brushes a quick, chaste kiss on my cheek. He smells spicy, like cloves.

"Goodnight, Juliette. I look forward to your call." The elevator door opens and he smiles, then turns and walks out of the building.

What am I going to do?

A jolt of fear goes through me.

I get in the elevator and push the button for my floor, suddenly sober. Frighteningly sober. I know when I tell Victoria, she'll encourage me to take him up on his offer. It makes me feel like whore to even consider it.

On the positive side, he's offered to save Ashton's life. Or at least give him a damned good chance at a future.

But he also subtly threatened to retract his statement to police, which might mean result a prostitution charge for real. Even if there's other evidence that shows I was at the party that night, a lawyer would be expensive. I don't have the emotional bandwidth to fight a criminal charge. And there's no doubt in my mind that Sebastian — with his wealth and obvious cunning — could orchestrate anything. Even criminal charges.

He's encouraged me to think his proposition over, but really, Sebastian Engel isn't giving me a choice at all.

____