Taming My Sugar Mommy

Christina led him through polished hallways lined with artwork. The click of her heels echoed off marble floors that had never seen a scuff mark in their privileged lives.

"Just... try not to knock anything over," she advised as they passed a vase that looked Ming dynasty-authentic rather than Tesco-knockoff. "And whatever you do, don't mention the paintings unless she brings them up first."

"Why, are they stolen?" Liam tried to joke, but Christina's carefully blank expression made him wish he hadn't.

The dining room was less a room and more like a small cathedral with a table in it. A massive crystal chandelier hung overhead like a frozen waterfall made of light, and the table itself could have seated the starting lineup of his favorite football team, with room left over for the reserves.

'Christ,' he thought, 'even the bloody chairs look like they need insurance.'

"Your place setting is here," Christina indicated, pulling out a chair. "Lady Isabella will join you shortly."

Liam sat down, trying not to feel like a burglar who'd accidentally wandered into Buckingham Palace. The setup was daunting—at least fifteen pieces of silverware arranged before him.

'Fork on the left, knife on the right,' he remembered from some cooking show Teresa used to watch. 'Or was it the other way round?' He stared at the array of utensils like they were a bomb he needed to defuse. 'Why does anyone need three different sized forks anyway?'

A woman in pristine chef whites appeared through a side door, her silver hair swept into a sleek bun that highlighted her sharp green eyes. She moved with effortless grace, her presence commanding without a single word wasted. She gave Liam a quick, appraising glance before addressing Christina in a low, measured tone. "Her ladyship's usual appetizer?"

"Yes, Chef Marie. And for Mr. Campbell as well."

Chef Marie nodded curtly and disappeared back into what Liam assumed was the kitchen. He had a feeling she ran her domain with military precision.

The door opened, and Lady Isabella glided in like she was floating on air. She'd traded the face mask for impeccable makeup, and her black dress looked painted on, making her seem both untouchable and dangerous at the same time.

'Bloody hell,' Liam thought, 'she could make the Queen feel underdressed.'

"I trust your accommodations are satisfactory?" she asked, taking her seat at the head of the table. The way she moved made it look like a throne.

"Yes, my lady. Very... um, nice shower."

'Smart, mate. Comment on the plumbing. Really showing your sophistication there.'

A slight smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you approve."

The first course arrived—something that looked like it belonged in an art gallery rather than on a plate. Liam was pretty sure he spotted caviar, which he'd only ever seen in films.

They were halfway through what Chef Marie called "pan-seared scallops with citrus reduction" when Isabella's phone buzzed. Christina materialized from somewhere—Liam was starting to suspect she could teleport—and bent to whisper in her ear.

"Tell him I'm otherwise engaged," Isabella said, not even looking up from her plate. Her tone could have frozen hell over twice. "And do remind Professor Johnson that my time isn't at his disposal, regardless of how many tech magazines put him on their cover this month."

Liam focused on his scallops, trying to figure out which of the thousand forks was the right one. He could feel Isabella watching him, like a cat studying a particularly interesting mouse.

"That was Professor Andrew Johnson," she said finally, taking a delicate sip of wine. "CEO of Quantum Dynamics. I'm sure you've heard of him—he's practically living in the papers these days."

"The AI bloke?" Liam asked before he could stop himself. "The one who's always on about robots taking over?"

"Mmm. He seems to think that because his company is worth billions, everyone should drop everything when he calls." She dabbed her lips with a napkin. "Rather nouveau riche, don't you think?"

The way she said it made billions sound like pocket change. Liam tried to imagine having enough money to snub one of the most powerful tech CEOs in the world like he was a telemarketer.

'What kind of person are you?' he wondered, watching her take another perfect bite. 'What kind of world is this?'

His thoughts were interrupted by Chef Marie bringing out the next course, each plate arranged with artistic precision.

"Your herb-crusted lamb, my lady," Chef Marie announced, her French accent adding an extra layer of sophistication to the proceedings. "And for monsieur, the same."

Isabella smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Excellent as always, Marie. Mr. Campbell here has never experienced proper French cuisine. I think we'll need to expand his culinary horizons, don't you?"

The way she said it made it sound less like an opportunity and more like a sentence being handed down.

'Twelve years,' Liam reminded himself as he stared at the lamb. 'Twelve years of eating like this. Could be worse ways to serve your time.'

But the food, despite being the best he'd ever tasted, sat like lead in his stomach. Something about the casual way Isabella had dismissed one of the most powerful men in tech made him wonder: what exactly had he gotten himself into?

Isabella cut into her lamb with surgical precision, each movement elegant and controlled. "So, Mr. Campbell," she said, studying him over the rim of her wine glass, "what are your talents? Besides making questionable marriage choices and getting caught up in diamond heists, that is."

Liam nearly choked on his wine. 'Right, because that's just casual dinner conversation, isn't it?'

"I, uh..." He tried to think of something—anything—that would sound impressive in this room that screamed old money and power. His years of playing Football Manager probably wouldn't cut it. "I'm good with routes. Delivery routes, I mean. Always know the quickest way through London, even during rush hour."

"Mm." Isabella's expression suggested she found this about as impressive as a child's crayon drawing. "And?"

"I'm... handy, I suppose. Can fix most things around the house. Learned from my dad before he..." Liam trailed off, pushing a perfect roasted potato around his plate.

"Go on."

"Before he died. Was a maintenance man at one of those posh hotels in Mayfair. Taught me everything he knew about keeping things running."

Something flickered in Isabella's eyes—interest, maybe? "Everything? Electrical, plumbing, security systems?"

"Yeah, all of it. Had to be able to fix anything that broke, any time of day." Liam shrugged. "Helps when you can't afford to call someone in."

Isabella set down her fork with a deliberate click. "I may have a position for you at Ashworth Luxury Events. We handle some of the most exclusive gatherings in Europe. Everything from royal weddings to... private business meetings."

The way she said 'private business meetings' made Liam think of shadowy rooms and handshakes that sealed more than just business deals.

"The pay is... considerable," she continued. "£45,000 a year, plus bonuses. Healthcare, of course. And accommodation here on the estate."

Liam's fork paused halfway to his mouth. Something wasn't adding up, and it wasn't just his questionable math skills. With living expenses covered, he could pay back most of that debt in a few years. But why would she...?

"What's the catch?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Isabella's laugh was like expensive whiskey—smooth but with a burn. "The catch, Mr. Campbell, is that you'll be on call 24/7. These events require absolute perfection. One loose wire, one faulty lock, one security camera that isn't precisely aligned..." She let the implications hang in the air like smoke.

"And this would count toward my... debt?"

"Naturally. Though I suspect you might find yourself wanting to stay even after it's cleared." She signaled to Chef Marie for dessert. "Think of it as an opportunity, Mr. Campbell. A chance to step into a world most people only read about in magazines."

'Or police reports,' Liam thought, but kept that to himself. 'And since when do rich people offer to help you pay off debts faster? There's something she's not telling me.'

"I'll need your answer by morning," Isabella said, as if reading his thoughts. "The Duchess of Kent's garden party is next week, and we have several... special installations that need attention."

Liam took a bite of the chocolate dessert. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

'Well,' he thought grimly, 'at least the food in this particular deal with the devil is fantastic.'