Confusing Cade (Billionaires of Palm Beach #6)

CHAPTER ONE

BELLA

In the end, it only took a text message to change my life. One. That was it.

Did you check your email? They said this semester’s tuition payment bounced...

I gulped and pushed the phone across my worn kitchen table. Ugh. They know.

After a few breaths, I got up from the chair, crossed the room to the sink, and filled a plastic cup with water.

My heart raced as I flipped through my options.

I didn’t have many. In fact, not any. Way to go, Bella.

The money was gone, and most of it had been gone for almost six months.

We were down to the last few thousand, some commercial real estate that hadn’t found a buyer, some boxes of mementos in storage across town, and the remains of my mother’s jewelry, which I stored in a fireproof safe in my bedroom closet.

No matter what, I wouldn’t sell that. Ever.

Lilly will never forgive me if I do.

But also? I couldn’t let her down again.

She didn’t deserve it. With an exhausted sigh, I braced myself against the counter and willed my heart rate to slow as it throbbed against my rib cage and echoed in my ears.

There still had to be something I could do, some last-minute option I could find.

An extra job here, some good luck there. ..

People made more with less, didn’t they?

But less probably meant altering Lilly’s life irreparably by pulling her out of the school she loved and throwing her into a new one with only two years to go until graduation.

And that would simply be... wrong. Lilly was thriving.

She was doing better in every high school class than I ever had.

She had a real chance at a full ride to college, or at least some substantial scholarships.

It showed in her hard work how much she wanted them too.

I wouldn’t let her dream become another nightmare.

Not on my watch.

I retrieved my phone from the table and opened the email app.

Seventy-five unread emails stared back at me.

I doomscrolled through ads, newsletters, and junk, my desperation growing as I looked for any reply to some of the résumés I’d sent out in the last week, any job interview requests, any sign of hope, anything I could grab onto as a tidal wave of anxiety threatened to envelop me.

There was nothing. No lifeboat.

And at the end of the stack was the follow-up email from Parkview Academy in Wessex, Massachusetts. Yes, the check had bounced. Yes, this semester’s payment was overdue. No, they couldn’t wait any longer. Call the office, please...

I studied the message for a long time. $20,596.

82. Ouch. Tuition, school fees, uniforms, and the like.

Not nearly as much as most East Coast boarding schools, but still not cheap either.

And while I knew Parkview had need-based financial aid for students, admitting that we needed it, that Lilly didn’t have the means felt so painful, so degrading.

We were Morettis, for God’s sake, and that still meant something.

Right?

Once, Moretti had been one of the most recognizable names in the country.

With my great-grandfather at the helm of a railroad empire, my grandfather had used his capital to turn our name into a South Florida real estate dynasty.

Morettis entertained ambassadors and built mansions that turned into museums. One or two married minor European royalty. But that was a long time ago.

So much for generational wealth.

I headed to my bedroom, my shoulders sagging.

How long could I keep swimming? I was tired.

So very tired. I took the white envelope holding my emergency Visa credit card from the desk drawer.

I hadn’t used this account in years, and the balance was zero, but the fifty-thousand-dollar credit line had an eye-watering twenty-nine percent interest rate.

Still, if there was ever a time to use it, it was now.

Here goes nothing.

Back at the kitchen table, I opened the school payment link in the email and typed in the information.

I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat.

I didn’t like putting a large amount like this on the card, but it was a fast and reliable way to make sure Lilly didn’t have to deal with the fallout of another Moretti mess.

Sure, the balance would come due before I knew it, and the monthly payments would be significant.

I’d have to dig deep.

The charge went through without a hitch, and I exhaled when the confirmation email landed in my inbox.

One fire contained. Barely. I grabbed the phone en route to the bedroom, collapsing onto the creaky queen-size bed.

The mattress groaned and sagged under me, despite my slight frame.

I lay face down, praying my mind would quiet its racing thoughts.

I can get out of this hole. I am strong.

I am resilient. I won’t let this sink me.

Then my phone buzzed. Kyra, checking in on me. I read her message and let out another heavy sigh. She’d reached out a few times over the past two months, suggesting drinks or dinner, but I’d dodged her. If we talked, she’d see right through me, and I wasn’t ready for her sharp, probing questions.

Still, Kyra was also my best friend and had been loyal despite the turmoil of the last few years.

I fumbled with my phone, the screen’s harsh light cutting through the gloom of my cluttered room and jabbed at the button next to Kyra’s name. Her voice pushed through the speaker. “Hey, oh my God, I’ve been losing my mind. You didn’t answer my texts, and... is something going on?”

Kyra’s urgency wrapped around me like a too-tight hug, and I tried to respond. I wanted to brush it off with an I’m fine, but the words felt unnatural, even as they formed in my mouth. I pressed my lips shut and swallowed the lie I’d never be able to sell to her.

“You’re right. I’m crashing out. The payment bounced for Lilly’s tuition,” I said instead.

Kyra sucked in a breath so loud it crackled through the phone, making me wince. “You’re kidding, right? No, I know you, and you’re not kidding.”

“No cap.”

“I knew things were tight, but I didn’t know they’d gotten that bad.” She paused. “Shit, what are you going to do?”

I shifted on the mattress, the springs creaking under me, and ran a hand through my tangled hair. “Just put it on the emergency credit card. Thank God I never closed it, even after all those lectures I gave myself about getting rid of it.”

“Yeah, but you’re...” She hesitated, her voice dipping into something softer, cautious, like she was stepping around broken glass. “I mean, that’s a huge charge, right?”

“Over twenty thousand.”

I let the number hang there, heavy and unapologetic as I pulled myself upright, dragging the blanket with me until it was bunched around my shoulders, a flimsy cocoon against the creeping cold of the room.

My fingers tightened around the phone, and the cheap plastic case dug into my palm as I waited for her reaction.

“Got any extra substitute shifts?” I finally asked.

Kyra worked as the manager of a dive bar on a nondescript corner of our neighborhood.

Smoked Aces was one of those places that somehow managed to hang on, thanks to a loyal clientele that appreciated the ten-dollar buckets of beer and signature wings.

Working there was also a playtime job for her, the latest chapter in her long rebellion against her parents, who were some of the wealthiest and most connected in South Florida.

“Payroll is kind of tight,” she replied. “But maybe I can get you something next month.”

“I appreciate that, but I need another job right now.” A job that pays a lot of money fast.

Kyra clicked her teeth. “What about asking your boss for a raise?”

“Tried that last week. Things aren’t going great at the firm either. Mr. Klein said he couldn’t give me any more hours.”

I didn’t add how bad it had felt to ask—no, beg, Alex Klein for extra work. I was already working full-time there, in administration, and it was basically a no-show job. In fact, I knew he only had me on the payroll because he’d been Dad’s attorney, and he was guilty about how things ended.

But the annual salary he paid me still wasn’t much.

Not with the bills I had to shoulder. A temp gig here, an Uber driver shift there.

.. those helped, but dipping into what was left of the family fortune had become an all-too-often ritual.

I knew I should have refused Lilly’s request to keep attending such an expensive school, but I hadn’t had the heart.

Why should she suffer if I could find a way to keep up the payments?

But I haven’t found one yet, have I?

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admitted to my friend. “This sucks.”

We fell silent for another moment before Kyra said, “You could sign up for FanZone.”

I coughed, my shock hardening in my throat. FanZone? Of all the suggestions she could have made, I hadn’t expected that one. That one was a choice. “Excuse me? What did you say?”

“People make a lot of money on that app. Like... overnight.”

“I don’t—”

“One of the girls at the salon was talking about it while I got my hair cut last Saturday. Her cousin in Miami made over a million dollars last year posting photos.”

“A million?”

I wasn’t surprised my friend would come up with an off-the-wall suggestion.

Kyra was nothing if not creative. Also, the woman’s story had to be an outlier.

That much money for a bunch of photos? No way.

Not even explicit photos could make that much money, right?

Not with all the free porn on the internet. ..

“It’s the subscriptions,” Kyra added as if reading my mind. “People like the idea that they’re getting something exclusive, something premium, and they’re willing to pay money every month to get it.”

“Nobody’s going to pay any money for photos of me.” I rolled over and braced my hand on my forehead. A dull headache had started to form. I should probably end this conversation soon. It was only making my stress worse.

“You don’t have to do nudes,” Kyra said. “I mean, you could post sexy photos of your feet.”

I laughed. “Now you’re giving me the ick.”

She chuckled too. “People are so weird these days.”

Kyra was right about that. Everyone was chronically online: lonely, distant, and obsessed with social media.

People hardly seemed to talk to each other anymore, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to an actual party or major event, let alone one of those vibrant, chaotic gatherings where people spilled drinks, danced badly, and made memories that didn’t need a filter.

The thought alone felt foreign, like a scene from someone else’s life.

Not like I was in any position to go, considering my measly bank account.

I wouldn’t be able to afford tickets, or a new dress, or a trip to the salon. ..

“I’m not doing FanZone,” I said before we ended the conversation.

I sounded firm and resolved. Thankfully, Kyra took the not-so-subtle hint and changed the topic. Talking about her woes and funny experiences lifted my spirits. As usual. After my third yawn, Kyra told me not to be a stranger and hung up.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said, though.

Her cousin in Miami made over a million bucks.

.. The comment rattled around in my thoughts and grew louder by the second.

A million bucks? Surely, I wouldn’t earn that kind of money.

Probably only one or two accounts had the following for that type of payload.

But what if I somehow managed to earn five thousand a month? Or ten? Or even a few hundred?

It could make a difference. Maybe it would be a side hustle of sorts. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it? It would give my budget a little breathing room. Maybe it would even stop me from getting emails like the nastygram I’d gotten from Lilly’s school.

I opened the internet browser on my phone and did a quick search.

Kyra was right, at least about the money piece of the whole idea.

FanZone was lucrative for some people and more than I expected.

I found plenty of articles about this influencer or that model making life-changing money just by posting “content” on the platform.

It was also one of the fastest-growing websites in the world, quickly gaining on Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok.

“Creators” were finding plenty of ways to grow a fan base.

Merchandise, private chats, product tie-ins. ..

Still...

After scanning my tenth article, I downloaded the app and scrolled through a few pages of profiles.

Ninety percent were women around my age.

Most were thin, conventionally pretty, and well-versed in how to pose for a camera.

Several teased X-rated experiences as part of premium subscriptions. Many had thousands of followers.

Can I really make money doing this?

I got off the bed and staggered to the small bathroom.

The overhead light was harsh and unforgiving as I peered at the mirror hanging above the sink.

I wasn’t gorgeous in a Victoria’s Secret model kind of way.

I wouldn’t say I had unique features, either.

Northern Italian. Small nose, blue eyes, honey-brown hair, and a decent pair of perky B-cub boobs.

Nothing unconventional, but if I tossed some charm on top, maybe I could get by.

Makeup might help. And good lighting. Excellent lighting.

I scrolled through the iCloud photos stored on my phone.

It didn’t take me long to find a folder of five-year-old swimsuit photos taken during the last vacation I’d had before my world came crashing down.

Cabo San Lucas. The Argyle Resort. Me, still carefree and hopeful.

An old boyfriend behind the lens. I hardly recognized the woman staring back at me, but she was still me.

I shifted through the images and selected five or six of the best ones.

Then, I opened the FanZone app and clicked Join.

Less than ten minutes later, it was done. I locked the device and tossed it on my bed. I was officially on the app using the handle @marie0505, a combination of my middle name and my birthday.

Probably won’t get any subscribers, but at least I’ve tried.