The CEO’s Favorite Sugar Baby

The coffee mug nearly slipped from my hand when the grumpy customer at table 4 muttered another complaint.

“Miss, I asked for this coffee with less sugar! Are you trying to kill me with diabetes?”

I forced a smile as I took the cup back.

“Of course, sir. I’ll bring you another one.”

I turned with a sigh and walked to the counter, where Zoe was finishing an order. When our eyes met, I rolled mine, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“Another complainer?”

She asked, shaking her head.

“The usual.”

I answered, pouring the coffee down the sink with a little more aggression than necessary.

My phone vibrated in the pocket of my apron. I pulled it out with a bad feeling, and when I saw Mr. Vasquez’s name my landlord a chill ran down my spine. With a sigh, I opened the message.

Vasquez: Babi, the rent is late. I need that money by Friday, otherwise I’ll have to look for another tenant. Nothing personal.

I closed my eyes for a moment. The rent money? It had evaporated when I had to buy a new fridge last month. The old one had simply given up on life, and living without a fridge was out of the question.

What the hell was I going to do now?

“Earth to Babi?”

Zoe snapped her fingers in front of my face.

“Nothing, just… a problem with the rent.”

I shoved the phone back into my pocket and grabbed the new coffee for the annoying customer.

“Oh, short on cash? You always figure something out.”

I wished that were true.

…

After our shift, we left together, enjoying the evening breeze. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my worn-out coat while looking at Zoe, who was wearing a new and apparently expensive jacket.

“Hey, where’d you get that jacket?”

I asked, frowning.

“We work at the same place and I know this salary doesn’t cover luxuries like that.”

She hesitated for a moment before sighing.

“Do you promise not to judge?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Depends. Are you selling organs on the black market?”

Zoe laughed.

“No! But… I’m doing a pretty lucrative thing.”

“Zoe…”

“Okay, okay. I’m a sugar baby.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“You know… a site with rich men willing to support a girl in exchange for company, fun, that kind of thing.”

I widened my eyes.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes! And before you jump to the wrong conclusions, it doesn’t always involve s*x. Some just want company, someone to talk to, go out with… and the money is great.”

I processed that in silence while Mr. Vasquez’s warning echoed in my mind. I needed money. Fast. But would I be willing to enter that world?

I was still digesting the information as we walked along the sidewalk lit by the yellowish streetlights.

“Are you serious? Like… you go out with these guys and they just pay you?”

Zoe laughed, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

“Exactly. Sometimes it’s just dinner, sometimes a trip, and sometimes… something more, if I want. But the choice is always mine.”

I furrowed my brow.

“And they’re… how? I mean, the guys?”

“Rich, charming, generous.”

She listed on her fingers.

“But most of the time, older. Like… over 40.”

I made a face.

“Over forty? Like, old enough to be my dad?”

“Oh, come on! Not everyone ages badly, okay? Some are super attractive. Besides, they know how to treat a woman right. No splitting the bill, no games. It’s all direct and clear.”

I stayed silent for a moment, thinking.

“And they pay well?”

“Very.”

Zoe smiled, proud.

“Besides the money, I also got this jacket, a new iPhone, and a weekend at a luxury resort. All just for being pleasant and keeping them company.”

I let out a long sigh. I could barely pay the rent, while Zoe walked around loaded with gifts and trips.

We called an Uber and got into the car, continuing the conversation as the driver made his way through the city.

“Look, I know it seems like a shock at first.”

Zoe said, looking at me with curiosity.

“But think about it. You’re already serving annoying people all day for a ridiculous salary. At least these guys treat you well.”

I bit my lower lip. I couldn’t deny that the idea seemed tempting.

The car stopped in front of the old building where I lived. I got out, and Zoe waved before the driver pulled away.

I stood still for a moment, watching the city lights in the distance, before letting out a heavy sigh and climbing the creaky stairs to my small apartment.

With every step I took, Zoe’s words echoed in my mind.

“Easy money.”

“Rich men who know how to treat a woman.”

But another voice, softer and more distant, was there too. The voice of my mother, who was no longer here.

I could imagine the disappointed expression of the woman who had spent her life teaching the importance of hard work and honesty.

I threw my bag onto the sofa and collapsed next to it, staring at the peeling ceiling.

I was desperate.

But how far would I be willing to go to fix this?

The silence of my apartment was oppressive. I stretched out on the old sofa and stared at the stained ceiling, lost in thought. The conversation with Zoe still echoed in my head, but another memory began to take up space one that never truly left me.

I closed my eyes and saw my mother.

In the last years of her life, the disease consumed her quickly. At first it was just an occasional cough, something the doctors didn’t seem to take very seriously. Then came the bouts of shortness of breath, the endless nights of dry, painful coughing. The diagnosis came too late: pulmonary fibrosis. They said there wasn’t much that could be done. Air started to fail her more than ever, and soon she couldn’t walk without losing her breath.

I was only twelve when I watched her waste away. Her hands, once strong, became fragile and thin. Her gaze, which had once shone with life and affection, turned dull and resigned. In the end, she could barely speak without choking on her own breathing. The image of the last night we spent together was a constant weight on my chest.

And then she was gone.

With her death, I had no one left. My father had already died years before, and I was sent to live with his sister an aunt I barely knew in Oklahoma.

My aunt wasn’t mean. She tried to be kind, but I felt I would never truly be part of that family. My cousins looked at me as if I were a burden. At dinners, I felt like a stranger among them. At Christmas, the gifts I received were clearly given out of obligation.

I knew I couldn’t complain. My aunt gave me a roof, food, and tried to include me in their lives. But it wasn’t the same as having a mother.

That’s why, as soon as I turned eighteen, I gathered everything I had and left. I moved here to Georgia. The apartment I found was small, old, and falling apart, but it was mine. For the first time, I felt I had a space that was truly mine.

But freedom came with a price.

The tight rent, the accumulating bills, the miserable salary from the diner…

I sighed, running my hands over my face.

Being a sugar baby… could that really be a way out?

If my mother were alive, she would never approve of something like this.

But she’s not here anymore, unfortunately.

And I’m tired of fighting just to survive.

...

The smell of fresh coffee filled my small apartment as I sat at the table with the newspaper open. The sky outside was still a little gray, and the morning silence made me feel even more alone.

I nibbled on a piece of toast while circling ads in the classifieds. I needed to find some extra work before my shift at the diner, something that would bring in money quickly.

“House cleaner needed, paid at the end of the day.”

“Temporary work: handing out flyers downtown.”

“Babysitter for a few hours in the morning.”

Nothing seemed to pay enough. I sighed and folded the newspaper, rubbing my eyes. Time was against me.

When I left the house to go to the market, I almost ran into Mr. Vasquez, my landlord. The man, pot-bellied and always wearing a sour expression, crossed his arms when he saw me.

“Babi, we need to talk.”

I swallowed hard.

“I know, Mr. Vasquez. The rent…”

“It’s already more than a month late!”

He cut me off, irritated.

“I’m a patient man, but patience doesn’t pay the bills. You need to settle this soon.”

I took a deep breath.

“Can you give me until the end of the weekend? I’ll get it.”

He studied me for a moment, muttering something under his breath.

“Fine. But if you don’t pay me by Sunday, you’re out.”

He left, leaving me standing at the entrance of the building, feeling the weight of despair grow heavier in my chest.

...

The shift at the diner was hell.

I tried to keep my composure, but the threat of eviction hung over me like a dark cloud. I forgot an order, dropped a tray, and got a scolding from the manager.

Zoe noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

She asked while filling a glass with soda.

“Mr. Vasquez.”

I said quietly, leaning against the counter.

“He said if I don’t pay the rent by Sunday, I’m out.”

“D*mn…”

She made a face.

“Did you find any extra work?”

I just shook my head, discouraged.

“Maybe I could lend you something…”

“No. I can’t accept that.”

Zoe sighed, but didn’t push it.

I spent the rest of the shift in silence, feeling more and more suffocated.

...

The days passed, and nothing improved.

I tried everything. I looked for temporary jobs, answered ads, went door to door. But no one wanted to hire someone for just a few hours in the morning.

On Friday night, I got home exhausted, threw my bag on the sofa, and stared at the ceiling.

I was out of time.

I picked up my phone and opened the site Zoe had given me. The name glowed on the screen like a temptation: Elite Sugar Match.

I took a deep breath and started filling out the registration. Name, age, interests. I chose a photo where I looked natural but attractive.

When I clicked “Create profile,” a shiver ran down my spine.

I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing.

But I also didn’t see another way out.