Best Service: Making Money Without Talking About Emotions

Lucan carried Olivia into the bathroom, her drunken curses muffled against his shoulder. Talk about a runaway bride complex. Though her sharp tongue hadn’t quieted, her arms—pale as fresh lotus roots—clung tightly to his neck, making the trip slightly easier. “Professor Olivia, rage ages you faster, you know,” Lucan muttered, adjusting the bathwater. He wasn’t annoyed. Easy money didn’t exist, not even for A-listers. Everyone paid their dues. Once the tub filled, he tugged at the sash of her emerald silk robe. It pooled on the tiles, revealing a body carved from marble. Lucan glanced down, unflinching. Professional detachment was key in his line of work. If she weren’t a certified lunatic, I’d almost respect her. “One more paycheck,” he grumbled, hoisting her into the tub, “and I’m retiring to a cabin where sanity still exists.” Olivia, all 5’8” of her, flopped into the water like a ragdoll. She sputtered, thrashing weakly. “Drowning a Nobel laureate? Not on my résumé.” Lucan hauled her up by the scruff, her skin flushed pink under the steam. “B-bathe me,” she slurred, glaring through foggy eyes. He rolled his own. “Should’ve thought of that before downing the entire bar.” Grabbing a loofah, he scrubbed her torso with zero ceremony—until her palm cracked across his cheek. Smack. He retaliated instantly. “Rule six: No face-slapping.” She blinked, dazed, then melted back into the water with a contented sigh. Post-bath, Lucan dumped her onto the king-sized bed and flipped open his Client Handbook: Olivia Carter (PhD, Chaos Incarnate) … 6. Mandatory 10-minute bedtime declarations of undying love. ... Groaning, he pulled up a “Romantic Scripts” app and began reciting, monotone: “You’re the stars to my midnight, the oxygen to my—” Ten agonizing minutes later, he fled the room. “SVIP privileges,” he muttered, “better include hazard pay.” Downstairs, Lucan collapsed on the couch just as his phone blared at 11:30 PM. “Evening, Amelia,” he answered, flipping to her file: Amelia (Insomniac, Quirky AF) Her sugar-sweet voice purred through the speaker: “Miss me?” He smirked, morphing into his signature “Velvet Baron” persona. “Impatient, little dove?” A breathless giggle. “Never. I’d wait forever.” Scanning her latest script—CEO Seduces Naive Intern—Lucan deadpanned, “Good girl. Now… what reward does my kitten deserve?” Amelia’s whisper dripped mischief: “Surprise me.” (This is my first attempt at writing a novel, and as a novice, I've really gone to great lengths to make it fit the context of Western countries. However, there are still some imperfections in the novel, so I would appreciate your understanding. This novel mainly focuses on a professional who provides emotional support to clients. Despite the male protagonist's best efforts to avoid getting emotionally involved with female clients, what he feared most happened. Eventually, a female client fell in love with him. From then on, a complex entanglement of love and hate unfolds between the male protagonist and the female client, as if the male protagonist can never escape the clutches of the female client. )