I Can't Help Myself

Chapter 4 I Won't Tell Anyone About Your Side Gig

An hour later, Clara Green arrived at Lancaster Group's imposing headquarters, following the address the man had given her.

This looked nothing like a gigolo's workplace.

Was he working a corporate job while moonlighting as an escort? Clara wondered.

The elevator carried her to the specified floor. Through the conference room's glass walls, her eyes locked onto a devastatingly handsome man. Dressed in a razor-sharp suit, he sat commandingly at the head table, jaw taut as he absorbed the presentation.

Last night's dim lighting had obscured his features, but that fragmented recollection matched the man before her - James Lancaster, the escort.

As she approached the glass, his gaze snapped up. Disgust twisted his features before he muttered to the presenter and strode out with powerful, ground-eating steps.

"Where's my phone?" James growled, his voice like winter.

Irritation prickled at Clara's skin, but she swallowed her retort. This wasn't his fault - Isabella had orchestrated everything. With a quiet exhale, she dug through her bag and slapped the wad of cash he'd left onto his palm.

"Must pay well, selling yourself like that. Keep your money."

James's eyebrow arched. "Selling myself?"

Clara glanced around before leaning in. "Just tell my fiancé the truth - that Isabella hired you. Do that, and your shameful moonlighting stays our secret."

Bewilderment contorted his face. "I'm in a board meeting," he snapped. "Give me my phone. Now."

Clara's jaw tightened. She'd braced for this stubbornness. "It's at home," she said coolly. "Want it back? Clear my name by seven tonight at Phoenix Heights."

Cutting off his protest, she jammed the bills into his hand and walked away without looking back.

James glared at the thick stack of bills, then at Clara's retreating figure. What on earth was that woman babbling about?

After the meeting, James called his assistant in. "Find out who drugged me last night," he snapped. "And get a full background check on that woman."

The assistant bowed his head. In under half an hour, he burst back into the office looking like he'd seen a ghost. "Sir, I—there was a terrible mistake—I gave you the wrong room number! It was supposed to be 1129, but you went to 1126!"

"You did WHAT?!"

Christ, so he'd really forced himself on an innocent girl?!

James' fingers itched to shove the i***t's head into the aquarium to knock some sense into him.

The assistant stammered, "But sir—this mistake actually protected you! We haven't identified who drugged you yet, but they'd stationed an escort in 1129. Had you entered, paparazzi would've swarmed the room. The media storm would've erupted by morning—it would've destroyed your reputation and tanked company stocks!"

James' expression darkened. "So I should thank you, is that it?"

The assistant turned gray, his head shaking like a bobblehead as he fled like a rat.

"One month to find the culprit," James growled. "Fail, and clean out your desk."

Alone, flashes of memory surfaced—the girl's broken pleas, how he'd roughly claimed her all night. And she'd been a virgin...

A sick feeling twisted in his gut as he rubbed his temples.

*

Every minute dragged for Clara until her shift finally ended.

At seven sharp, she arrived at her apartment complex to find James lounging against the glossy hood of his quarter-million-dollar Maybach, dressed in a designer blazer that hugged his frame perfectly. He drew stares from everyone on the street—not just for the car or clothes, but his movie-star looks and commanding presence.

Taking a deep breath, she approached. "You remember our deal about explaining things to my boyfriend?"

James gave a terse, reluctant grunt.

Clara let out a relieved sigh—now let's see what excuses Isabella can come up with.

"My boyfriend should be home by now. Come with me."

With thunderclouds darkening his face, James followed beside her.

Giving his expensive suit a sideways glance, Clara couldn't contain her curiosity. "Does your... profession pay well?"

Mistaking her meaning, James shrugged. "Decent."

"How long until someone like you could afford that car?"

"Could buy one in minutes."

Clara's eyes widened in astonishment. A Maybach, just like that?! So male escorts really made that much?

She stole another glance. Honestly, he was devastatingly handsome—even more so than Lance, her former crush.

Eyes sparkling with curiosity, she ventured, "With your looks... would you be their top-rated escort?"

James froze mid-step, his voice sharpening. "Top-rated?!"

Flushing red, Clara nervously tucked her hair behind her ear. "Sorry! I don't know the terms, but I'm not judging."

Teasing amusement flickered across James' face as he closed the distance between them, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Then tell me... were you satisfied with my services last night?"