"Julian definitely has a background in dance."
It explained his fluid posture and that effortless grace he carried himself with.
Cami completely agreed.
But wasn't it a massive waste of talent for someone like that to just be a massage therapist?
Cami couldn't wrap her head around it.
Claire, however, knew it wasn't that simple.
"I bet that three hundred and eighty-eight dollars was just an introductory rate.
There's no way the premier therapist usually charges that little."
"Or maybe this place runs on a heavy tipping culture."
"The women who regularly book him are probably dropping thousands in tips alone."
"He isn't relying on an hourly wage, that's for sure."
Otherwise, with a face and presence like that, he could be doing literally anything else. Why settle for kneading backs?
It just didn't add up.
"You're so right. Let me ask around!" Cami immediately started firing off more texts.
Luckily, a few of her night-owl friends were still awake.
It didn't take long for the gossip to roll in.
Just as Claire suspected, these therapists didn't survive on basic salaries. The wealthy heiresses who frequented the spa routinely dropped tips in the thousands, sometimes tens of thousands.
"Rumor has it someone once offered Julian a hundred grand just to carry her shopping bags for an afternoon."
"But he turned it down."
Julian had a strict rule: he never left the premises with a client.
Cami eagerly relayed all this to Claire.
Claire felt a quiet satisfaction at being right.
A man like Julian relied on his exceptional skills, sure, but his face was his true moneymaker.
If he booked solid for a month, he'd probably out-earn most B-list celebrities.
But he didn't exactly look like a guy desperate for cash.
Especially considering the watch he had been wearing.
When he prepared for Claire's massage, he had casually slipped it off and tossed it aside like it was nothing.
Claire had clocked the brand-it was an eight-hundred-and-eighty-thousand-dollar timepiece.
Maybe Julian just had an obsession with the number eighty-eight; otherwise, why drop exactly that amount on a watch?
He could have bought it himself, or perhaps some affluent heiress had gifted it to him.
Wherever it came from, he wore it with the nonchalance of a man who didn't care about the price tag.
Claire had a packed schedule. When she finally got home late that night,
she found a message from Date asking if she had made it back safely.
Dane wasn't being possessive; he just genuinely cared about her well-being.
Claire was usually responsible, but Cami had a wild track record.
Dane never entirely trusted his fiancée running around the city with her.
He had heard from Tilda that her little cousin had been a troublemaker since childhood.
If Dane knew Cami had dragged
Claire to get rubbed down by the et
city's hottest
therapist he
definitely be sitting at home
so calmly right now.
.net
Luckily, Claire knew how to keep a secret, not breathing a single word about the spa
trip.
The following day, she arrived at the location Harlan Harding had provided.
Ever since his accident, Harlan's grandson had moved out on his own.
He claimed he didn't want his family stressing over his half-dead state.
Given his intense pride, he couldn't stomach the pity and heartbreak in their eyes.
The area Ewan had chosen was incredibly peaceful, situated deep in the suburbs.
He lived alone in a sprawling villa,
relying on a a private chef who visited
regularly and a housey Mites!
came
by once a week. .net
His daily routine was heavily dependent on smart home technology.
If it could be controlled by a remote, he had it automated.
"Hello? Is Ewan Harding home?"
Claire had followed the GPS straight to the front gates and pressed the intercom.
The intercom featured a two-way camera, meaning Ewan would immediately see exactly who was waiting outside.
Inside, Ewan heard the chime. When he checked the monitor and saw a woman standing there, he immediately scowled.
*Not this again!*