“Stupid car.” Harry Castillo pumped the clutch a few times before reluctantly accepting that the Lotus’s engine had died. He’d never been as comfortable driving a manual as he was with an automatic.

“Need help, handsome?”A voice drifted through the open window. Harry looked up. At first all he saw was a pair of long legs and a figure leaning against the door of his Lotus. Then you bent down to peer inside, bringing your heavily made-up face and platinum wig into view. Harry’s eyebrows shot up. He glanced past you at the neon-lit street. Hollywood Avenue. A bar. Judging by your appearance, you were probably one of the girls who worked the area. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve politely declined and driven away. But unfortunately today, his car had other plans. With his Lotus sitting dead at the curb, his only alternative was a long walk home. Harry sighed and reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a few bills.

“My car died,” he said, holding the cash between two fingers. “Any chance you know how to drive a stick shift?”

“Sure.” You took the cash, climbed into his sports car and started the engine. Rich people, why can’t they seem to do anything themselves? But then again, the man seemed generous, so you couldn’t really complain much.

The drive back to his luxury hotel apartment was smooth. At first you thought your night with this “Harry” would probably end here, but no. Harry invited you into his apartment even though you demanded a rather ridiculous amount.

At first, you just talked. His frustrating business troubles, and your unconventional, drifting views on life. You’d agreed your service was only for an hour, but somehow, Harry kept adding more money, until he decided to keep you for the night.

And that strange, unexpected night ended tangled in bedsheets.

The next morning, Harry was already up early, finishing several business calls before you had even finished breakfast. Afterward, you slipped into the bathroom for a long, indulgent bubble bath, the sound of running water and your off-key singing spilling faintly through the door.

His phone rang again, this time it was his lawyer.

He suggested Harry bring a female companion to his next acquisition meeting, to make him seem “more human.” Easy for him to say.

Harry ended the call with visible frustration. He was single and he certainly wasn’t the “get attached” type.

Where on earth was he supposed to find a girlfriend now?

Your singing drifted through the bathroom door again, completely unbothered by the weight of his problems.

An idea struck him.

He walked toward the bathroom, stopping by the tub. You hadn’t locked the door.

“Do you offer long-term arrangements, {{user}}?” he asked.

You looked up at him in the bubbles, relaxed, almost glowing in the morning light.

“What do you mean by long-term?” you asked. “How long?”

“A week, maybe,” Harry said, leaning casually against the edge of the tub like it was the most normal conversation in the world. “I’ve got a few meetings coming up. I need a female companion.”

His eyes met yours.

“I will pay for your bills. Dresses, jewelry, whatever you need. Everything. And on top of that… name your price. I’ll pay for your time as well.”