Chapter 1

Jeannie Gray kicks me to the ground. I get on my feet, dust off the shoeprint she left on my pants, and smile as I straighten her shoe, which crookedly dangles from her foot.

At that moment, my phone buzzes with a message informing me that Jeannie's older brother has wired my five-million-dollar severance pay into my account.

I get on a flight and flee overnight, posting a link on Facebook Marketplace with the caption, "Hiring emotional support companion for S-tier psychotic female CEO from Elmsdale. Includes onboarding training. Pays 200,000 a month."

Not three minutes later, young men in college looking for a shortcut to success flood the comment section with biddings.

Two years later, I'm sprawled over a cot in a massage parlor. The masseuse, Rory Jacobs, has just begun kneading the knots in my lower back when someone kicks the lounge door open.

As the door rattles against its frame, Jeannie storms in and pulls me into a tight embrace. Her voice is hoarse and shaking, and I feel hot tears falling on my neck.

"Please come back. Gray Corporation is yours, and so am I!"

Chapter 1

The laptop flew out of Jeannie Gray's hand, grazing the head of finance's scalp before crash-landing at the floor-to-ceiling windows just across from me. Web-like cracks spread across the tempered glass.

The screen was still lit, and the net profit column in the third quarter's financial report was lined with jarring red.

I sat in the furthest corner of the conference room and watched as everyone stiffened in their seats.

The dozen-something high-level executives occupying both sides of the long conference table dared not even draw a breath.

The head of finance's necktie was askew. He'd raised his hand, which hung in midair, but dared not adjust his tie.

The head of marketing's pen had dropped on the table with a thud, its ink spilling red across the A4-sized paper. He dared not pick it up.

Even the air coming through the vent of the air-conditioning unit seemed to go quiet.

Jeannie stood at one end of the long conference table with both hands braced against the edge, her knuckles turning so white that the bones were on the brink of shattering. I could hear her labored breathing from where I sat. She sounded like an overworked generator.

"The acquisition's fallen through. Our new product launch is delayed. How could we have made such a loss in the third quarter?" Jeannie didn't raise her voice, but she sounded like she was grinding out each word. "Were your brains stuck in your asses?"

No one dared to speak up or offer a response. They knew that anyone who spoke up now would be hurled across the room next.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced down at the screen and realized Emma Sanderson, who sat across from me, had sent me a text.

It was a single word followed by multiple exclamation marks. "Help!!!"

She shot me a pointed look for good measure, then jerked her chin toward Jeannie.

I drew my hand back from where it rested on my knee, tugged on the cuff of my shirt, and rose from my seat. As I approached Jeannie, I ran the charges in my head.

A dangerous assignment fee of 150 thousand dollars for comforting Jeannie during a high-intensity emotional episode.

A physical contact fee of 100 thousand dollars as stipulated in the contract.

If I accidentally got hurt to the point of bleeding, I could claim work injury compensation of 500 thousand dollars.

All in all, I was guaranteed to earn at least 250 thousand dollars—750 thousand dollars if I were lucky. It was easy money.

I rounded the long table and quietly approached Jeannie from behind. She suddenly whirled around and glowered at me with bloodshot eyes, her voice so hoarse it might as well be sandpaper. "Gregory Larsen, don't you dare fucking leave!"

I fought the urge to chuckle. She didn't want me to leave, but she didn't stop me from taking another step toward her. She could try to sound tough, but her traitorous body was honest about what it wanted.

I said nothing, only reached out and snaked my arms around her waist from behind.

Her back stiffened, as if she'd turned to stone.

I counted the seconds as I waited. One, two, three… By the seventh, the murderous intent rolling off her skin gradually waned, and the fists clenched at her sides finally relaxed. Her heavy breathing slowed and steadied like a receding tide.

Angling her head to the side, Jeannie didn't look at me as she croaked, "Let go."

"Right away, Ms. Gray." I released her and took two steps back, standing firm as a professional smile slipped onto my face.

Jeannie adjusted the collar of her suit, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She opened a new folder before her, and when she spoke, her voice was so frosty that it was as if nothing had happened before this.

"Let's get back to the meeting and move on to the next item."

I stood right behind her and watched as everyone's shoulders simultaneously drooped with relief.

The head of finance wiped the sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, which came away wet.

The head of marketing gave me a big thumbs-up from under the table.

Emma, on the other hand, shot me a look that said, "I owe you big time."

Chapter 2

While everyone else in the conference room continued to present their PowerPoint slides and propose their solutions for the new quarter, I took out my phone to text Joseph Gray, Jeannie's brother.

"I comforted Ms. Gray in the conference room today.

"It's 150 thousand dollars for completing a dangerous assignment and 100 thousand dollars for physical contact. That's 250 thousand dollars in total. Wire it to the usual account. Thanks, Joseph."

The money was in my account not ten seconds later. I felt my phone buzz with the notification, then happily slid it back into my pocket.

The meeting continued for about two hours before it finally ended. The high-level executives scurried off like spooked rabbits.

I gathered my things and made to leave, but Jeannie didn't even look up from the documents she was reading at the end of the table as she ordered, "Come here and rub my feet."

"Right away, Ms. Gray!" I jogged over and crouched, giving her the foot rub she demanded.

As I massaged her calves, I thought to myself, "That's a thousand dollars for every second of this foot rub! Easy money!"

I was the emotional support companion Joseph had hired at a ludicrous salary.

Jeannie was the youngest female CEO in Elmsdale. She had a face that could make anyone do a double-take, but she ruled with an iron fist that not even the old foxes on the board possessed.

Unfortunately, she also suffered from severe post-traumatic stress disorder and had a paranoid attachment style. She couldn't care less about the people around her if she lashed out during an episode.

At the company's annual gala last year, Jeannie had hurled an entire bottle of champagne at the LED screen while over 300 employees watched in horror. I was the only one who could stop her.

The reason was simple—from the side, I looked a lot like Ian Lowry, Jeannie's first love.

Three years ago, Ian had been on his way to pick up Jeannie at the airport when a construction truck ran a red light and crashed into his car. He didn't make it.

As a result, I became the perfect replacement—one who came from an ordinary family, had neither wealth nor connections to speak of, and was getting paid to be a doormat. Everyone thought I loved Jeannie so much that I'd abandoned my pride and dignity in the process.

I showed up for work at the company at 6:30 am every day and made coffee for Jeannie before she arrived.

Like a fireman on standby, I'd keep my post at the conference room entrance every time she had an outburst during a meeting. Whenever she started smashing things during a meltdown, I'd crouch and pick up the broken glass, piece by piece.

At one point, even Jeannie believed I loved her so much that the emotion was carved into my bones. She was convinced that I'd never leave her.

Half a month passed, and Jeannie's best friend, Angela Ziegler, held a get-together at the most prestigious club in Elmsdale. Over a dozen heiresses had piled into the lounge, each with a champagne flute in hand.

Jeannie sat in the center of the couch, while I staked the seat in the corner behind her like an invisible ornament.

Angela sauntered over with a glass of wine in hand and appraised me from head to toe.

"Jeannie, your sidekick is getting easier on the eyes." A wicked smile curled her lips as she gestured at me with her wine glass. "Don't tell me you've actually fallen in love with him. How long has it been now?

"There are no male creatures around you except this one. At this point, we all think you're planning to marry him!"

Jeannie looked like she'd just heard the biggest joke of the century. She leaned into the couch and kicked my calf with the pointed tip of her stiletto. It wasn't a light kick, nor was it hard enough to hurt me. And yet, the condescension was implied.

"Marry him?" She looked down her nose at me, her mouth twisting into a cruel smirk. "Would you grow attached to a walking tranquilizer?"

The women in the room burst into laughter.

"You pop a tranquilizer or two when you're about to have a meltdown and relax afterward. Who'd give the pill another thought once your nerves have calmed down?" She kicked me again with the tip of her shoe. "This guy's just a therapy device, okay? A medical consumable."

I dusted the shoe print on my pant leg but didn't stand up. My smile brightened, and I reached out to straighten her shoe, which hung crookedly from her heel after she'd kicked me twice.

I moved delicately, handing the shoe like I would something fragile.

"Jeannie's right," I said evenly, as if giving a formal account of my work. "It's my privilege to be your emotional support human."

A hint of annoyance flashed in Jeannie's eyes as she watched my show of obedience. She downed the drink in her glass in one gulp, then stood up and left to use the restroom.

The laughter in the lounge gradually died down. Angela leaned forward and whispered, "Hey, you're not actually in love with her, are you?"

I smiled and made no reply.

Chapter 3

Angela had no idea that the only thing I loved was the money Joseph wired to my bank account.

The get-together ended some time after midnight.

After I walked Jeannie to her car, I stood in the parking lot by the club entrance and took out my phone. I sent Joseph a text.

"Hi, Joseph. I was insulted twice in front of everyone today and kicked on the calf twice.

"I was also called a 'medical consumable' and suffered emotional abuse. That'll be 300 thousand dollars. As usual, wire it to my account."

In under a minute, I saw the bank notification on my phone: "You've received a transfer of 300,000 dollars."

I leaned against one of the parking lot pillars, chuckling as I stared at the figure on my phone screen. So what if I was a walking tranquilizer? I was consumable for 300 thousand dollars each time. No job in the world paid better than this.

Alas, I knew this job was coming to an end. Joseph had texted me last week.

"Lately, she's been refusing her medication. She stays cooped up in her office with videos of Ian all afternoon. Be on your guard. Ian's death anniversary is coming up."

The sky drizzled on the day of Ian's death anniversary.

Jeannie didn't show up at work. I spent the better part of the morning waiting for her at the company, only to be greeted with radio silence on her end. I called her thrice, but she didn't pick up.

Emma texted me, informing me Jeannie had left for the cemetery early that morning. She'd gone alone and didn't bring a driver.

I grabbed an umbrella and hurried to the cemetery, running the charges in my head on the way. I'd be earning extra for comforting Jeannie during a high-intensity emotional episode at the cemetery, and on top of that, I'd get a nice tip for having to do it in the rain.

If she were to lash out in front of Ian's grave, I'd earn three times my salary.

Jeannie was already perched on the steps of Ian's grave when I arrived. At her feet lay three empty whisky bottles.

She didn't have an umbrella, and her hair clung to her face in wet strands. She was holding a half-finished bottle of liquor.

Ian was wearing a white shirt in his memorial photo, his smile dazzling and pleasant. I looked a lot like him from the side.

Upon hearing my footsteps, Jeannie turned to look at me with bloodshot eyes. She reached for me, her voice rough as sandpaper. "You've come, Ian."

My heart sank. Oh, no. She'd mistaken me for Ian.

I hurried over to help her up, but she pounced on me. She wrapped her arms so tightly around me, it was as if she wanted to mold all of me into her. Tears mixed with rainwater soaked through my shirt.

"I've missed you so much. Why did you leave me? I'm sorry. I promise I'll never fight with you again. Please come back."

I said nothing. I only rubbed her back gently, just as I did every time she acted up. I counted the seconds and waited for her to calm down.

By the 12th second, she suddenly stiffened. She shoved me away so forcefully that my back hit the gravestone. I gasped as my lower back hit the sharp corner of the gravestone.

The unopened bottle of whisky she'd brought tumbled to the ground and shattered. The glass fragments sliced my forearm, and blood immediately beaded from the cuts.

"You're not him." Jeannie stared, her unfocused gaze sharpening and flashing with disgust. "Do you think so highly of yourself, Gregory? Do you think you could hug me like Ian used to?"

I gripped the gravestone for support and rose to my feet. Drops of blood slid down my forearm and dripped into the muddy puddles on the cemetery ground.

I wasn't angry, really. I did the math in my head.

That was 300 thousand dollars for comforting Jeannie during her outburst at the cemetery, 200 thousand dollars for sustaining a work injury after she pushed me and I hit the gravestone, and 500 thousand dollars for getting cuts on my arm from broken glass.

I was getting paid a million dollars with little to no fuss.

I fixed Jeannie with a mild stare, still wearing a professional smile. "I'll send you back to the office, Ms. Gray."

She ignored me and stood up on her own, only to stagger down the cemetery slope without sparing me a backward glance.

I watched her leave in her car, and only then did I fish out my phone to send Joseph a text. "I comforted Jeannie at the cemetery today, Joseph. She pushed me, and my arm will require stitches. That'll be a million dollars. Also, she appears to be delusional."

Less than five minutes after I'd sent the text, a five-million-dollar wire came in.

Joseph's call followed shortly after. He sounded tired on the other end of the line. "I've paid you the balance, Gregory. Jeannie's condition should improve once Ian's death anniversary is over. Your services are no longer required."

Chapter 4

"Think of the extra money as your severance pay and start looking for a new job," Joseph said.

I hung up and stared at the figure on my phone screen, a chuckle escaping me. Five million dollars. On top of my savings from the last three years, I now had about nine million dollars to my name.

That was enough money for me to set up eight barbecue joints.

I went to the hospital and got three stitches on my arm. After that, I hailed a cab to take me back to the apartment I rented. During the ride home, I booked a flight out to Herstaad that night.

As of this moment, Jeannie and Ian had nothing to do with me anymore. I would be known as "Mr. Larsen", and no longer would I be expected to do anyone's bidding or endure their tantrums.

My phone buzzed thrice while I was packing up my stuff.

Jeannie was calling. I glanced at my phone and switched it off. I saw no point in answering her calls when I was no longer working for her.

I headed for the airport that night, lugging my 20-inch suitcase with nothing but my ID and bank card inside. I didn't even pack my blanket.

I had it all planned out. As soon as I landed in Herstaad, I'd swing by The Allegra for caviar pie, a Whistleton Lake specialty. Then, I'd find a shop where I could set up my first barbecue joint.

I'd been so overjoyed by the thought that I completely forgot about the work handbook I'd left behind in my apartment. Between its pages lay a photo of my friends and me from our holiday in Herstaad, with the address of the shop I'd potentially turn into my barbecue joint scrawled at the back.

It was 3:00 am when I arrived in Herstaad. I found a hotel near the airport and settled in for the night.

The next day, I headed straight for The Allegra to take down one of their caviar pies, then found a spot where I indulged in a shredded beef taco, savoring the flavors and grease as they stained my mouth.

I rented a condominium unit along Whistleton Lake with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the water. When the sun spilled through the glass, I nearly cried.

At last, I no longer had to be on standby 24/7. I wouldn't have to put up with Jeannie's moods or become a human shield whenever she decided to get violent and destroy stuff around her.

I spent half a month enjoying my newfound freedom, having as much fun and food as I wanted. I even set up a 20-thousand-dollar credit account at a massage parlor for foot rubs.

In the middle of my boredom, I suddenly recalled the skill set I'd developed in the last three years. There was no masterclass on how to handle a female CEO with a personality disorder, and I had three years' worth of experience in the area.

I found the little notebook filled with Standard Operating Procedures, snapped a photo, and posted it on Facebook Marketplace with the caption, "How to Handle a Psychotic Female CEO From Elmsdale—a masterclass by a former handler with three years of experience.

"Guaranteed learning. Includes a comprehensive handbook with a complete SOP. Free retakes. Only 998 dollars. Extra charge for one-on-one lessons."

I'd posted it for fun, but someone bid on the offer not three minutes later.

The bidder's profile picture showed a male college student in a basketball jersey with the handle "GigoloWannabe". He wired me 200 dollars via PayPal instantly as a deposit.

"Sir, I'm Tristan Hart from Elmsdale University! They all say I look like Ian Lowry, the female CEO's dead ex-boyfriend. Can you teach me your ways? I'd like a shortcut to retirement!"

I chuckled when I saw the selfie he sent. Indeed, Tristan looked a lot like Ian, even more so than I did. They even had the same eyes.

I sent him my location and told him to meet me in Herstaad. I agreed to cover his lodgings for three days and promised him a refund if I failed to teach him my ways.

Tristan took the express train to Herstaad the next day. He showed up with nothing but a backpack and a notebook, looking like he was taking a class for extra credit.

I kept him cloistered for three days and trained him with what I knew.

The first day, I taught him to notice the symptoms of Jeannie's manic episodes. She'd furrow her brows, start spinning a pen in her right hand, and her breathing would grow labored.

On the second day, I taught him how to comfort her during an episode. He had to hug her from behind, pat her thrice on the back—the first pat heavier than the following two—and stay silent the entire time.

On the third day, I taught him about the after-care services.

Jeannie's iced black coffee had to come with two ice cubes and two and a half teaspoons of syrup. It was his job to give her a piece of orange candy after she lashed out. And after she'd thrown a fit and smashed up objects in her wake, he had to pick up the glass fragments closest to her feet.

Tristan took enough notes to fill up an entire notebook. He was even more serious about this than I'd been about my SATs.

When he'd learned everything, he wired me 2,000 dollars for the rest of the course fees. He also gave me an extra 800 dollars and promised me a bonus once he got the job and earned his first paycheck.

I made him a copy of the Standard Operating Procedures and read every one of Jeannie's likes and preferences out loud to him. Toward the end, I nearly snorted.

Chapter 5

I wasn't selling lessons. I was looking for a new emotional support companion, a walking tranquilizer, for Jeannie.

On the day Tristan left for Elmsdale, I saw him off at the train station. He thumped his chest with a fist in a show of confidence and promised me solemnly, "Don't worry, Gregory! I'll tame Ms. Gray and give her all the comfort she needs! I'll treat you to a king crab buffet once I get paid!"

I waved him off, then turned and made my way to a barbecue restaurant. I ordered 50 lamb skewers and two bottles of chilled beer, indulging in a greasy, flavorful feast.

Tristan sent me daily updates after he was hired.

"She smashed three glasses today, Gregory! I gave her orange candy, just like you taught me to, but she threw the candy in my face!" He added a crying emoji to make a point.

"Gregory, I added three cubes of ice in her black coffee, and she told me to get lost! Did I do something wrong?"

"She asked me where you were today, Gregory. I told her you quit, and she all but smashed the computer."

I replied to him while digging into the crawfish boil, "Practice makes perfect. You'll get used to her scoldings after a while. If you can't take it anymore, talk to Joseph and have him give you a raise."

Half a year passed. I'd set up my own barbecue joint, and business was booming. The place was packed to the brim each night, and I was making more money than I ever did in Gray Corporation.

I got myself a car, made a down payment for a house, and even became friendly with Rory Jacobs, the masseuse at the massage parlor. She made sure to get the knots in my lower back every time.

As for Jeannie, I'd sometimes read about her in the financial news. She was either dealing with Gray Corporation's falling stock prices or scaring away some poor executive with her verbal abuse. I treated the news as entertainment.

I thought I'd never cross paths with Jeannie again in this lifetime.

After closing up the barbecue joint one night, a familiar ache in my lower back prompted me to make an appointment with Rory. I'd just changed out of my clothes and lay down on the massage cot when my phone buzzed.

It was a message from Joseph. I couldn't remember the last time he texted me.

I opened the message to find a location pinned at the exact massage parlor where I was. He followed with a text. "She's looked for you for half a year. I couldn't stop her. She's right downstairs."

My skin pebbled with goosebumps when I read the text.

I was about to get up, change, and make a run for it when I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. I also heard the attendants crying out in alarm. "Miss, you can't come in here! This is the VIP section!"

What came after was a familiar and hoarse voice. "Move."

There was a loud rattle, and a violent kick nearly made the lounge door fly off its hinges. It hit the wall behind it with a thunderous bang, letting in the rain-chilled breeze. I shivered at the sudden gust of cold air.

I perched on the cot, barefoot, and met the gaze of the person standing at the door.

It was Jeannie.

She hadn't brought an umbrella and was soaked to the bone. Dirt had splattered on her bespoke suit, and the four-inch heel on one of her shoes had snapped off. Rainwater dripped from her hair, which clung to her face.

Besides being wet, her usually impeccable hair was mussed, and she looked gaunt. There was even a small cut on her chin, as if she'd tripped and fallen on her way here. She looked nothing like the queen of hell from Elmsdale.

The bodyguards who came with her wanted to enter, but she stopped them outside the door. "All of you, get out."

Jeannie kicked the door closed and locked it. She stood at the entrance like a stone statue and regarded me with bloodshot eyes for all of three seconds before rushing forward. She pulled me into a tight embrace, crushing me against her.

I could feel the tremor running through her body, which was ice-cold to the touch.

Hot tears hit the bare skin of my neck, and her voice was as rough as sandpaper as she ground out between sobs, "I looked for you for half a year. I burned all my photos of Ian. I'm sorry. Please don't leave me."

She lifted her gaze to mine, her eyes as red as a rabbit's. Tears and rainwater streaked down her face. "Please come back. Gray Corporation is yours, and so am I!"