Wayne Baker nodded. At this point, it was clear that Veronica Smith had another agenda, though exactly what it was remained unknown—he only knew it wasn’t directed at him.

He had nothing, no value to exploit.

“During my employment, I’ll be living at the detective agency. Do you have any vacant rooms here? I need two, and I’ll pay extra rent for them. Is that okay?”

“There are, you can move in anytime.”

Wayne Baker couldn’t help but sigh. As the old saying goes: meet a good person, start a family; meet a benefactor, start a career; meet a rich woman, start both. He never believed it before, but now he understood—he’d just never met a rich woman before.

With money, everything goes smoothly. Wayne Baker had already forgotten about Veronica Smith’s ulterior motives; all he knew was that money equaled attractiveness, and attractiveness equaled justice. A girl who was both rich and beautiful possessed double justice. Veronica Smith definitely wasn’t a spy or assassin sent by an enemy nation—she’d come all this way just to fulfill her childhood dream of being a detective.

That was nice. Unlike Wayne Baker, who also had many dreams as a child, but only one as an adult.

To be able to afford a house.

“The first floor is the office area. The second floor has my bedroom, the archives, the studio, the storage, and the bathroom. If you don’t mind, there are partitions on the third floor. No one usually goes up there. With a bit of tidying up tomorrow, you can move in.”

“I want to move in tonight.”

Veronica Smith glanced toward the stairs, took a wad of currency from her wallet, and handed it to Wayne Baker one bill at a time. “Your bedroom is mine too. I want to rent the entire second floor. I’ll give you one hour to move your things downstairs.”

“Half an hour is enough.”

“And my luggage is outside.”

“I’ll go get it now.”

A landlord’s daughter—if you don’t take advantage, it’s your loss. The money Veronica Smith gave was enough for Wayne Baker to renovate the detective agency from top to bottom. He couldn’t find, nor did he have, any reason to refuse.

But when he reached the agency’s front door, he was stunned by the scene before him.

The double doors stood wide open, shivering in the darkness.

A burly man, two meters tall, blocked the entrance, guarding three large black suitcases. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with rugged, deep-set features and arms covered in thick hair.

In Londan, where winter had yet to leave, the man wore only white shorts and a sleeveless vest. Even from a distance, Wayne Baker could feel the heat radiating from his powerful physique.

A man of action who knew how to reason.

When he saw Wayne Baker, the burly man smiled slightly and extended a massive hand. “William Johnson, let’s be friends.”

“Hello, I’m Wayne Baker.”

Despite his fierce appearance, the man was unexpectedly polite. Wayne Baker courteously offered his hand, and as their hands met, he felt the heat in William Johnson’s palm, sending a chill straight up his spine.

The chill shot from the soles of his feet to his tailbone, but didn’t go any further, stopping there.

No wonder something felt off. Only now did Wayne Baker notice that William Johnson’s blond hair was tied into twin ponytails, and his sleeveless vest was a blue-and-white striped sailor shirt.

Oh no, he wouldn’t let go—and he kept smiling!

William Johnson’s smile was especially unnerving. He grabbed Wayne Baker, about to give his new friend a warm hug. Wayne Baker struggled desperately, but couldn’t match the man’s terrifying strength. In his vision, the blue-and-white stripes drew closer and closer, with many curly golden threads on them.

Chest hair—the symbol of William Johnson’s masculine hormones.

“Meow～～～”

A cat’s meow interrupted William Johnson and saved the imperiled Wayne Baker. It was a black cat with golden eyes, paws tucked under its body atop a black suitcase. Its sleek, shiny fur blended into the night, and with its eyes closed, it was practically invisible.

At the sound of the meow, William Johnson immediately let go of Wayne Baker and lifted the black cat with both hands. “Monica Harris, up you go!”

Wayne Baker: (一`′一;)

That was close—he almost got crushed by those pecs.

William Johnson held the black cat high. The two-meter-tall man bounced up and down, a sight so striking it instantly shattered Wayne Baker’s beautiful fantasy of blond twin ponytails.

A noble lady, a muscleman, and a black cat—he had to admit, he couldn’t make sense of this combination.

Well, maybe he could. A noble lady fleeing an arranged marriage with her pet black cat, accompanied by a muscleman butler and bodyguard—suddenly, it all made sense.

“William Johnson, what are you doing? Put Monica Harris down right now.”

Veronica Smith came out of the office and, seeing the scene, immediately started tussling with William Johnson. Under Wayne Baker’s speechless gaze, the muscleman was no match and was easily defeated by Veronica Smith, who took the black cat from him without effort.

Veronica Smith cradled the black cat in her arms and glared fiercely at William Johnson. “Your room is on the second floor. Hurry up and move the luggage upstairs with Wayne Baker. From now on, you’ll stay in his room.”

Isn’t that a bit much?!

Wayne Baker shuddered and silently vowed to move every single bedsheet, quilt, and piece of clothing out of the bedroom—he wouldn’t leave behind a single scrap of fabric with his scent.

To Wayne Baker’s surprise, William Johnson also looked unhappy. “Isn’t that a bit much? I don’t want to…”

“Shut up. That’s final.”

“What about Monica Harris?”

“Monica Harris will stay with me on the third floor.”

Veronica Smith said matter-of-factly, “A cat and a lady can share a room. Smelly men cannot.”

“Tsk, up to no good.”

Chapter 3: A beautiful appearance doesn’t guarantee a beautiful soul, but at least she’s beautiful.