All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 211 - Chapter 220

Nathaniel's POV By Tuesday morning, I couldn't pretend I wasn't curious anymore. I'd spent half the night replaying yesterday's scene in my head: the way Annie flipped her phone face-down with all the subtlety of a brick, the guilty expression like a kid caught stealing dessert, and especially that desperate, pathetic "strategies of strategy" line Gwen had thrown out like a human shield. I tried focusing on the financial reports spread across my desk, but every five minutes my eyes drifted toward the hallway, searching for her. At nine fifteen, she walked past my door with a coffee in hand, smiling at something on her phone. Something tightened in my chest. Not that it was any of my business. We were friends now. Friends respected each other's privacy and didn't snoop around like insecure teenagers. But I still couldn't shake it. By ten, I gave up pretending to be productive. I stepped out of my office under the guise of getting coffee. Pure coincidence, of course, that Gwen

Saturday mornings in London had a kind of magic. The frantic pace of the week softened into something calmer. People wandered the streets without rushing, couples sipped coffee at sidewalk tables despite the cold, and the whole city felt like it had nowhere urgent to be. I decided it was the perfect day to finally visit the famous Portobello Road Market in Notting Hill. Gwen had insisted I needed to go, especially to the antiques section. According to her, it was "a hidden treasure where you can find anything from rare records to vintage jewelry." I took the tube to Notting Hill Gate and walked through the residential streets until I reached Portobello Road Market. The market was in full swing, with hundreds of stalls stretching down the street. They sold everything from antiques and used books to vintage clothing and handmade crafts. The smell of street food mixed with the familiar scent of old books and incense. It was exactly what I imagined a London market would be. Chaotic,

I'd spent the whole morning rehearsing what I was going to say to Nate. In theory, it was a simple conversation. Thank him for the gifts. Keep the record. Return the necklace. Simple, straightforward, no drama. So why were my hands shaking when I picked up that little navy velvet box? It was almost two in the afternoon by the time I finally worked up enough courage to walk to his office. The door was slightly open, and I could see him focused on a stack of documents, a strand of hair falling across his forehead in a way that reminded me of Saturday at the market. I tapped lightly on the door. "Come in," he said without looking up. "Nate?" I called, hesitant. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He lifted his gaze and smiled when he saw me, that genuine smile that always made something flip in my stomach. "Of course, Annie. Have a seat." I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. "I came to thank you for the gifts," I said, staying on my feet and holding the little box

"Next," I muttered, swiping to reject yet another profile. "Michael, thirty-four, lawyer. First photo, fine, suit, professional smile. Second photo, he's holding a dead fish the size of a toddler. Why do men think fishing is attractive?" "Maybe because it shows hunting and provider skills?" Gwen offered, not looking up from her work, though she was very obviously listening. "Provider of what? Salmonella?" I rolled my eyes and swiped again. "Oh, this one looks normal... wait. 'Looking for a woman who can cook, clean, keep the house tidy, and isn't too feminist.' Dear God, are we in 2025 or 1925?" It was three in the afternoon on Thursday, and I'd been trying for two and a half hours to find one halfway decent plus-one for tomorrow's party. What should've been simple had turned into an archaeological dig through London's worst male specimens. "Thomas, twenty-nine, 'financial consultant,'" I continued, narrating for Gwen, who had given up pretending to work and was now watching th

I walked back to the table with steady steps, my irritation boiling. How dare Nate judge me? As if his thing with Alexandra was some shining example of romantic perfection. When I reached the table, Charles was in the middle of some obviously fabricated story about his academic "adventures" for Margaret, who looked politely bored. "Sorry for the delay," I said as I sat down again. "Charles was telling us about the time he discovered a rare manuscript in a library in Oxford," Gwen said, her eyes sparkling with barely hidden amusement. "Yes," Charles confirmed enthusiastically. "A manuscript from the... uh... sixteenth century. Very rare. About... knights." Sixteenth century? Knights? Even I knew medieval knights came from much earlier. "How interesting," I managed, taking a long sip of my drink. Gwen shot me a look that clearly said, "what crap did you bring here?" and I couldn't blame her. Charles kept talking, adding more details to his imaginary academic career, and s