All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 271 - Chapter 280

Annie: Do you think we always know how to recognize the right moment… or do we only realize it when it's already too late? Wanderer: Maybe the right moment doesn't exist. Only the right person. And what we do, or fail to do when they show up. Wanderer: Which brings me to my eighth question: would you forgive someone who messed up… while trying to do the right thing? Annie: I think sometimes we do the right thing… but at the wrong time. And the universe isn't always generous with second chances. So… yes. I would forgive them. But I don't know if I could ever go back to exactly the same place. Because the right moment… might be the one thing you can't recreate. Annie: And speaking of the right moment… would you hate me if I confessed that I think… this isn't ours? Wanderer: Is that your ninth question? Annie: I think I want to leave the tenth one open. Maybe… for the right time. Wanderer: I could never hate you, Annie. Some connections exist just to remind us who we are… ev

The soft lighting in the living room created a cozy atmosphere that contrasted perfectly with London's restless energy outside. I'd put on a quiet playlist of classic rock while making tea for the two of us, still trying to prolong the peaceful feeling our day in the countryside had brought me. "That mug is… interesting," Nate laughed, holding up the cup I'd handed him. I glanced at the design and couldn't help but laugh too. It was one of my favorites. It was an illustration of a lazy cat with the phrase "Don't talk to me before my third coffee" printed in giant letters. "A gift from Zoey," I explained, settling onto the sofa beside him and tucking my legs under me. "She said it matched me perfectly." "Your sister knows you well," he said, taking a sip of the earl grey tea I'd made. "Three cups of coffee, really?" "On bad days? Could be four," I admitted with a laugh. "Sometimes five, if it's Monday and raining." "And here I was thinking my morning caffeine dependency was

Nathaniel's POV The afternoon had been unusually productive when I heard a knock on my office door. Through the glass wall, I saw Gwen walking in with a folder in hand and that perfectly professional posture she used whenever she was trying to pretend she wasn't there for personal reasons. "Come in," I said, saving the document I'd been reviewing and leaning back in my chair. "I brought the performance reports you asked for," she said, closing the door behind her as she stepped closer. "The numbers from last quarter are better than expected." I took the folder she handed me and skimmed through it, but I could already tell there was something else behind the visit. I'd known Gwen long enough to recognize when she was just doing protocol—and when she had something real on her mind. "Excellent work," I said, setting the papers aside. "The team keeps outdoing themselves." "Yeah, they do," she agreed, but she didn't make any move to leave. Instead, she stood beside my desk, clea

"My God, it's freezing," I muttered, yanking my scarf up so high it nearly covered my whole nose as the English countryside blurred past the car window. The sky was completely overcast, that heavy gray that promised snow any minute, and the fields stretched endlessly on both sides of the road, dotted with tiny stone cottages that looked straight out of a fairy tale. "Are you warm enough?" Nate asked, giving me a quick glance before focusing on the road again. "I can turn the heat up." "No, it's fine," I said, shifting in the passenger seat. "I'm just not used to this December cold yet. Back home, December is summer—beach weather, asphalt-melting heat." "And do you miss it?" "Sometimes," I admitted, watching a small medieval church appear in the distance. "But there's something about this scenery that's… magical. Feels like I'm in one of those British romance movies. All we need now is for it to start snowing when we get to Bath." Nate laughed—a warm, low sound that made my st

We walked downstairs to dinner hand in hand, and when we stepped into the dining room, I was honestly stunned by the atmosphere Elizabeth had created. The table was set with this effortless, elegant simplicity—no showy decorations, just that quiet kind of sophistication that seemed to come naturally to a family like theirs. White porcelain plates, silverware that clearly had history, and low candles casting a soft, golden glow. "It's nothing too elaborate," Elizabeth said as she came in from the kitchen carrying a steaming dish. "The official dinner will be tomorrow night. Tonight is just for us to get to know each other a little better." The aroma rising from the dish was comforting and completely unfamiliar to me—a mix of meat, spices, and something that smelled like buttery pastry. "Shepherd's pie," Richard announced proudly as he helped Elizabeth serve. "House specialty." I tasted the first bite and couldn't hide my genuine surprise. It was delicious. The layers of seasoned