Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

I woke up slowly, stretching like a lazy cat after a night absurdly well spent.

The soft sheets caressed my skin, and my whole body ached deliciously. The good kind of ache. The kind that only comes after a night worth every second.

I let out a satisfied sigh before opening my eyes.

Then I rolled to the side, ready to curl back into the warm, muscular body that should have been there.

But what did I find?

Nothing.

The other side of the bed was empty. No sign of Christian. No steady breathing. No hand pulling me in for a morning round two.

Oh, wonderful. The gigolo ditched me.

I closed my eyes for a moment and drew in a deep breath.

Not even breakfast? Not even a sweet goodbye? Not even a note saying 'Had a great time, let's do it again'?

Cheap little seducer.

Well… not cheap. Very expensive.

I knew this would happen.

So why was that annoying sting of disappointment growing in my chest?

Maybe… maybe I could see him again. If I saved up a little, maybe I could afford another night…

No, no, no!

I shook my head, swatting the thought away like it was some irritating mosquito.

"You're losing it, Zoey. He's just a gigolo… He did with you what he does with all the others."

Was I seriously considering spending what little money I had on a gigolo?

God help me.

But still…

A 'you were amazing, baby, sleep well' would've been nice, right?

I got up, muttering under my breath, and wrapped the sheet around me before heading to the suite's living room. And that's when I saw it—

A breakfast spread fit for royalty.

I froze, blinking.

Golden croissants. Exotic fruit. Coffee served in porcelain so fine it was probably worth more than my rent.

I frowned.

"Uh… weird. Did I accidentally pay for some premium combo without noticing?"

Before I could question it further, my stomach made the choice for me. If the food was here, it was mine.

I sat down and started eating like there was no tomorrow.

After eating what felt like the GDP of a small country, I headed to the bathroom. At least Christian had left me with a five-star shower to enjoy.

And what a shower! The stall had more buttons than a spaceship, and I spent the first five minutes just testing water jets like a kid discovering new toys.

After the bath, my brain finally landed back on planet Earth. I needed to work.

My phone? Dead. My dignity? Almost dead. My commitment to my boss? Unfortunately, very much alive.

It didn't make sense to go home and then to the shop, so I stopped at a little store and bought some basic jeans and a comfy blouse. No way was I showing up to work in last night's party dress, thank you very much.

An hour later, I walked into the boutique, tired but alive.

At least, that was what I thought, until I saw who was waiting for me.

My eyes went wide. My heart jolted like I'd just been electrocuted. My bag slipped off my shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud.

"Holy shit!" I blurted, a hand flying to cover my mouth.

Christian. Smiling. Polished. And absolutely shameless, standing there like he had every right to invade my real life.

"What are you doing here?" The words came out in a high, almost unrecognizable pitch.

He flashed a lazy grin.

"Missed you, babe."

"Don't call me that." My eyes darted frantically around the store, checking if anyone heard.

"You didn't seem to mind last night."

Son of a bitch.

I was in no mood for his little games. Not after he left me in bed like some cheap delivery order.

That's when my boss appeared, excited.

"Zoey! I'm so glad you're here! We have a very important client! He asked for you personally."

My eyebrow twitched.

"What?"

She just beamed, completely blind to the arrogant glow radiating off Christian.

"Mr. Kensington wants to buy a wedding dress, and he insists you're the one to help him."

I swallowed hard.

I looked at Christian. Then at my boss. Then back at Christian.

And that was when it clicked.

He was screwing with me.

He had to be.

"Oh, sure. Now you've got some weird fetish for wedding dresses?"

Christian smiled, clearly amused.

"Maybe."

I turned to my boss.

"Are you sure he… actually wants to buy a dress?"

"Absolutely! He's already looked at several, but he says he wants your opinion."

I swung back to him.

"What are you up to?"

He just tilted his head.

"Come on, Zoey. You sell wedding dresses. I need one. Where's the weird part in that?"

'Everything, Christian! The weird part is everything!'

But my boss was right there, looking like she was ready to fire me if I refused.

So, I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

I spent the next twenty minutes showing Christian different options. He rejected every single one. He was there to torture me. To watch me squirm. To amuse himself while I tried to stay professional and not shove a hanger through his face in front of my boss.

"And this one?" My voice came out sweet and professional, but in my head, I was stabbing him with the hanger.

"You look gorgeous when you're mad."

My brain short-circuited.

"Excuse me?!"

He shrugged, picking up another dress and holding it in front of me, like he was imagining me wearing it—or worse, taking it off.

"I'm trying to decide here…" he said loudly, clearly for my boss's benefit, then lowered his voice to a whisper laced with wickedness. "Whether you look prettier when you're mad… or when you're coming."

My entire body froze.

"Christian!" I hissed, my face burning hot.

He just gave me a devilish smile.

"Would be great to test it again. But in the meantime…" His eyes roamed over me slowly as he held the dress against me, tilting his head with that infuriatingly meticulous look of evaluation. "This one's good, but something bolder suits you more, don't you think?"

"Christian, do you actually want a dress, or did you just come here to ruin my life?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

He tilted his head, thoughtful.

"Both."

Blood rushed to my head so fast everything turned red for a second.

"Now show me your favorite."

My patience jumped right off the balcony.

"My what?"

"Your favorite dress."

I blinked.

"You want to know my favorite dress?"

I grabbed an iconic Maison Deveraux design—one of the most exclusive, luxurious gowns in the shop—and ran my fingers down the flawless fabric, the silk gliding smooth against my skin. It was a dress made for royalty, the kind of piece any woman would dream of wearing as she walked down the aisle, glowing with glamour and sophistication.

And of course, it was ridiculously expensive.

I drew in a breath, lifted the gown, and looked at Christian, bracing myself for another one of his provocations.

He looked at me. Then at the dress.

And then he said the words that made my heart stop.

"I'll take this one."

I blinked, trying to process.

"Sorry… what?"

"I'll take this dress."

My stomach twisted with suspicion.

"For what?"

He arched a brow, as if my question was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard.

"For my fiancée." He let the pause stretch, then added with a playful smile, "Or do you think people buy wedding dresses to go for a stroll in the park?"

My brain melted.

"You're engaged?!"

Oh, shit. I'd slept with a taken man? A knot formed in my throat as guilt clawed through me.