Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 14

On Tuesday morning, I stood in front of my house with a medium-sized suitcase at my side and a brand-new handbag slung over my shoulder, both courtesy of Christian. I'd chosen a simple look: designer jeans that fit like a dream, a navy silk blouse, and comfortable flats. Nothing flashy, but still more expensive than anything I'd ever worn in my life.

My heart skipped when a sleek black Lamborghini Urus pulled up to the curb. Christian stepped out, flawless in a dark blue suit, sunglasses gleaming in the morning sun. He smiled when he saw me, and I hated admitting it, but my stomach did a little flip.

"Good morning, fiancée," he said, leaning in to brush a soft kiss against my cheek.

"Don't call me that," I muttered, trying to ignore the intoxicating scent of his cologne invading my senses.

"As you wish, sweetheart," he replied, that infuriatingly charming smile never leaving his face.

Christian lifted my suitcase with ease, stowing it in the trunk while I said goodbye to my family. My mom hugged me tightly, whispering in my ear, "He's a great catch, honey. Don't mess this up."

I rolled my eyes but promised to behave. If only she knew I was getting paid for this…

Annabelle was the last to say goodbye, giving me a discreet wink.

"Don't forget the red lingerie," she whispered so only I could hear. "It matches the dress best."

"I hate you," I muttered through my teeth, though I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips.

Soon we were in the car, the tension between us almost tangible in the confined space. Christian drove with the confidence of someone who owned every situation, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gearshift.

"Did you like the gifts?" he asked, glancing briefly at me.

"They were… excessive."

"That's not what I asked."

I sighed.

"Yes, I liked them. Thank you. But you didn't have to."

"Yes, I did." His tone was practical, leaving no room for argument. "I want you to feel comfortable."

"Comfort has nothing to do with the price tag, you know?"

He flicked his gaze from the road to me, just for a second.

"You're right. But comfort has a lot to do with not feeling out of place. And you'll be surrounded by people who…" He paused, choosing his words.

"Who judge by what people wear?" I finished, raising an eyebrow.

A slow smile curved his lips.

"I wasn't going to put it like that, but yes."

We fell into silence for a few minutes, the soft hum of the radio filling the space between us. That's when I noticed we weren't heading toward the commercial airport.

"Where are we going?"

"The executive airport. We have a private hangar."

Of course they did. Why wasn't I surprised?

About forty minutes later, we pulled up to a small airport surrounded by trees. Christian drove straight through a security gate where the guards greeted him by name, no ID required.

And then I saw it. The jet. Sleek, white, with the Kensington Wineries logo painted discreetly on the tail. It looked like something out of a movie, the kind regular people like me only ever watch from a distance.

"Is it yours?" I asked, feeling stupid the second the words left my mouth.

"The company's," he said, parking near a small terminal. "But yes, technically it's mine."

A uniformed employee approached as soon as we stepped out, taking our luggage.

We climbed the stairs, and the moment I stepped inside, I had to fight back a gasp. The interior was more luxurious than anything I could've imagined. Plush beige leather seats that looked more comfortable than my own bed, polished wood tables, and even a small bar in the corner.

"You can sit wherever you like," Christian said, slipping off his jacket and hanging it neatly.

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