Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 207

Nathaniel's POV

If I thought Annabelle had been acting strange before the Franconians arrived. What happened during dinner left me completely thrown.

The three representatives from Blackwell Estate, Peter, the family patriarch, his son Henry, and their export consultant Jacob were greeted by the most polished, composed version of Annabelle I had ever seen. It was impressive. And maddening.

For the next two hours, she ran the table, not just held her own. She led with a confidence that reminded me exactly why Christian had insisted she come to London.

When Peter asked about Vintara's launch in Verdania, she spoke with genuine passion about organic wines. Enough to captivate all three men. When Henry questioned cultural differences between Euradian and Verdanian consumers, she delivered smart insights and practical examples.

What stunned me most was how she managed to be charming and professional at the same time. She laughed at Jacob's jokes, asked sharp questions about the Blackwell vineyards, and showed real knowledge about the global wine market.

"Ms. Bennett," Peter said at one point. "You have a fascinating perspective on market expansion. How did you develop such expertise?"

Annabelle smiled her first real smile of the night. And something in my chest tightened.

"I'm actually very new to this world," she said. "I started learning about wine only a few months ago, when I joined the Kensington family through my sister's marriage. But I had wonderful mentors, and I discovered I have a knack for understanding markets."

And through all of this, she ignored me almost completely. She answered when I directed something at her. She agreed when I made a point. But she never looked directly at me or smiled at me the way she smiled at the Blackwell men.

It was as if I were just another colleague, not the man who'd admitted to teasing her for weeks or the man she had kissed and touched in an airplane bathroom.

Peter, Henry, and Jacob were clearly impressed. They asked more questions about the Verdanian market, explored partnership possibilities. By the end of the night, they obviously saw her as a valuable addition to the team.

"I hope we work together again," Henry said as he shook her hand. "Your perspective will be invaluable to us."

"It will be my pleasure," she replied, confident and warm.

When the Franconian finally left at ten thirty, we were alone for the first time since before the dinner. And all the competence she had shown did nothing to hide the fact that she was still treating me like a stranger.

"Good work," I said, trying to start something normal. "They were impressed."

"Thank you, Mr. Carter." She began organizing her papers with that same robotic precision. "I believe the meeting was productive."

Mr. Carter. Again.

"Annabelle, now that we're alone, you can drop the act."

"I don't know what you mean." She avoided my eyes, slipping the documents into her folder.

"You know exactly what I mean." I leaned in. "For two hours you were warm, natural, engaging with them. With me, you act like we're corporate drones."

"I maintain professionalism with my supervisor."

"I'm not your supervisor, and we both know it."

"Regardless of the title, there is a hierarchy that must be respected."

"Enough." The word came out louder than I intended, earning us a few looks. I lowered my voice. "Enough of this crap about hierarchy and professionalism."

She finally looked at me, and for a split second I saw the real woman behind the mask.

"What kind of tone is that, Mr. Carter?"

"The tone of a man trying to understand why the woman who slept with me in an airplane bathroom is now pretending she barely knows me."

Annabelle went pale. Her eyes darted around to check if anyone had heard.

"What evidence?"

"Me, on my knees, between your legs, with you shirtless. What more do you need?"

"The context. The truth."

"The truth doesn't matter when gossip is more entertaining."

We stared at each other for several seconds. I could see real pain in her eyes, real frustration. And I finally understood why she'd been acting like a machine all day.

"That's why you're treating me like we're strangers? To prove there's nothing between us?"

"To prove I'm not what everyone thinks I am."

"And what exactly does everyone think?"

"That I'm an opportunist who uses sex to get ahead." Her voice shook again. "I told you on that plane that I want to be taken seriously. That I'm tired of being treated like some temporary distraction for men. And look at me now. I'm a joke to the entire office, I'm a toy to you, and I'm gossip for the break room."

"Annabelle…"

"No." She pushed back her chair and stood. "I don't want your pity. I just want you to understand that I can't... that we can't…"

"We can't what?"

"Be anything that isn't strictly professional."

She walked out of the restaurant, leaving me alone with the sinking feeling that I had just lost something important before I ever had the chance to fight for it.