Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 218

"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 the show openly. "First photo: nice suit, big confident smile, he looks civilized. Second photo: he's posing shirtless in a bathroom mirror like a bodybuilder, oiled muscles glistening. Third photo, he's… oh wow. That's him licking his own bicep?"

"Gross," Gwen winced. "Block that one immediately."

I swiped again, my hope dropping with each new face.

"Oliver, thirty-one, 'successful entrepreneur,'" I said with air quotes. "First photo: leaning against a yellow Lamborghini that is clearly not his, because you can see the actual owner reflected in the window. Second photo: holding a stack of twenty-pound notes, probably rent money. Third photo: wearing fake Ray-Bans, talking on the phone, captioned 'closing another million-pound deal.'"

"Walking red flag," Gwen laughed. "Next, before my eyes start bleeding."

"Seriously, Gwen," I groaned, setting my phone down and rubbing my temples. "How do you survive being single in 2025? This is a digital hellscape."

"Better alone than poorly accompanied," she said with enviable zen calm. "I'd rather spend a Friday night watching Netflix with a good glass of wine than go out with any of these… specimens."

"Fully agree," I said, picking up the phone again with renewed determination. "But I also can't show up to Alexandra's party alone looking like some sad little wallflower. She already sees me as inadequate. Imagine if I walk in without a date."

I kept swiping like someone mining for gold in an abandoned cave. Honestly, I was one profile away from calling Zoey to see if she still had the number of that escort agency and offering to fly a guy to London overnight.

"James, thirty-five, NHS doctor," I announced. "First photo: white coat, stethoscope, professional. Very promising. Second photo: graduation party, smiling with colleagues, totally normal. Third photo: oh God, why is he in a full Batman costume at a nightclub?"

"Maybe Halloween?" Gwen tried.

I checked the caption.

"It says 'just a normal Tuesday night at Fabric.' Next."

"What a waste. And a doctor."

"Charles, twenty-eight, medieval history professor," I said in my best reality-show host voice. "First photo: in an old library, surrounded by ancient books, golden light from the window. Very aesthetic. Second photo: playing acoustic guitar in a park, focused, artsy. Third photo: hiking with an adorable golden retriever."

"Now we're talking," Gwen said, leaning in. "He looks civilized, educated, and he has a dog. Dogs mean responsibility."

"Let's check the bio." I read aloud. "'Passionate about classical literature, medieval and Renaissance music, long walks in nature, and deep conversations about history. Looking for someone who values art, culture, and intellectual depth as much as I do. Not interested in superficial connections.'"

"Ten times better than the others combined," Gwen said. "And smart. He filters out the superficial ones right away."

"Agreed. I'm messaging him before someone else snatches him."

I started typing a careful first message when I noticed a familiar shape moving by the glass door of our office. I lifted my eyes discreetly.

Nate was standing outside, pretending to read some documents, but he was very obviously trying to see what we were doing.

"Your favorite stalker is spying again," Gwen murmured without looking up.

"He's not my stalker," I whispered back, though I instinctively lowered my phone a bit.

"Of course he's not," Gwen said. "That's why he's been standing there for ten minutes pretending to read the same page of a contract."

"How do you know it's the same page?"

[Eight. Dress code is elegant cocktail.]

[Perfect. I'm looking forward to our conversation about literature... and to seeing this exclusive world of yours!]

"I did it!" I showed the exchange to Gwen, more relieved than proud.

"Look at you," she laughed. "Annie with her 'impressive contacts' and 'exclusive world.' If only he knew you're just as lost as he is."

"He doesn't need to know that. At least not on the first night."

I glanced toward the glass door and noticed Nate still there, now pretending to be on a very important call. But he was clearly listening.

"Now I can finally get back to work," I said, a little louder. "I need to get ready for my date tomorrow."

When I looked again a few seconds later, Nate had vanished.

"Subtle as a rhinoceros in a crystal shop," Gwen said, shaking her head.

"Who? Me or him?"

"Both." She burst into laughter. "You two are hopeless. Perfect for each other."

I didn't reply. I just went back to my computer, a tiny smile tugging at my lips. At least I had a date for tomorrow's party. Smart, polite, a university professor who loved literature and history.

Everything Nate was, but actually available and interested.

Or so I hoped.