Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 219

It was eight fifteen when I finally spotted Charles walking toward the entrance of Avalynn's. I'd been standing there twenty minutes, trying not to look like an idiot waiting alone outside one of London's most exclusive clubs while stylish couples swept past me. I checked my phone for the twentieth time.

"Annabelle?" he asked, a little unsure, as he got close.

"Charles." I forced a cheerful smile, even though I was already a little annoyed at the delay.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, running a hand through his hair in this nervous, rehearsed way. "Traffic was impossible."

I noticed immediately that he was… shorter than I expected. His profile said six foot one, but he was clearly closer to five seven. Even with the obvious lift shoes. Not that height was everything, but lying right out of the gate was not a great sign.

"It's fine," I said, deciding to let it go. "Shall we go in?"

"Wow," he murmured once we stepped inside Avalynn's. "This place is… wow."

To be fair, the place was stunning. Warm golden lighting, elegant decor, impossibly beautiful people everywhere. Alexandra had gone all out. Or rather, her family money had.

"Let's find our table," I said, guiding him through the crowd.

I spotted Gwen at a large table with James, Margaret, and a few more coworkers. She waved excitedly when she saw us.

"Annie." Gwen stood to greet me. "You look gorgeous. And this must be the famous Charles."

"Hi, everyone," I said as I introduced him. "Charles, these are my coworkers."

He greeted everyone politely, though he looked a little overwhelmed by the atmosphere. We sat, and he reached for the cocktail menu immediately.

"So, Charles," James said, always the first to start small talk. "Annie said you teach medieval history. What period do you focus on?"

"Oh, mostly… uh… the Middle Ages in general," Charles answered, vague as fog. "The middle centuries."

The middle centuries? My brows pinched for a second. In the app he'd talked very specifically about the Byzantine period and the Crusades.

"Interesting," Margaret said. "My son is learning about the Hundred Years' War in school. You must know a lot about that."

"Of course, of course," Charles said quickly. "The Hundred Years' War. It lasted… well, a hundred years, as the name suggests."

Gwen shot me a look. Even I, a non-expert, knew it lasted 116 years.

"Actually," I started to say, but Charles cut me off.

"And you all? What do you do here?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

The conversation dragged on for a few more minutes, and with every question, Charles looked more uncomfortable. His answers were vague, shallow, completely improvised.

A knot of irritation began twisting in my stomach, tightening with every minute. It didn't take long to realize I'd fallen for the oldest trick in the online dating book. He was one of those guys who would build a fake persona, Google a few facts to sound smart in messages, then cross their fingers and hope their real life charm makes up for everything they lied about.

It was like buying a luxury bag and discovering it was a cheap knockoff from a street stall. And there I was, sitting in front of my coworkers with a date who probably didn't even know when the Middle Ages happened. Rage crept up my throat. I needed to get out of there before I snapped.

"Excuse me, I'm going to the restroom," I said, standing. "Be right back."

But instead of heading to the restroom, I walked straight to the bar.

I needed a strong drink to process the fact that my date had apparently lied about almost everything on his profile.

"Sure." He took another sip, studying me. "So how's the classic literature conversation going? Did he recommend any exciting Dickens novels?"

My stomach dropped. How the hell did he know about that? James must have talked. Or maybe Nate overheard something at the office.

"The conversation is great," I lied without blinking.

"I'm sure. Especially the part where the Hundred Years' War lasted exactly one hundred years."

Shit. He'd definitely overheard.

"Everyone makes mistakes," I said defensively.

"Of course. Especially medieval history professors making mistakes about medieval history."

"You're unbearable," I muttered, turning away.

"And you're being stubborn. If he's so interesting, you should go back to him."

"I should," I said, already stepping away. "And you should go back to Alexandra."

"Maybe I will," he said lightly.

"Great," I tossed over my shoulder.

"Great," he echoed.