Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 222

Chapter 222

Monday morning hit like a slap of reality. The second I stepped into the office, I felt the looks. Not direct ones, but those quick glances followed by whispers and half-hidden smiles that twisted my stomach.

The story of my disastrous night had spread through the office like wildfire.

“Good morning, Annie,” Margaret said as I passed reception, but there was something in her tone that hadn’t been there on Friday. A mix of pity and thinly veiled amusement.

“Morning,” I answered, trying to hold on to whatever dignity I had left as I walked the halls to my desk.

James was talking with two guys from finance near the water cooler, and when they saw me, they switched topics fast. But not before I caught something about “fake professors” and “never seen anyone run out of a party that fast.”

“How was your weekend?” Gwen asked once I sat down, her voice carefully neutral.

“I survived,” I muttered, turning on my computer a little harder than necessary.

“Do you want to talk about…?”

“No.”

Gwen nodded softly and went back to her work, though I could feel her worry.

Around ten, when I went to grab coffee, I found a small crowd gathered around the machine. James, Margaret, two people from marketing, and Sarah from HR. The conversation died the moment they saw me.

“Hi, Annie,” Sarah said with a smile that was way too sweet to be real. “How are you feeling after… well, the party?”

“I’m great, thanks,” I said, grabbing a cup and pouring coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Must have been… interesting,” Nick said, clearly fishing. “I heard there was some kind of incident.”

I felt every pair of eyes in the room on me, waiting. For a second, I considered running. Hiding. Letting the shame swallow me until people got bored. But then something in me snapped. Why should I be the only one embarrassed? Why should I carry the weight of one terrible date alone?

“Oh, yeah,” I said lightly, stirring sugar into the coffee. “It was a spectacular disaster. The guy made up an entire academic career. Said he was a medieval history professor but didn’t even know when the Middle Ages happened.”

“Wow,” Sarah murmured, fully invested now.

“And that wasn’t even the worst part,” I went on, realizing I had their full attention. “Once he started drinking, he admitted he made everything up on his profile because ‘women like smart men.’ As if I wouldn’t notice he couldn’t tell a history book from a restaurant menu.”

“And here I thought my dates were bad.” Margaret looked genuinely offended on my behalf.

“Speaking of bad dates,” James jumped in, “do you guys remember when I went out with that woman who brought her mother? Without warning?”

“That’s nothing,” Sarah laughed. “I once met a guy who spent forty-five minutes explaining why he still lived with his ex. Just as friends. Spoiler, they slept in the same bed.”

“At least none of you had to deal with someone pretending to be vegetarian to impress you, then ordering a double bacon burger on the first date,” Margaret added, making everyone laugh.

The conversation turned into a full-blown competition of terrible date stories. Each person tried to top the last with something even more ridiculous. James talked about a woman who collected fingernails. Sarah told us about a guy who brought a split bill calculated down to the last cent, including proportional service tax.

“And you think that’s bad,” a voice said behind us.

We all turned to see Michael from IT holding his coffee.

“I’d trade half of them for a better chance at finding someone normal.”

I opened the app, determined to delete it once and for all. But when the screen loaded, I noticed a new message I hadn’t seen before. Out of curiosity, I tapped it.

[I love that you want to ‘explore the city together.’ I have a theory London gets brighter with the right company. Can you confirm it?]

I stopped breathing for a second.

Something about the message felt… different. It wasn’t generic like the others. It didn’t sound rehearsed or forced. It felt like the person actually read my profile and understood something about me beyond the words.

‘London gets brighter with the right company.’

The sentence echoed in my mind in a strange way, like I’d heard something similar before. There was a familiarity in the choice of words, a quiet elegance that made me smile without realizing.

“What?” Gwen asked, catching my expression. “You’re smiling at your phone.”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, closing the message. Under her knowing stare, I couldn’t even form a response to what I’d just read. I needed a moment to process it, to understand why those words hit me the way they did.

“I thought you were deleting the app.”

“I am,” I lied, setting the phone back on the desk. “Just… not right now.”

Gwen gave me that all-knowing look, but didn’t say a word.

I tried to get back to work, but my mind kept drifting to that message. There was something about it that sparked curiosity, something that made my heart pick up a little. For the first time since I’d started using dating apps, someone had written something that felt like it was meant specifically for me.