Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 245

Chapter 245

The party carried on after Christian and the COOS finished speaking. The lights returned to their usual glow, conversations loosened again, and the soft clinking of champagne glasses filled the air.

I tried more than once to find a moment to talk to Nate. It felt like the universe had decided that any chance of a private conversation between us needed to be blocked at all costs.

Every time I thought I had a window, something happened. The first time, when I spotted him stepping away from a group near the bar, an important Eisenwald investor swooped in with a pack of executives trailing behind him. Nate shifted into that polished professional mode I knew so well, and all I could do was stand there with my wine glass, watching him disappear into business talk.

The second time, when I finally saw him alone near the main balcony, Zoey materialized out of thin air and latched onto my arm.

“Annie, come on! There are some people Christian wants you to meet,” she said as she dragged me in the opposite direction. I barely managed a protest.

And that was the rhythm of the night. When Nate seemed free, Gwen found me with some urgent anecdote. When I slipped out of a conversation, Matthew launched into one of his stories that had half the room gathered around him. It was like we were stuck in some strange dance. Always circling the same center. Never quite managing to meet there.

Frustration built with every passing hour. I could feel the night draining away. Each minute becoming another missed chance. Something about it felt almost cruel. Like the universe had chosen tonight to play a very specific joke on us.

Every now and then our eyes met across the room. During a discussion about Verdanian exports. While I nodded through a rant about Valentian market trends. While I got introduced to yet another important contact. Each glance carried the same quiet promise. The same unsaid conversation that kept being pushed off by the demands of the party.

When the event finally began winding down, I accepted that it wasn’t happening tonight. Guests were slipping out. Christian was in full wrap-up mode, thanking people and making sure all the right conversations had been had.

“Ready to go?” Zoey asked as she appeared at my side, looking as exhausted as I felt.

“More than ready,” I muttered.

The drive home in Christian’s car was quiet. Zoey fell asleep in the front seat while Christian navigated the nighttime streets of Westcliff. Golden lights blurred past the windows like streaks in a long-exposure photo. When we reached my building, I said a quick goodbye and headed upstairs feeling like the night had run me over.

The moment I walked inside, I kicked off my heels and let them land wherever they wanted. Relief washed through me as the cool floor met my sore feet. Hours in beautiful but merciless shoes had taken their toll. Standing barefoot felt like freedom.

I sighed hard and rubbed my hands over my face. The makeup that had started the night flawless was probably half melted by now.

Without thinking too much, I headed to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine. I’d already had some at the party. But I needed something to quiet my mind, to help me process everything. The red wine slid down warm and smooth, comforting in a way nothing at the event had been.

Then I went straight to the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as I could handle. The water hit my tense shoulders like a blessing, washing away more than just the makeup and perfume of the night. It carried the emotional weight with it. Letting everything heavy loosen and slip down the drain.

I stayed under the water far longer than usual. Steam filled the bathroom while my thoughts tried-and failed- to fall into some kind of order.

By the time I got out and crawled into bed, it was already deep into the early morning. I set my phone on the nightstand and tried to sleep. My mind refused. It kept replaying every second of the night like a looping film I couldn’t shut off.

Not only had I reinstalled the app during some confused emotional spiral, but I had answered Wanderer. I had basically handed him the truth I’d been too scared to admit even to myself.

And the worst part: I didn’t remember sending it.

“Shit,” I croaked to the empty room, my voice rough from the hangover and the sudden surge of panic.

I checked the time stamp. 3:17 a.m.

So I’d apparently spent hours lying awake, wrestling with the chaos of the party. With Nate. With everything. And somewhere in that haze, I’d chosen to reinstall the app and respond to the one person who could actually pull my mind away from all of it.

Now the message sat there. Raw and exposed. Waiting.

And the truth was that even through the hangover and the panic, a small part of me was waiting too. Waiting to see if Wanderer would respond. Waiting to hear what he would say next.

Because even after everything that had happened, even after deciding to stop hiding from my messy feelings, he was still the only person who could snap my focus away from Nate.

And maybe, in the confusion of last night, I’d finally admitted that to him.