Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 260

Chapter 260

Nathaniel’s P.O.V

I got home at six in the evening, two hours earlier than usual, my mind boiling ever since I’d seen Annie’s photo that morning. The entire day at the office had been torture. Every time I blinked, I saw those curves, the way the morning light caressed her skin, the silent invitation in that image that had made it completely impossible to focus on anything.

I dropped my briefcase by the door and loosened my tie, feeling like it was strangling me. Her photo kept burning in the back of my mind, every detail etched with a clarity that made my whole body tense. It was like she knew exactly where to touch to completely disarm me, even from miles away.

I went straight to the bathroom and turned the shower to cold. The icy water hitting my skin made me jolt, but it was exactly what I needed. I tried to let the cold wash away the heat that had followed me all day, tried to calm myself enough to think clearly about what was about to happen.

But it was useless. Her image was imprinted on my retinas-every curve, every shadow, the way the black lingerie contrasted with her skin. And it was impossible not to compare it to what had happened on the plane. Back then, everything had been urgent, desperate, charged with tension that exploded before either of us could think. We’d barely taken off the necessary clothes, improvising in that cramped space, driven by a desire we couldn’t control.

But her photo today… it was different. It was deliberate, intentional, intimate in a way that left me completely exposed. She’d chosen every angle, every detail of the framing just to provoke me. And it had worked devastatingly well.

After the shower, I spent a long time sitting on the bed with my laptop, downloading and testing voice- modulation apps. Ridiculous, I knew, but absolutely necessary. Annie had heard my voice in dozens of meetings, in casual hallway conversations, in moments of stress and calm. Even with the distortion of a phone call, even with desire changing my tone, I couldn’t risk some familiar inflection giving me away.

I tested at least five different apps, adjusting pitches, trying filters, searching for something that sounded natural but different enough to mask my identity. Every option felt wrong-too robotic, too obvious, or just plain absurd. One made me sound like I was trapped in a metal box, another added a fake echo no one could sustain during an intimate call.

I finally found one that just deepened my voice a touch, like I had a cold or like I was speaking low out of intimacy. Subtle enough not to sound artificial, different enough to cast doubt. It was perfect.

By nine-thirty, I was in my bedroom, having spent nearly an hour setting everything up meticulously. The dimmer lights were turned all the way down, creating an intimate atmosphere but not revealing too much. I’d tested camera angles, adjusted the bed, and made sure nothing in the room could identify me. The place was quiet, except for the distant hum of London traffic drifting through the window-an anonymous urban background.

At 9:59, I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, my heart pounding like I was some teenager about to call a girl for the first time. My palms were sweating, and I had to wipe them on my pants twice. It was ridiculous how nervous Annie made me, even when she had no idea it was me.

I wondered if she’d actually pick up. If she’d change her mind at the last second, if this would suddenly feel too crazy, too much. The thought of her not answering made me more anxious than I wanted to admit. What if she backed out? What if the reality of the situation scared her off?

At exactly ten, I drew in a deep breath and told myself it was now or never. I snapped a carefully planned photo: sitting at the edge of the bed, pants unbuttoned but still on, no shirt, the low lighting casting shadows that outlined my abs without showing too much. The frame showed everything from the chest down, making it obvious just how wound up she’d had me since the morning. Tempting without being vulgar, intimate without revealing anything that could identify me too easily.

I sent the photo and, before I could rethink my sanity, I dialed her number from the burner SIM card I’d bought specifically for this.

“Hello?” Annie’s voice came through a little nervous, though she tried to mask it with that teasing tone I’d grown very familiar with in our messages.

“Lying on my bed, room dark, just one soft light on,” she said, her voice slipping into that dreamy quality that made it far too easy to picture her. “Still thinking about your photo.”

“What are you wearing?” I asked, unable to hold back, my voice already thick with anticipation.

She laughed softly-low, husky, and so seductive it made every muscle in my body tense.

“Less than I was wearing in the photo this morning,” she said, each word slow and deliberate, like she knew exactly what it was doing to me.

My breath hitched, and my hand tightened involuntarily on the sheets beside me.

“And you?” she shot back, her voice slightly dragged out.

“The pants you saw in the photo,” I said, my voice dropping even deeper, rougher. “Which are getting… uncomfortable.”

“Mmm…” she murmured, and the sound hit me like a jolt straight through my body. “Maybe you should take them off, Wanderer. Get more comfortable.”