Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 312

Chapter 312

Nathaniel’s POV

With hands that were slightly shaking, I turned my phone screen toward Tori, showing her the message I’d just received. A single word glowed in the chat with Annie, sent just seconds earlier.

“Artichoke,” I said flatly, watching my sister’s confused expression.

“What?” Tori blinked a few times, clearly not understanding the significance.

“Do you remember that day at the pizzeria in Bath?” I said quickly, my mind already racing. “When Oliver

• mentioned my favorite pizza? We joked afterward that it would be our safe word.”

Tori’s expression shifted slowly, from confusion to something closer to disbelief… and disgust.

“Ew. She wants you to… be involved?” she asked, grimacing.

“Damn it, Tori!” I snapped, my patience finally shattering. “Not like that! Annie is in danger. She would never send that word for any other reason.”

I was already moving fast toward the hotel reception desk, my thoughts spinning through possibilities, every single one worse than the last. Tori hurried after me, her heels clicking sharply against the polished marble as she struggled to keep up.

The images I’d seen earlier were still burned into my mind, but now they looked completely different. If Annie had used our safe word, then something was very, very wrong. Those photos didn’t show betrayal. They showed a dangerous situation, possibly a criminal one.

I reached the front desk and immediately pulled up a photo of Annie on my phone. It was one we’d taken in Bath. She was smiling, her hair loose, wearing the blue sweater she loved.

“This woman,” I said to the receptionist, a young blonde who still looked alert despite the late hour. “I need to know what room she’s in. This is urgent.’

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The receptionist studied the photo, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Sir, the hotel is extremely full because of the New Year’s party. We have hundreds of guests tonight. I can’t possibly remember everyone who’s checked in.”

I took a slow breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Something was deeply wrong, and I was certain Alexandra was involved. There were too many coincidences: she was the first to see the photos, she told Tori, and she always appeared at exactly the right moment to stir chaos.

“Alexandra Kensington,” I said, changing tactics. “What room is she in?”

“Sir, I can’t share private information about our guests,” the receptionist replied automatically, clearly reciting hotel policy. “It’s against our rules to disclose-”

I was already scrolling through my phone before she finished. I found the contact I needed and turned the screen toward her, the name and photo unmistakable.

“Kara Rosemont,” I said calmly, watching the color drain from the receptionist’s face. “Rosemont. Like this

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hotel. You know who she is, I assume. Either you tell me which room Alexandra Kensington is in, or I call Kara right now. And trust me, if I know Kara even half as well as I think I do, and considering how much she enjoys a New Year’s party, she will not be happy about being interrupted tonight.”

“Wow. Playing the big card,” Tori muttered beside me. It was a comment that would’ve made me laugh in any other situation. She knew exactly how much I hated using personal connections to get favors or pressure people who were just doing their jobs. It was the kind of privileged, arrogant behavior I’d always criticized in other executives.

But this wasn’t any other situation.

The receptionist looked visibly torn, her eyes darting nervously between me and the phone screen. She obviously knew exactly who Kara Rosemont was. She was the heir to the entire Rosemont hotel empire, the woman whose name ultimately signed every paycheck in this building.

“I… I need to call the manager,” she stammered, caught between protocol and the very real fear of creating a disaster with the hotel’s owner.

“Do it,” I said immediately. “But do it fast.”

A few minutes passed that felt like hours, before a sharply dressed, middle-aged man appeared behind the

counter.

“I’m Charles Morrison, the night manager,” he said, extending a professional hand. “I understand there’s an urgent situation?”

“I believe there’s a woman in danger in one of your rooms,” I said quickly, holding up Annie’s photo again. “I received an emergency message from her minutes ago, and I have reason to believe she may be being held against her will.”

Charles studied the photo carefully, his expression growing more serious by the second.

“And you believe this is connected to Miss Kensington?”

“Alexandra Kensington. Yes.”

That was when a young hotel employee carrying an empty tray walked past the desk, and clearly overheard us.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said hesitantly, “but I just delivered dinner to Miss Kensington’s room, and there was something… off.”

Everyone turned to him instantly.

“Off how?” I asked, my heart racing.

“There was a woman on the bed. She looked… out? Not sleeping. Not naturally, if that makes sense. Like she was unconscious. And the man in the room was very aggressive. He almost shoved me out before I could even finish setting things up.

Charles and I exchanged a loaded look.

“Which room?” I asked urgently.

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