Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 423

Chapter 423

Marcus’ POV

I walked to the door with heavy steps, every muscle in my body still tight with sexual frustration. My mind was split between the irritation of being interrupted at the worst possible moment and the determination to get rid of whoever it was as fast as possible so I could get back to Madeline.

When I opened the door, I found Margaret standing in the hallway, her usual work bag in hand and an unshakable look of determination on her wrinkled face.

“Good evening, Mr. Kensington,” she said in rapid Valentian, pushing past me before I could fully process her presence.

“Mrs. Margaret,” I replied, still stunned. “But I canceled today. I told you we were cooking for ourselves.”

She shook her head vigorously, her small hands already slipping off her coat as if the discussion was over.

“No, no, no. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is my day. I always work on Tuesdays,” she said, mixing Valentian and Maravian in that peculiar way she always did when she wanted to make something absolutely clear.

“But Mrs-”

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“No buts!” she cut in, lifting one small but authoritative hand. “I’m here to work. You pay me on Tuesday, I work on Tuesday. It’s that simple!”

Before I could argue further, I heard footsteps behind me. Madeline appeared in the hallway, fully dressed again. She had put on a clean blouse and fixed her hair as if nothing had happened. But I could see the same sexual frustration burning in her eyes that I was feeling.

“What’s going on?” she asked, looking between me and the elderly housekeeper.

“Mrs. Margaret insists today is her workday,” I explained, running a hand through my hair. “Even though I canceled.”

Madeline looked at the housekeeper, who had already started walking decisively toward the kitchen, then back at me. For a moment, I saw a thoughtful expression cross her face.

“Well,” she said finally, a small smile forming at the corner of her mouth, “after the mess we made in the kitchen, it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone experienced clean up and make dinner. Especially with that burnt smell.”

That was when it hit me. In the heat of the moment, we had completely forgotten about the pots on the stove. The smell of burnt sauce was beginning to spread through the apartment, mixed with the scent of spilled flour and broken eggs.

“Shit,” I muttered, hurrying toward the kitchen after Margaret.

When we got there, the housekeeper was already standing in the middle of what looked like a culinary battlefield. Pots smoking on the stove. Flour scattered all over the counter. Eggs smashed on the floor. Tomato sauce splattered everywhere. Madeline’s stained blouse was still draped over a chair like incriminating evidence of what had happened there.

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Margaret turned to us with an expression that somehow managed to be both amused and exasperated.

“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, gesturing dramatically at the chaos around us. “Che cosa è successo qui? It looks like a tornado!”

Madeline and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing. We couldn’t help it. The situation was so absurd, so clearly the result of two people completely distracted by other activities, that the housekeeper’s reaction was more than justified.

“I don’t even need to understand Valentian to know this was bad,” Madeline said between laughs.

Margaret kept muttering in Valentian as she started assessing the damage, turning off the stove and opening windows to air the place out.

“I’ll take care of everything,” she declared finally, already pulling rubber gloves out of her bag. “You two… get out of here. Let me work.”

“Mrs. Margaret,” I started, guilt creeping in as I looked at the mess we were leaving for her.

“No arguments!” she snapped, pointing toward the kitchen door. “You pay me to clean, I clean. That’s what I do.

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Madeline took my hand, guiding me out of the kitchen.

“She’s right,” she whispered. “We should let her work in peace.”

We left the kitchen and went to the living room, where we finally had a moment to process everything that had just happened. The sexual tension between us was still thick in the air, but now there was something else too. A different kind of intimacy. As if we’d crossed some invisible line, even without finishing what we’d started.

“Annie and Nate will be here in a few hours,” Madeline said, sitting down on the couch where, minutes earlier,

we had been so close to-

“A few hours,” I repeated, stepping closer to her, the intention obvious in my eyes.

She laughed, placing a hand on my chest to keep me at a distance.

“It’s weird with someone else in the house,” she said, her cheeks flushing slightly.

I leaned in and kissed her neck, right on the spot I knew affected her the most.

“Then we save it for later,” I murmured against her skin, feeling her shiver.

“Marcus,” my name came out like a sigh.

“Hm?”

“Later,” she confirmed, though her voice wasn’t convincing at all.

Just then, we heard another exclamation from the kitchen, followed by the sound of pots being scrubbed with energetic determination. Margaret had clearly uncovered more evidence of our… culinary episode.

“I think she’s going to need a raise after today,” I commented.

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