Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 578

Chapter 578

Gwen’s POV

The car climbed the winding road toward Valemont Estate, and with every curve my stomach tightened a little more. It wasn’t travel nerves. It was anxiety over what I was about to do.

Pretend to be something I wasn’t. Lie to people who trusted me. Try to save a business without truly knowing how.

I parked in the familiar courtyard and, before I could even turn off the engine, I heard a high-pitched

shout.

“Gwen!”

Bella burst through the front door, her bare feet slapping against the ground, her dark hair flying behind her like a flag. She didn’t even give me time to properly get out of the car before throwing herself into my

arms.

“Hi, my love,” I said, hugging her tight, that familiar ache filling my chest the second I was close to her.” Did you miss me?”

11

“So much,” she mumbled against my neck, her little arms wrapped around me. “You took forever to come

back.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back just enough to see her face. “But I’m here now.”

Nick appeared in the doorway, smiling in that way that made my stomach flip for entirely different

reasons.

“Bella, let Gwen breathe,” he said as he came closer.

She released me reluctantly, and Nick greeted me with two kisses on the cheek. Again. The same easy intimacy as before, wordlessly saying we weren’t strangers, that there was something between us even if neither of us quite knew what it was.

“Welcome back,” he said, grabbing my suitcase from the trunk before I could protest.

“Thank you for having me,” I replied, following him inside.

The villa was exactly as I remembered it. Warm, a little worn, full of history etched into the walls and furniture softened by time. The smell of something delicious drifted from the kitchen.

Martina appeared moments later, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Gwen!” She pulled me into a warm hug. “I’m so glad you came back. I’m making a special dinner to thank you for being willing to help us.”

“That’s really not necessary,” I said quickly. “I genuinely want to help.”

“Even so,” Martina insisted, her kind eyes studying me, “it’s very generous of you to give us your time.”

Paula leaned against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, watching me with an expression I couldn’t fully

read.

“It’s her job,” she said, her tone neutral but edged with something sharp. “Isn’t it, Gwen?”

“Of course,” I replied immediately, maybe a little too fast. “Of course it is. It’s exactly what I do.”

Paula held my gaze for another second, then turned back to the kitchen without saying anything else.

Dinner was incredible. Martina outdid herself with fresh pasta in a rich, slow-cooked meat sauce that practically melted in my mouth, followed by a perfectly grilled steak, tender and seasoned to perfection. Bella talked nonstop the entire evening, telling me about school, her new drawings, how she’d helped her grandmother make cookies.

Nick was more relaxed than he’d been in Florentia. He smiled more. He joined the conversation with an ease that only comes when you’re home, surrounded by people you love.

When I finally went upstairs to sleep, in the same room as before, with the same uncomfortable bed and rough sheets that somehow still felt like home, it took me a long time to fall asleep.

I kept wondering if I could really do this. If I could keep up the façade. If I could help them without revealing who I truly was.

I woke early the next morning, before the sun was fully up. I took a quick shower, put on the “normal” clothes I’d bought at that same store Dante had dragged me to, and went downstairs to find Nick already awake, making coffee in the kitchen.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, handing me a cup.

“Yes,” I lied, taking the coffee. “And you?”

“Better than I’ve been sleeping lately,” he admitted.

We drank our coffee together in a comfortable silence, the soft hiss of the espresso machine and birdsong outside filling the space.

“Ready to start?” he asked eventually.

“Ready,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

We went into the small office next to the reception. Nick had arranged stacks of papers on the desk, invoices, receipts, reports that looked like they’d been accumulating for years.”

I sat across from him, pulled out my laptop, and opened a fresh spreadsheet, doing my best to look professional.

But before I could ask a single question, Nick stopped me.

“Before anything else,” he said, his hands resting on the desk, “I need to know how much you’re going to charge for this.”

“We can talk about money later,” I said, trying to deflect. “First I need to understand the full situation sof know how much work it’ll actually involve.”

“No,” Nick said firmly, shaking his head. “I can’t agree to start something without knowing whether I can afford it. That would be irresponsible. So please, tell me how much you charge.”

I bit my lip.

I’d thought about this a lot.

I couldn’t say I’d do it for free. Nick would never accept charity. I also couldn’t name something ridiculously low, like a hundred dollars. That would basically be the same thing, and he’d see right through it.

But a fair market rate for this kind of work, if I really were a specialized consultant, would be something Nick very clearly didn’t have right now.

“I have a different proposal,” I said finally. “I don’t want a fixed fee. I want a temporary partnership.”

Nick frowned.

“A partnership?”

“Ten percent of the profits for one year,” I explained, the words coming more easily now that I had a plan. “If I manage to significantly increase revenue, I earn my share. If I don’t, I earn nothing. That way you only pay if it actually works.”

Nick stayed quiet for a long moment, studying me.

Then he smiled. But it wasn’t a happy smile. It was sad, resigned.

“Gwen, no,” he said gently. “I appreciate the offer, I really do. But we’re not making profits. We’ve barely covered operating costs these past few months. Ten percent of nothing is still nothing. You’d be working

for free.”

I smiled back, holding his gaze.

“But we will have profits,” I said with a conviction I didn’t know where it came from. “We will, Nick. I

promise.”

He looked at me for another second, something shifting in his expression. Then he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. I accept.”

4

He held out his hand. I shook it, feeling the warmth of his palm against mine, the firm, steady grip.

“Then let’s begin,” I said, turning back to the spreadsheet. “First question: what’s the average monthly Occupancy rate?”

We spent the next few hours like that. Me asking the questions Zoey had coached me on, Nick answering with brutal honesty about bad numbers, declining bookings, guests who never came back.

But as we talked, something shifted in the air between us. Every time our fingers brushed while passing papers. Every time our eyes met a second longer than necessary. Every time one of us smiled and the other smiled back.

At one point, while Nick searched for a specific report, I caught myself just watching him. The way the morning light came through the window and lit up his profile.

“You seem a lot lighter,” I said without thinking, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He looked up, catching me staring at him.

“Lighter?”

“Yes,” I said. “Much lighter than that day in Florentia. You looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Now you seem… hopeful.”

Nick set the papers aside and leaned forward slightly in his chair.

“It’s because I trust you,” he said simply, his green eyes holding me in place. “I trust that this is going to work.”

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