Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 584

Chapter 584

Nicholas’ POV

“Look at this,” I said, placing my phone in the middle of the kitchen table where everyone could see it.

It was late afternoon. Martina was finishing dinner, the smell filling the kitchen. Paula had just come back after handling the last check-ins. Bella sat beside me, her legs swinging where they didn’t quite reach the floor, munching on carrot sticks my mother had given her.

I opened the Valemont Estate Instagram and slid the phone toward them.

“Gwen’s been updating it almost every day,” I explained, watching their reactions as they scrolled. “Look how many followers we have now. Two weeks ago it was seventeen. Now it’s four hundred and thirty-six.

“Mamma mia,” Martina murmured, stepping closer, still holding a wooden spoon. “These photos are beautiful! Is this really here? It looks like a completely different place.”

“It is,” I said with a smile. “Same vineyards, same villa, same sunsets. Just photographed from better angles, with better light, and professionally edited.”

Paula took the phone from Martina, her critical eyes studying every detail. The vine arch against the orange sky. The sunset dinner tables glowing with candlelight. The medieval tower washed in golden light. The old chapel framed by cypress trees.

“It looks good,” she admitted at last. Coming from Paula, that was practically glowing praise. “Really good.”

“And there’s more,” I added, feeling genuine pride as I shared the news. “We’ve already had seven new reservations. All from people who found us through Instagram.or the new website.”

“Seven?” Martina repeated, her eyes widening. “In just two weeks?”

“I know,” I said, that sense of hope-absent for so long-finally settling in. “Gwen really knows what she’s doing. She has real experience.”

“See?” Martina said, turning back to stir a pot. “I told you from the beginning we should trust her. The girl

knows her stuff.”

Bella had taken the phone from Paula and was now scrolling through the feed with her small fingers, her tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

“This one!” she suddenly exclaimed, stopping on a photo. “This one’s the best!”

It was the picture of her on the swing during the sunset dinner, her dress lifting slightly with the movement, her wide smile glowing in the golden light.

“You look beautiful in that one,” I said, ruffling her hair affectionately.

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“I’m going to tell all my friends at school,” Bella declared with all the seriousness a six-year-old could muster. “That I’m famous on the internet. That everyone can see me.”

Martina and Paula laughed. I couldn’t help smiling too.

“Famous, huh?” I teased. “So now I’ll have to hire bodyguards to protect you from your fans?”

Bella thought about it carefully.

“Maybe just one,” she decided. “But they have to be nice and let me eat gelato whenever I want.”

“Of course,” I agreed solemnly. “I’ll add that to the job requirements.”

She kept scrolling through the photos, commenting on which ones she liked best, which she liked less, and why one angle worked better than another. For a six-year-old, she had surprisingly strong opinions about photo composition.

“Daddy,” she said suddenly, looking up at me with that expression that always melted every defense had, “is Gwen coming to my birthday party?”

The question caught me off guard, even though it shouldn’t have. Bella mentioned Gwen at least a dozen times a day since she’d left.

“Well…” I began, not wanting to promise something I wasn’t sure I could deliver. “How about tonight we call her and invite her? Then she can tell us if she can come or not.”

“Can I? Really?”

“You can,” I confirmed. “But only if you’ve finished all your homework.”

Bella slid off the chair so fast she nearly fell.

“Okay!” she shouted, already sprinting down the hallway. “I’ll do it right now! All of it! Even the math part I

hate!”

“I’ll come help you in a minute!” I called after her, but she’d already disappeared upstairs, her quick

footsteps echoing.

I stood up and picked up my phone again.

“I’m going to the front desk,” I said. “See if I missed any messages or calls.”

The reception area was empty and quiet when I walked in. I turned on the old computer we used to manage reservations and waited patiently as it booted up at its painfully slow pace.

That was when the landline rang.

I answered on the second ring.

“Valemont Estate, this is Nicholas.”

“Mr. Valemont,” a formal male voice said on the other end. “This is Banco Crédito Futuro.”

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My stomach dropped instantly.

“Yes,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay neutral. “Good afternoon.”

“I’m calling regarding the loan application you submitted a few weeks ago,” he continued, professional but not unkind. “Unfortunately, after a detailed review of your financial situation and credit history, we’re unable to approve the loan at this time.”

I closed my eyes and took a slow breath.

I’d expected this. Truly. I knew my chances were slim at best. Still, I’d carried a small spark of hope, a quiet voice whispering, what if?

Now that voice was gone.

“I understand,” I said, because there was nothing else to say. “Thank you for considering my application.”

“I’m sorry I don’t have better news,” he replied, and he sounded sincere. “If your financial situation improves in the coming months, feel free to reapply. We’ll keep your file on record.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

I hung up and stood there for a long moment, my hand still resting on the phone, staring at nothing.

There was no backup plan anymore. No safety net. Nothing standing between us and the bank seizing the property in a matter of weeks if we didn’t find the money.

We were depending entirely on what Gwen was doing now. This might be our last real chance. Our only

chance.

And nothing else could go wrong.

Absolutely nothing.

“Next weekend has to be perfect,” I murmured to the empty room. “It has to be.”

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