Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 7

"Zoey, you think I'm a gigolo, but the truth is—"

"Christian."

The voice came from behind me, slicing through the air like a sharp blade.

Christian froze mid-sentence, his mouth snapping shut before he could finish. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew exactly who had spoken—and wasn't remotely pleased about it.

I blinked, confused, and turned toward the reflection in the café window.

The woman staring at us now was tall, blonde, and far too well-dressed to be just another customer. Her posture screamed influence. She gave me a quick glance before fixing her attention entirely on Christian.

I had no idea who she was… An important client, maybe? All I knew was that whatever this conversation was, it was way too serious for me to be sitting here listening.

Seizing the silence, I shot out the fastest excuse my brain could come up with.

"Yeah, so… I've gotta go."

Christian's eyes shifted from the newcomer back to me. His gaze was steady, curious, like he was trying to read me.

"Zoey—"

But before he could say anything else, I was already on my feet.

"My phone's still dead, and if I don't leave now, I'll be stuck in traffic hell," I said, grabbing my bag and adjusting the strap on my shoulder.

He looked like he wanted to say more, but just nodded instead, his eyes following me as I practically bolted out of the café, exhaling in relief the second I hit the street.

The relief didn't last.

The moment I stepped into my room at home, I was brutally yanked by the arm by a small but ridiculously strong hand.

"What the hell did you do last night?!" Annabelle's voice was sharp, urgent.

I tore free from her grip and shrugged, tossing my bag onto the bed.

My sister and I had always been tight—partners in crime growing up, keepers of each other's secrets, accomplices in every harebrained scheme. She was just a year younger than me, which meant we'd gone through pretty much every stage of life together—from getting in trouble for stealing candy out of the pantry to sharing our first sketchy drinks as teenagers. If there was one person in the world who knew every detail about me, it was Annabelle.

She crossed her arms, one eyebrow arching.

"You said you'd hire a gigolo to take you to Alex's wedding."

"Yes!" I threw up my hands, like that was the most natural thing in the world. "And let me tell you, Annie… he was hot."

"Zoey."

"Hot! Like offensively hot! So perfect that—"

"Zoey!"

I stopped when she gave me a look that was equal parts panic and disbelief.

"If he was a gigolo… then why is there a video of you and Christian Kensington on every social network saying you're his fiancée?!"

"Exactly, Christian Kensington, he…" I frowned, the name tugging at some vague recognition. "Wait… how do you know that's the name he picked off that heir list you gave me?"

My sister stared at me like I'd just said the sun revolves around the Earth.

"A name he picked?" Annabelle repeated, incredulous. "Zoey, Kensington isn't some name he 'chose.' It's his name!"

Without another word, she grabbed her phone and shoved it in my face.

The sound of my own laughter filled the room, followed by video footage of me and Christian at the wedding party, looking dangerously intimate. His arm around my waist. His hand on me. His gaze fixed on me like I was the only woman in the room.

And then, the caption plastered across the post, [Christian Kensington, billionaire heir of the Kensington Wineries, appears with his mysterious fiancée! Who is the woman who conquered the country's most desirable CEO?]

The world stopped.

My brows knit together as my brain scrambled to piece it all together like a puzzle where all the pieces were identical and nothing made sense.

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