Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 609 Gwen's POV It was Christian standing in the doorway of my office. Mia was the first to react. She shot up from her chair like she'd been electrocuted, hugged our cousin quickly, and before | could even process what was happening, she was already grabbing her phone and purse. "| just remembered | have a call with legal," she announced dramatically. "Like... right now." As she passed him, she made a face and mouthed slowly at me: he's mad. Of course he was mad. For him to leave Verdania, cross the ocean, and come talk to me in person? He was furious. Damn it.

Christian closed the door behind him and only then turned fully toward me. "lL asked you for one thing," he began without preamble. His voice was low, controlled, which was worse than yelling. "One. ---- Don't mix your personal life with Kensington business. You know that always ends badly, Gwen." | crossed my arms, more to hide the fact that my hands were shaking than out of defiance. "It would've ended worse if I'd used my name," | shot back, trying to sound reasonable. "At least this way-" "At least this way you dragged the entire group into it," he cut in.

He stepped farther into the room and dropped a thick folder onto my desk. The KWJ Holdings logo stared back at me like an accomplice. "If you want to play savior to a bankrupt farmer, fine. That's your business. But you didn't burn your money, Gwen. You used a Kensington holding." | swallowed. "I told you I'd reimburse it from my own funds," | reminded him. " Kensington won't take a loss. As soon as the operation is structured, | can-" Christian laughed. Not amused. A short, disbelieving sound that made me want to crawl into a drawer and shut it.

"You really think this is about wiring money back?" he asked, lifting one eyebrow. "Sorry, board, | impulsively signed off ona 2.3 million dollar acquisition, but don't worry, I'll transfer it later'? You signed on behalf of a holding created specifically to protect ---- the group's strategic investments. You did it without board approval, without legal review, without anyone. That goes on the balance sheet, Gwen. It's recorded in the minutes. It shows up in audits. In meetings with the banks. Everywhere." He opened the folder and slid several pages toward me. Seventeen contracts.

us money. "Kensington now owns a portfolio of distressed debt," he continued. "You know how banks see that? Risk. You know how rating agencies see that? Increased exposure to questionable debtors. And you know how the press would see it if someone decided to talk?" He looked up, locking eyes with me. "Headline." | rolled my eyes, more out of

clicks?" Heat flooded my face. "It wasn't because I'm-" | bit my tongue before finishing that ---- sentence. | took a breath. "It was a good

to the wrong hands, he would've lost everything. The farm. The house. Jobs for multiple families. You know how those funds operate. You know that-" "IL know," he cut in, softer now but no less firm. "And precisely because | know, | would've found another way. One that didn't involve you sprinting out of Florentia to sign a credit assignment in some small-town bank like it was a movie

have to have every single one of these debts analyzed," he continued. "Who these people are. What their real situation is. Whether it makes sense to collect, renegotiate, forgive, or enforce. And you know what happens if, in the middle of all that, it leaks that Kensington

operation was transferred to one of my own companies. | can-" "and you think that erases the paper trail?" He stopped and looked straight at me. | opened my mouth to argue, but nothing solid came out. Because he was right. And | knew he was right. Which only made me angrier. The room went quiet for a few seconds. | could hear my own heartbeat in my ears. He took a slow

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Our job is to protect this group," he went on. "The wineries. The employees. The partners. The name you carry. You might see opportunity in the garbage you bought.

you do all day?" One corner of his mouth lifted in a tired almost-smile. "The difference, Gwen," he said, and the sentence fell between us like a verdict, "is that | don't