Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 593 Gwen's POV Mia and Dante left my office about twenty minutes later, carrying the empty Thai takeout containers and leaving behind the heavy silence that always followed difficult conversations. | stayed at my desk for along moment, staring at my phone. | knew what | had to do. | had put it off long enough. | took a deep breath and dialed. Christian answered on the second ring. "What's wrong?" was the first thing he said, his voice already filled with that immediate concern he always had whenever | called during work hours. | couldn't help the laugh that slipped out.

"Oh my God, Christian," | said, leaning back in my chair. "You need to relax. Every time | call Zoey, she's by a pool or at a spa. You should join her sometime. Get a massage. Drink some wine. | don't know. Live a little." There was a pause on the other end. Then he replied, and | could hear the smile in his voice. ---- "As much as | appreciate the unsolicited relationship advice," he said in that dry tone he used when he was being sarcastic, "Zoey and | are doing very well, thank you. In fact, we're planning a trip to Valentia soon." He paused, pointedly.

"Maybe you have a little countryside inn in Castoria you'd recommend." My stomach dropped. | grimaced even though he couldn't see me. "She told you," | said. It wasn't a question. "Didn't she?" "She's my wife, Gwen," Christian replied simply. "And you missed the deadline she gave you. You know how | feel about missed deadlines." Of course | did. Christian hated it when people were late with deliverables, missed deadlines, failed to follow through on what they promised. He said it showed a lack of professionalism. A lack of responsibility. A lack of respect for other people's time and work.

at her," he continued, his voice softening slightly. " She defended you very well." ---- | smiled despite everything. "Of course I'm not mad at her," | said. "Zoey is right. She always is. | just... didn't know how to tell you. How to explain it." There was silence on the other end for a moment. "Are you mad at me?' | asked finally, my voice coming out smaller than | intended. Christian laughed. It was a dry, almost emotionless one he used when he was working through something complicated. "Of course I'm not mad,"

"You lied to me by omission for weeks. Yes, you did." I et out a nervous laugh: "When you put it like that..." ---- "But," Christian cut in, his voice turning serious now, "as long as your name doesn't end up in the press as a partner in another winery, and as long as this doesn't become a legal or PR problem for Kensington, we're

own financial decisions." Something loosened in my chest. Relief. Gratitude. "Thank you," | said softly. "For understanding. For not..." "Gwen," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice now, "you're my sister. And one of the best professionals | know. | trust your judgment. Even when | don't completely understand your choices." | sighed and looked down at the

that," he replied, clear confusion in his voice. ---- "And we are," | said quickly. "And her ideas are great. They really are. But they're long-term. Building reputation. Attracting steady clients. Increasing revenue gradually." | paused and rubbed my forehead, where a headache was starting to form. "But we don't have the luxury of time, Christian.

clicks. He was probably opening a spreadsheet, running numbers in his head. "No," | admitted. "It's ridiculous, actually. Forty-two thousand dollars. It's nothing. | spend more than that on..." | stopped, realizing what | was about to say. "On a shopping spree?" Christian finished dryly. "Yes, | know." "Something like that..." "Then why don't you