Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 529 Gwen's POV Nick glanced at me, then at the girl, and answered in a voice that sounded... tired. "I'm coming, Paula." I watched the interaction between them. The way she said his name. The familiarity in her tone. The way he answered without hesitation. Something uncomfortable twisted in my stomach. Jealousy? Was I jealous? Paula nodded, satisfied with his response, and said, "Good. The tourists are already waiting for the tour." Then she turned and walked away, heading back toward the main villa with confident, determined steps.

I watched her go, noticing the way her ponytail swung, the certainty in every movement. The way she seemed to belong there in a way I clearly didn't. I wanted to ask who she was. I wanted reassurance that I had no reason to feel jealous. That she was just an employee. Or a friend. Or anything that didn't feel like a threat. But at the same time, it felt pathetic not to remember such basic things about my own life. Maybe they were siblings or she and I were best friends and I'd just forgotten. Maybe she was his cousin, or neighbor.

Or an ex-girlfriend who'd become a friend, or a longtime employee who had the freedom to talk to him like that. There were too many possibilities for my scrambled brain to process. So I ignored the uncomfortable feeling and changed the subject. "A tour?" I asked, turning my attention back to Nick. He bent down and grabbed the T-shirt he'd left hanging on a nearby branch. He started pulling it on as he explained, and I couldn't help feeling a small stab of disappointment as that incredible torso disappeared. "Yeah. Every afternoon we offer guests a tour of the property's winery.

An immersive experience, you know?" He tugged the shirt into place. "You get to see the vineyards, learn about our winemaking process, and finish with a tasting, of course. As our guest, it'd be my pleasure if you joined us." I couldn't help thinking I'd rather be having a very different kind of pleasure with him. One that involved the two of us alone in one of those rooms. No clothes. No interruptions. No scrambled memories getting in the way. Still, I nodded. "Sure. Sounds interesting." We started walking side by side back toward the main property.

packed snow made every step a little dangerous. Nick naturally offered me his arm, and I accepted, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his sleeve. We reached an area near the parking lot where a vehicle was waiting. The only way I could describe it was a safari truck, winery edition. Open sides. Bench seats in rows. A perfect view of the surrounding landscape. A few guests were already seated, chatting animatedly. Nick helped me climb up, gripping my hand firmly as I balanced on the high

and that was when I noticed. Paula was in the driver's seat. She adjusted the rearview mirror, checked something on the dashboard, then glanced back and met my eyes for a split second. She didn't smile. Just turned back around. Great. So we definitely weren't friends. Nick took his place standing near the front, holding onto a support bar, clearly slipping into tour guide mode. When all

courtyard and heading down a dirt road that cut through the property. "Good afternoon, everyone," Nick began, and his voice had completely changed. It wasn't the awkward, confused tone he used with me. It was confident. Warm. Engaging. "Welcome

they grew, how the region's terroir influenced the flavor of the wine, the importance of altitude and sun exposure. His passion was evident in every word.

An older man ventured, "Different grapes?" "Good try," Nick said with an encouraging smile. "But actually, you can make white wine from red grapes. The main difference is-" "In the contact time with the skins," I heard myself say, clear and confident. "In red wine, the