Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 423 Marcus' POV I walked to the door with heavy steps, every muscle in my body still tight with sexual frustration. My mind was split between the irritation of being interrupted at the worst possible moment and the determination to get rid of whoever it was as fast as possible so I could get back to Madeline. When I opened the door, I found Margaret standing in the hallway, her usual work bag in hand and an unshakable look of determination on her wrinkled face. "Good evening, Mr. Kensington," she said in rapid Valentian, pushing past me before I could fully process her presence. "Mrs.

Margaret," I replied, still stunned. "But I canceled today. I told you we were cooking for ourselves." She shook her head vigorously, her small hands already slipping off her coat as if the discussion was over. "No, no, no. Today is Tuesday. Tuesday is my day. I always work on Tuesdays," she said, mixing Valentian and Maravian in that peculiar way she always did when she wanted to make something absolutely clear. "But Mrs-" 11 "No buts!" she cut in, lifting one small but authoritative hand. "I'm here to work. You pay me on Tuesday, I work on Tuesday.

It's that simple!" Before I could argue further, I heard footsteps behind me. Madeline appeared in the hallway, fully dressed again. She had put on a clean blouse and fixed her hair as if nothing had happened. But I could see the same sexual frustration burning in her eyes that I was feeling. "What's going on?" she asked, looking between me and the elderly housekeeper. "Mrs. Margaret insists today is her workday," I explained, running a hand through my hair.

Madeline looked at the housekeeper, who had already started walking decisively toward the kitchen, then back at me. For a moment, I saw a thoughtful expression cross her face. "Well," she said finally, a small smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "after the mess we made in the kitchen, it wouldn't be so bad to have someone experienced clean up and

was already standing in the middle of what looked like a culinary battlefield. Pots smoking on the stove. Flour scattered all over the counter. Eggs smashed on the floor. Tomato sauce splattered everywhere. Madeline's stained blouse

somehow managed to be both amused and exasperated. "Good heavens!" she exclaimed, gesturing dramatically at the chaos around us. "Che cosa è successo qui? It looks like a tornado!" Madeline and I exchanged a look and burst out laughing. We couldn't help it. The situation was so absurd, so clearly the result of two people completely distracted by other activities, that the housekeeper's reaction was more than justified. "I don't even need to understand Valentian to know this was bad,"

take care of everything," she declared finally, already pulling rubber gloves out of her bag. "You two... get out of here. Let me work." "Mrs. Margaret," I started, guilt creeping in as I looked at the mess we were leaving for her. "No arguments!"