Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 273 The soft lighting in the living room created a cozy atmosphere that contrasted perfectly with London's restless energy outside. I'd put on a quiet playlist of classic rock while making tea for the two of us, still trying to prolong the peaceful feeling our day in the countryside had brought me. "That mug is... interesting," Nate laughed, holding up the cup I'd handed him. I glanced at the design and couldn't help but laugh too. It was one of my favorites. It was an illustration of a lazy cat with the phrase "Don't talk to me before my third coffee" printed in giant letters.

"A gift from Zoey," I explained, settling onto the sofa beside him and tucking my legs under me. "She said it matched me perfectly." "Your sister knows you well," he said, taking a sip of the earl grey tea I'd made. "Three cups of coffee, really?" "On bad days? Could be four," I admitted with a laugh. "Sometimes five, if it's Monday and raining." "And here I was thinking my morning caffeine dependency was intense," he teased, pulling me a little closer on the couch. "So what made the poor thing get replaced by tea tonight?" "I figured serving coffee to a Brit after five p.m.

was a crime against the Crown. I don't want to get deported." "Definitely don't want that," he laughed. Nate glanced around the room with a renewed curiosity, as if he were really seeing the space for the first time. His gaze lingered on the photos scattered across the shelf: Zoey and me posing dramatically on Ipanema beach; a Verdanian Christmas family picture with all of us crowded around the tree; Matthew striking some ridiculously dramatic pose on a trip to Buenos Aires.

"You all look really close," he observed, gently picking up a photo of the three of us at a June Festival, dressed in full traditional outfits. "We are. Sometimes I think that's what I missed the most after moving here," I admitted, watching him take in every detail of the picture. "That feeling of having people around who've known you forever-who know all your embarrassing secrets and love you anyway." "And now?" he asked, wrapping an arm around me as he carefully set the photo back on the shelf.

"Now I'm building new connections," I said, leaning into his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt. "Some very unexpected ones." "Unexpected how?" he teased, kissing the top of my head. "Like finding out my boss is actually a man who collects vintage vinyls, plays piano like an angel, and takes me to secret little towns in the English countryside." We stayed there talking about small things we'd never shared-discovering layers of each other that went far beyond the professional tension that had always dominated our interactions.

playing with the buttons on his shirt. 1/3 "Navy blue," he answered without missing a beat. "It reminds me of the school uniform I wore from eight to eighteen. I was happiest there during my teenage years." "Mine changes with my

that field we saw today." "Movie that impacted you the most?" he asked, running his fingers through my hair in a slow, absentminded rhythm. "Lawrence of Arabia," he replied, and I could hear the nostalgia in his voice. "My father took me to a special showing when I was twelve. It was the first time I understood that movies could be art, not just entertainment." "Mine was Harry

the classics." Nate's face lit up with an expression that carried something nostalgic and deeply personal. "My family lives in Bath," he said, almost like a special confession. "Her city. I grew up visiting the house she lived in, walking the streets that inspired her novels." "Seriously?" I perked

that," I replied, already picturing the two of us walking through those historic streets. We kept trading little details about our lives, building a map of intimacy out of silly confessions and surprising discoveries. He admitted he had an embarrassing soft spot for cooking reality shows-especially the ones where

slightly open, that we both talked to ourselves when we were focused, and that we each had a complicated relationship with plants-we wanted to own

hear the genuine longing in his voice. "She died when I was fifteen, and no matter how hard my mother tries, she's never managed to recreate the exact taste. There was something about the spices she used... a

"Terribly," I said with a laugh. "I've tried a few times here in London, but they always taste like sadness and homesickness." 2/3 Every new detail became an excuse to get closer-soft kisses that punctuated our