I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 131 - 132 Dinner With A Perv

Chapter 131: Chapter 132 Dinner With A Perv

Preston saw me hesitate and shoved down on my shoulder again.

I gripped the edge of the table, ready to throw a plate at him, but then he bent low beside my ear.

‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘Maxwell can’t get it up. He can’t do anything. Just sit still and look pretty.’

I stared at him.

He stepped back.

I turned slowly and looked at Maxwell again.

His lips were parted in a sticky grin.

His skin looked waxy. His eyelids drooped. He blinked slow.

The man probably couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without collapsing.

I sat.

Preston’s hand lifted from my shoulder.

He moved around the table, filled a glass for Maxwell, poured a second for himself, then said, ‘This is Mr Gary Maxwell, Senior VP of Corporate Procurement. This is my cousin, Mirabelle Vance.’

Franklin chuckled. ‘Come on, Mirabelle. Say hello. Give Mr Maxwell a toast.’

I stared straight ahead and kept my mouth shut.

Franklin’s smile twitched. ‘She’s, uh... shy. Not much of a talker. Let’s eat.’

Still blocking the door, he waved for the waiter.

Plates started arriving.

Prawns, roast duck, asparagus spears glazed in something thick and amber.

No drinks yet, but the food alone could’ve fed twenty people.

I counted the plates. The total bill would land deep in four figures.

Maxwell must’ve been holding something they wanted. A project. A contract.

Something big enough for the Vances to pull out all the stops and sell their dignity along with mine.

I dropped my gaze, felt eyes crawling up my arm.

Maxwell was still staring; he hadn’t stopped since I came in.

His breath came out thick. His elbow brushed mine again.

I shoved my chair sideways with a sharp scrape. The legs dragged across the tile, loud enough to startle a busboy.

Franklin snapped, ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Show some manners.’

He leaned in close and hissed, ‘If this deal goes through, I’ll wire you some cash. Just shut up and behave.’

I rolled my eyes straight into the back of my skull.

He tried to laugh it off. ‘Let’s eat, then. Mr Maxwell, how’s the spread? If there’s anything you don’t like, we’ll order something else.’

Maxwell’s eyes stayed locked on me. ‘It’s fine.’

He wasn’t talking about the food.

Still, he didn’t touch me.

Eventually, he started chatting with Preston and Franklin, something about procurement cycles and contract clauses.

His attention shifted off me, which meant I could finally stop holding my breath.

I stayed put. Back stiff. Fork untouched. I didn’t drink the water.

Preston broke first. ‘Mr Maxwell, about that project, any update?’

Maxwell’s cheeks pulled tight with a grin. His eyes disappeared into the fleshy folds. ‘Almost at the tender stage.’

‘You must be swamped. Appreciate you making the time.’

Franklin jumped in, lifting his glass. ‘Yes, thank you for squeezing us in. Cheers.’

He took a sip, then leaned sideways, dropping his voice. ‘You know if the contract lands with us, we’ll be... very grateful.’

He raised two fingers behind the glass and flicked them once.

I caught it.

What did that mean? Twenty thousand? Twenty million? Or twenty per cent?

Maxwell didn’t blink. He reached for his fork. ‘There’s a process. Let’s stick to that. Food looks great.’

Franklin nodded. ‘Of course, of course. Let’s eat.’

They’d just started moving their cutlery when I cleared my throat.

‘Mr Maxwell, just a heads-up, you should steer clear of Vance Overland. The place is tiny, outdated, and they’ve got a pile of violations stacked higher than their forklifts. Total shitshow.’

I clucked my tongue and shook my head slowly.

They tricked me into this dinner. They locked the door, played dumb, shoved me at this perv.

Fine. If they wanted drama, I’d give them the full set list.

‘Last I heard, tax investigators showed up at their warehouse unannounced. If you sign with them and they vanish in a month, you’ll be chasing ghosts. Just saying—it’s a risk.’

All three of them stared.

Franklin slammed his palm on the table. ‘What the hell is wrong with you? Just shut up and eat!’

Preston’s voice was strained. ‘Mr Maxwell, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s just a kid. Ignore it. Hell, she doesn’t even work at the company. I’m the CEO, and I can speak with confidence that our books are clean, our permits are intact, no incidents on record. Everything’s above board.’

Maxwell looked annoyed for half a second, then shoved it down and grinned like nothing had happened. ‘No harm done. I guess Miss Vance was just ribbing you. Cousins, eh?’

He shifted in his seat and leaned my way.

His fingers, thick and greasy, crept towards my thigh.

I smacked the back of his hand, hard.

‘Ow! Bloody hell,’ he yelped, jerking back like I’d burned him.

His smile vanished.

Franklin looked ready to throw his drink at me. ‘Mirabelle! What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t just hit people. Apologise to Mr Maxwell!’

I flexed my wrist. ‘He should be thanking me. There was a mosquito. I killed it. And if it comes back, I’ll kill it again.’

Maxwell chuckled. ‘Feisty. I like that.’

There was no trace of mirth in his eyes.

I ignored his attempt to make me drink, and I kept playing with the steak knife.

He kept his hands to himself after that.

The rest of dinner dragged.

Preston kept circling back to the project, trying to slip in little reminders about deadlines and logistics between meaningless chit-chat.

I half-listened, knife in hand.

Every so often, I threw in a fresh lie about Vance Overland.

Faulty cranes. Leaky roof. Unpaid workers. A rat infestation.

Franklin glared. Preston kicked me under the table once.

They both looked like they regretted dragging me here.

Good.

Franklin made one last attempt. ‘If Vance Overland gets the chance to work with LGH, we’ll prioritise this partnership. Give it our all. Mr Maxwell, you’d benefit too. Win-win, right?’

I looked up from my drink and stared at Maxwell.

So this guy was with LGH.