I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 142 - 143 Boycott Campaign

Chapter 142: Chapter 143 Boycott Campaign

I cracked the door open the moment I heard footsteps.

Kept it barely ajar, just enough to see Franklin bolt down the stairs like his arse was on fire.

I couldn’t catch his expression. No clue if he’d gotten what he came for or if Ashton had kicked him to the kerb.

I stepped out.

Ashton came out of the study at the same time.

‘Did you check your phone?’ I rushed towards him. ‘You didn’t actually give him that project, did you? Tell me you didn’t agree to work with that dodgy little shipping company.’

He kept walking, straight towards the staircase.

What did that silence mean?

My stomach clenched.

I didn’t know the ins and outs of his business deals, but Franklin was slick and shameless.

‘Wait—seriously? You didn’t fall for it, did you? If you trust him, he’s going to screw you over. You really didn’t see my messages?’

Still nothing. Not a word.

He headed downstairs.

I followed, practically breathing down his neck.

The stairs were narrow, polished, and I was barefoot.

I stepped on the back of his shoe. Hard.

The second I lost balance, my hand flew out.

I grabbed his arm before I could crash to the floor.

He caught me like he’d expected it—just reached back, curled one hand around my waist and pulled me into his chest.

Then he shifted his grip and hoisted me up with one arm, and started walking down the stairs.

‘You managed to trip over yourself,’ he said, almost amused. ‘What do you do when I’m not around? Walk into traffic?’

My stomach had dipped when he lifted me—brief, weightless, like my body hadn’t caught up to itself.

Then I landed against his chest, warm and solid, my cheek brushing the collar of his shirt.

I wrapped my arms around his neck before I could think.

My ears started burning.

‘Put me down,’ I muttered. ‘I can walk.’

His arm stayed locked around my back.

He glanced at me.

My hair had come loose across my face and I hadn’t fixed it.

I still hadn’t caught my breath from nearly eating the stairs.

His eyes lingered.

I narrowed mine. ‘What are you staring at?’

He didn’t answer. Just kept walking, straight through the hallway and into the kitchen. Still holding me.

He carried me with one arm and poured water with the other.

When he finally set me down, his grip didn’t ease until both my feet touched the floor.

‘You followed me all the way down here,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘Thirsty?’

He took a long drink.

His throat shifted with the swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

I took a step back and shoved my fingers through my hair, tugging the mess behind my ears.

‘Don’t try and change the subject,’ I accused. ‘I didn’t follow you to get a glass of water. I asked if you saw the messages I sent you.’

He smiled again. An enigmatic one.

What was so funny?

I turned away. ‘Forget it. If you want to get in bed with the Vance family, that’s your funeral. It’s your company.’

Behind me, he laughed.

I stopped. Looked back and glared at him.

He reached for me and pulled me towards him again.

‘You’re pissed now?’ he said lightly, handing me a fresh glass. ‘What if I did decide to work with Franklin Vance? Will you flip a lid? Stomp on my head instead of just my foot?’

I scoffed and tilted my chin. ‘Do whatever the hell you want. Not like my opinion’s ever stopped you before.’

He paused. His mouth curved.

‘Relax. I didn’t. I wouldn’t touch a deal with him.’

I exhaled.

The pressure in my chest let up all at once, and then came back twice as fast.

‘Then why the hell didn’t you say that earlier? I thought he’d sold you on one of his shitty fake-pitch decks.’

‘I saw your messages.’

‘You didn’t reply.’

‘I was busy.’

That smug tone made it worse.

I glared. ‘You weren’t busy. You just didn’t feel like replying.’

He didn’t deny it.

‘Was it fun making me type like a maniac? My fingers still ache,’ I complained.

I downed half the glass. The water was cold, sharp against the roof of my mouth.

I wanted to throw the rest in his face.

I didn’t.

‘You don’t need to boil over,’ he said finally, softer now. ‘I saw everything. I read it all. I listened. I’m not working with him. So what are you mad about?’

I lowered the glass.

‘I’m not mad. It’s your company. Doesn’t matter what I think.’

‘Doesn’t it?’ Ashton dragged me back a half step, his hand clamped firm around my wrist. ‘You’re the boss’s wife. What you say goes. You don’t want me working with the Vances, then I won’t.’

‘H’m.’

‘I’ll have Dominic draft a formal notice tomorrow. LGH and every subsidiary under it will cut ties with Vance Overland and anything remotely connected to Vance Omnia Group. That work for you?’

I slapped his arm. ‘Jesus, calm down. That ratty excuse for a company doesn’t need a whole boycott campaign. Just don’t touch it, that’s enough.’

Then I pointed straight at his chest. ‘And I’m not the boss’s wife.’

I spun and bolted up the stairs before he could say anything smug.

***

Next morning, I barely stepped into the studio before Yvaine came skidding through the front door with her scarf still wrapped around her head like a towel.

‘Mira! I found someone! He’s coming in today. You can meet him and see what you think.’

I raised both brows. ‘That quick? Where’d you find him—he legit?’

‘Haven’t a clue. I haven’t even met him yet.’ She pulled out her phone, tapping fast. ‘I posted the listing in a few groups online. He messaged me late last night. Says he just got back from uni overseas. Twenty-two, fresh out.’

She turned the screen to show me.

I leaned in.

Most of the messages were just him listing his credentials.

‘You think any of this is real?’ I asked.

She shrugged. ‘Could be.’

‘If he’s that qualified, why’s he trying to work here? Foreign uni, finance degree... seems like a waste.’