I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 146 - 147 Client Dinner

Chapter 146: Chapter 147 Client Dinner

‘I’m not lying.’ She shook her head so hard her earrings slapped her neck. ‘We dated for, what, three months? If I act like he was the love of my life, that’s just pathetic. I’m not that girl.’

She sprang to her feet and scanned the room like she was ready to flip a table.

‘I’m gonna build my brand and make a bloody fortune. Men are distractions. I’m over it. That breakdown was temporary, Mira, I swear, I’m fine now.’

I exhaled through my nose. ‘He never deserved you.’

My palms itched. ‘You shouldn’t’ve let him walk away like that. You should’ve called me. I would’ve made sure he couldn’t sit for a week. He doesn’t get to treat you like that.’

Yvaine waved me off. ‘It’s done. I’m not wasting another second on him. If I throw a fit, it just proves I gave a damn. And I didn’t. Not really. Guys like him always fake the charm until they think they’ve won. Then it’s just ego and dick jokes.’

I folded my arms. ‘Does Emmett know? He should’ve broken his fucking jaw.’

‘He knows.’ Yvaine made a face. ‘He wasn’t even mad. He just looked smug. Like he’d been waiting for this.’

No surprise there.

Emmett disapproved of Cassian from day one, even though they were friends.

Yvaine slapped her cheeks twice and stood. ‘Come on. Let’s get food. The contractors are coming this afternoon to finish up. Once the shop opens, I won’t have time to think about that useless man again. I’m over it. Really.’

I nodded, but I didn’t believe her.

I started popping into Sugar & Whim more often.

Kept an eye on her without making it obvious.

No signs of collapse.

She scrubbed the counters, ordered bulk flour, bossed the contractors around.

She stopped mentioning Cassian entirely.

Just talked business. Equipment. Packaging. Rent.

When the gold foil signage went up, I finally stopped checking up on her every five minutes.

***

That afternoon, Ashton rang.

‘Dinner tonight,’ he said. ‘I want you to meet a client.’

‘Yeah, alright.’

Octavia Grey had sent me a steady stream of C-list actors and thirsty influencers, all sniffing around for custom pieces.

I’d done mock-ups for three of them, but none had pulled the trigger. No contracts yet.

My calendar was so empty it was starting to insult me.

I met Ashton at The Rookery, a private club tucked behind a bland grey façade on West 48th.

When I got there, he was leaning against the stone column by the entrance, buttoned up in a charcoal coat with the collar turned up.

‘I just got here,’ he said, his breath showing in the air. ‘You’ll freeze out here. Let’s go in.’

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder. ‘What’s this client like?’

‘I don’t really know,’ Ashton said. ‘Cassian sent them my way. Said it’s a friend of his.’

‘What kind of friend?’

He kept walking.

I didn’t.

I should’ve stayed home.

If I’d known this was one of Cassian’s people, I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten-foot pole.

I didn’t care if my studio never turned a profit again; Cassian Langford could keep his damn referrals.

Ashton didn’t notice the shift. He pushed open the club door.

‘Apparently, she’s some actress. Just did a drama that blew up. Her name’s all over right now.’

‘An actress?’

Ashton glanced back. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Let’s just get this over with.’

He stepped aside and held the door open.

I walked in, shoulders squared.

Cassian Langford was sitting on a velvet sofa. His legs were stretched out, one arm resting along the backrest, looking right at home.

Next to him sat a girl with a high ponytail and a pale green jumper.

Her face was small, round, softly lit by the chandelier overhead.

She looked fresh-scrubbed and polished, like she’d just stepped off a morning show set.

I recognised her. Barely.

That was the rising star Yvaine had warned me about.

Harper Foster.

She’d had a breakthrough playing the scheming younger sister in some Regency drama.

She looked less filtered in person.

Narrower jaw, sharper eyes.

Still recognisable, if you squinted.

I stared at her. ‘You’re Harper Foster, right?’

She stood, her meet-the-fans smile ready. ‘Yes. That’s me.’

I ignored her outstretched hand.

Just pulled out my phone and started typing.

She glanced at Cassian like a puppy waiting for a command.

‘Don’t just stand there,’ he said casually. ‘I already ordered. Check the menu, see if there’s anything else you want.’

I didn’t respond. My thumbs moved across the screen, scrolling fast.

When I looked up, I aimed the phone screen straight at her. ‘I’m pulling up your photos. You look completely different in real life. Honestly? Bit rough.’

I tilted the phone so she and Cassian both got a nice, clear look.

Harper’s face froze. Her lips parted, then shut again. She didn’t speak.

She clutched her jumper sleeves and peeked up at Cassian like she expected him to rescue her.

He hesitated, jaw tightening.

His voice was both confused and offended. ‘What’s your problem? You’ve just met her and you’re already being hostile. I brought her here because I thought you could design something for her. She’s got a huge following right now. Working with her helps you, not the other way round.’

Ashton gave him a hard look that should’ve seared a hole through his smug suit.

Then Ashton leaned towards me and muttered, ‘Do you know her? Is there history I’m missing? Maybe we go in and talk it through—’

I didn’t budge. ‘I’m not going in. This dinner’s not happening.’