I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 193 - 194 Team Outing

Chapter 193: Chapter 194 Team Outing

I’d been glued to my laptop so long my lower back had started protesting.

I finally dragged myself downstairs for water, stretched my neck, and nearly bumped into Daniel as he rushed in.

‘You didn’t share the photos I sent you, did you?’ he asked quickly.

‘No. Why?’

He let out a relieved breath, then leaned in like he had a secret to share. ‘Rowan’s people reached out to her fanbase. Told them not to repost anything. She says the guy in the photo’s just a friend. Dinner and nothing more. Blaming the angle.’

I set my glass on the counter. ‘Maybe she wasn’t lying, then.’

He didn’t catch that. Just kept talking. ‘Apparently, she gave the heads-up yesterday, but I only found out this morning. Good thing you kept it to yourself.’

‘I didn’t leak anything,’ I said. ‘Relax.’

Daniel nodded, then sighed like he was personally invested. ‘I really thought she’d landed someone serious. Judging by that guy’s clothes, he looked like the kind of man with stupid money. Could’ve helped her career. Shame it’s just a friend.’

He rambled on, trying to piece it all together out loud.

Whatever.

His recap matched what she told Ashton, which meant she was actively trying to kill the story.

That also meant she hadn’t staged the photo herself.

So far, no real damage done.

‘What was that?’ I looked up.

‘What?’ Daniel stopped mid-sentence.

He followed my line of sight and stared out the window.

‘Nothing. I thought I saw something.’

‘What was it?’

‘Can’t be sure.’ I squinted but could not make anything out. ‘Thought it was a camera flash.’

‘Are you sure? Could just be the glare from the sun.’

‘Probably. Anyway, back to work.’

‘Wait!’ Daniel chased after me. ‘I haven’t shared with you Rowan’s latest song. You’ve got to listen to it...’

***

At three in the afternoon, Daniel popped his head into my office, looking awkward.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Mirabelle, I’ve been at the studio over a month now.’

‘Yes.’ Was he going to ask for a raise?

‘Aren’t we due for some kind of team outing?’

‘You want a team outing?’

Back when I was still at Nyx Collective, I’d been dragged to a few of those.

Awkward small talk, limp appetisers, fake bonding.

I spent most of them calculating exit strategies.

So, no, I’d never thought about planning one for my own studio.

Daniel shrugged. ‘Not an official outing or anything. There’s only three of us. But we’ve never grabbed dinner together. Feels weird, considering how well we get on.’

‘Sure. Ask Priya when she’s free, and I’ll take you both out.’

He beamed. ‘I’m on it.’

He bolted down the stairs, trainers slapping against the concrete.

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

Business had been non-stop lately.

The budget line from that affordable luxury collection had finally started trickling in.

Daniel’s timing wasn’t bad.

I could treat them to a meal and sort out bonuses while I was at it.

Two minutes later, he galloped back up.

‘Priya says she’s free whenever. What about tonight?’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re that eager?’

He scratched his head, still grinning. ‘I’m just saying, if we wait, we’ll probably end up buried in deadlines again. Plus, you offering to pay? You’re absolutely going to forget by next week.’

‘Charming,’ I said. ‘Fine. Tonight it is.’

I texted Ashton to let him know, shut the place down early, and dragged my two favourite overachievers out for dinner.

We went to a seafood buffet that charged like it was fine dining.

It was pricey, but I didn’t care.

Plates piled high, crab legs cracking, butter dripping—we cleared the table like it was a sport.

Daniel kept throwing out stories that got progressively more ridiculous.

Priya laughed so hard she had to dab under her eyes with a napkin.

By the time we were picking through the dessert trays, Daniel piped up again.

‘It’s still early. If I go home now, I’ll just end up scrolling till two. Let’s hit a bar. Couple of drinks, maybe live music. Helps with digestion, right?’

I glanced at Priya.

She nodded.

Daniel clapped once. ‘Great! I’ve got a place. Just opened, already viral online. Some influencer sings there, or something. Not far either.’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Lead the way.’

He dragged us to this quiet little spot tucked between a yoga studio and a frozen yoghurt shop.

No neon signs, no queue, no bouncer.

A guy on stage was strumming an acoustic guitar, barely amplified, voice low and slow.

We found a table near the back wall.

Dim lighting, soft cushions, decent aircon.

I hadn’t sat down before Daniel was already halfway up again.

‘I’ll grab drinks. Mira, can I order the expensive stuff?’

I leaned an elbow on the table. ‘Order whatever you want. Just keep mine and Priya’s on the lighter side.’

‘Got it.’ He snapped a mock salute with two fingers. ‘Sweet and overpriced. My speciality.’

He jogged off to the bar.

Right after he left, the music cut out.

Total silence for a beat.

Then the crowd burst into loud, scattered applause.

I looked up.

The guy with the acoustic guitar had left the stage.

A new one was already strapping on a matte black electric.

Skinny jeans, black jacket, studded leather boots.

Hair dyed silver, shaved close at the sides, slicked back on top.

The lights hit it like foil.

The first chord snapped out from the amp, sharp and fast.

The whole place shifted.

More bodies stood. More drinks spilt.

He jumped/danced on the spot as he played, grinning at the front row, voice rough but in tune.

I leaned forward.

I knew that face.

Cade Lawson. Yvaine’s boy.

Right, she’d said he played at a bar.

I just hadn’t expected this.

He looked exactly like the clips she’d sent me.

Same lean build. Same too-pretty face.

The lights smoothed out every flaw.

Not that he had many.

I raised my phone and snapped a photo, then sent it to Yvaine.

[Your BF can sing.]

Daniel returned to the table and sat down across from me and Priya.

‘All sorted,’ he said lightly. ‘They’ll bring it over in a minute.’

‘Why are you all out of breath?’ I asked. ‘You look like you’ve been jogging.’