Oops... I Married the Wrong Billionaire

11

The board of directors wanted blood, but they were willing to settle for a press release.

Lucas Ashford leaned back in his leather desk chair, resting his fingers against his jaw. On the monitor in front of him, three board members shifted uncomfortably in their high-definition video frames.

"Stock dropped another point at the opening bell, Mr. Ashford," Lockridge, the senior board representative, barked through the speaker. "The northern port acquisition is stalling because the Sinclair family refuses to sign the final shareholder agreement while you are legally tied to an unknown architect."

"The registry investigation is ongoing," Lucas said, his voice flat and perfectly steady.

"The market doesn't care about the registry!" Lockridge shot back, slamming a palm onto his mahogany desk. "The public sees a billionaire caught in a golden trap. PR says we need a joint statement today. You and Ms. Carter. A unified front to reassure investors that this isn't a hostile scandal."

"Send the draft to my terminal," Lucas said flatly. "I will review the language."

"Make sure she sounds grateful and cooperative," Lockridge warned before severing the video link.

Lucas sat in the quiet study as the printer chimed, spitting out two crisp pages. He picked them up, adjusted his silk tie, and walked into the open living room.

Ava was sitting at the marble kitchen island, her hair pulled back into a loose bun. She wore an oversized blue sweater, her cheeks still slightly flushed from her morning coffee. She was tapping her pencil against a sketchbook, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"We have a problem," Lucas said, setting the white paper on the marble counter in front of her.

Ava didn't stop her stylus. "Did someone put a jar of garlic powder in the wrong alphabetical slot?"

"The board," Lucas corrected, stepping closer. "They are demanding a joint public statement regarding our temporary status to stabilize market stock before the four o'clock port hearing."

Ava stopped her pencil. She slowly lifted her hazel eyes, looking at the printed document. "A statement?"

"Read it," Lucas instructed.

Ava pulled the paper toward her. Her eyes scanned the first paragraph, and her jaw instantly tightened.

"'Ms. Carter wishes to express her deep gratitude to the Ashford family for their gracious hospitality and support during this administrative transition,'" Ava read aloud, her voice dripping with sudden, sharp sarcasm. She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "Gratitude? Gracious hospitality?"

"It is standard public relations phrasing," Lucas said deadpan.

"It sounds like I'm a stray dog you picked up off the highway!" Ava shouted, slapping the paper onto the counter. She grabbed her thick red Sharpie, uncapped it with her teeth, and drew a thick, violent line straight through the entire second paragraph. "I am not signing this."

"The board requires a statement, Ava," Lucas said, using her first name without thinking. "If the port acquisition fails, my family's board majority will be challenged."

"Then write something true!" Ava demanded, leaning over the island until her face was inches from his. "I am not going to stand in front of news cameras and pretend I am some grateful little charity case who got saved by your bank account!"

Lucas watched her. He smelled the faint scent of vanilla and roasted coffee clinging to her sweater. Her eyes were sharp, stubborn, and completely ablaze with pride.

He picked up his Montblanc pen from his jacket pocket. "What do you propose?"

"Cross out 'gratitude,'" Ava instructed, pointing her finger at the paper. "Change it to 'mutual cooperation.' And delete the sentence where it says I have stepped back from my career to focus on personal matters."

"That sentence reassures investors that there are no active legal disputes between us," Lucas explained, his tone level.

"It makes me look like a quitter who gave up her job the second she got a rich husband!" Ava shot back, her chest heaving under her sweater. "I spent seven years building my reputation as an architect, Lucas! I will not let your corporate spin team destroy what's left of my name just to save your stock price!"

Lucas looked at her. He took in the flushed color on her cheeks, the stubborn set of her chin, and the absolute refusal to break in her eyes. She was standing in his six-million-dollar apartment in an oversized sweater, fighting him for her dignity with a red marker.

He pulled his Montblanc pen from his breast pocket. "What do you want removed?"

Ava blinked, taken aback by his sudden surrender. She pointed a trembling finger at the page. "Cross out 'gratitude.' Change it to 'mutual cooperation.' And destroy the sentence where it says I am stepping away from my architectural work to focus on personal matters."

Lucas clicked his pen and neatly crossed out the PR team's draft. In clean, precise handwriting, he wrote: Ms. Carter remains actively engaged in her professional practice while both parties cooperate fully with state authorities to resolve the administrative error.

Ava blinked, watching his hand move across the page. Her defensive posture softened by a fraction. "You're changing it?"

"Your professional integrity is not a bargaining chip," Lucas said smoothly, capping his pen. "We present this version, or we present nothing."

Ava looked up at him, her hazel eyes searching his cool gray ones. For a second, the quiet between them felt heavy, sweet, and entirely too close.

"Thank you, Lucas," she said softly.

"Do not make a habit of thanking me," Lucas replied, though his voice lacked its usual sharp edge. "We have a press briefing outside the municipal courthouse in thirty minutes."

The steps of the city courthouse were packed with reporters, flashbulbs exploding like erratic lightning against the gray afternoon sky. The air smelled of rain, exhaust fumes, and cold autumn wind.

Lucas stepped out of the black town car first. He adjusted his jacket, ignoring the chaotic barrage of shouted questions from the press line.

"Mr. Ashford! Did she trick you into signing?"

"Ms. Carter, did you plan this for the settlement money?"

Lucas turned back to the open car door. He extended his hand toward Ava.

Inside the leather interior, Ava took a slow, deep breath to steady the rapid pounding in her chest. She reached out and set her hand in his. His palm was large, warm, and broad, his fingers closing around hers with steady, unyielding strength.

She stepped out onto the slick, rain-dampened marble steps. Just as her heel hit the stone, a sudden, sharp gust of wind whipped her hair across her face, catching the hem of her coat and sending her sliding sideways.

Before she could fall, Lucas moved.

In one smooth, instinctual motion, he stepped directly into her path, his broad frame blocking the cold wind and the glaring cameras. His left hand came up, wrapping firmly around her waist through her coat, pulling her steady against his side.

The crowd erupted. A hundred camera shutters clicked in a deafening, continuous roar.

"Keep walking," Lucas murmured near her ear, his deep voice low and steady against the chaos. "I have you."

They reached the podium. Lucas stood beside her, his left hand resting lightly against the small of her back as he held the revised paper with his right. His voice boomed over the speakers, clear, commanding, and absolute, reading the modified statement.

When a reporter shoved a microphone forward, shouting, "Ms. Carter, is it true your firm fired you for fraud?" Lucas stopped reading.

He didn't yell. He simply lowered the paper and locked his dark gray eyes onto the reporter. The temperature on the courthouse steps seemed to plummet ten degrees.

"Ms. Carter is an accomplished architect whose professional integrity is unquestioned," Lucas said into the microphone, his tone dropping into a terrifyingly cold register. "Any further defamatory statements regarding her character will be met with immediate legal action from my office. We are done here."

He turned, keeping his hand firmly against Ava's back, guiding her smoothly through the parting sea of security guards and back into the safety of the car.

By four o'clock, the heavy rain was drumming against the floor-to-ceiling glass of the penthouse.

Ava kicked off her damp shoes in the foyer, letting out a long, exhausted sigh as she walked into the kitchen. "I think I lost five years of my life on those steps."

"You handled it well," Lucas said, unbuttoning his jacket and setting his phone on the island.

"I didn't throw up on the microphones, so I'm calling it a victory," Ava said, reaching for the kettle.

Lucas picked up his tablet, opening the early afternoon news feeds to monitor the market reaction. He froze mid-scroll.

"Lucas?" Ava asked, leaning over the marble counter to see what he was looking at. "Did the stock crash?"

"No," Lucas said quietly.

On the screen of the city's top news network, the lead photo wasn't of them standing rigidly behind the podium reading text.

It was the split-second image captured at the bottom of the courthouse steps—the moment the wind had pulled her off balance, and Lucas had stepped in front of her, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, his body shielding her from the storm, his face turned toward hers with fierce, unyielding protection.

The bold headline above the picture read: UNEXPECTED PROTECTOR: BILLIONAIRE LUCAS ASHFORD DEFENDS WIFE ON COURTHOUSE STEPS.

Ava stared at the photograph. Her heart gave a sudden, strange flutter against her ribs. In the photo, Lucas looked powerful and completely focused on keeping her safe, while she looked up at him with absolute, unhesitating trust.

"They... they aren't calling me a gold digger," Ava whispered, genuine disbelief in her voice.

Lucas stared at the screen, his fingers tightening slightly around the metal edge of the tablet. "The market stabilized up three percent," he said, though his voice sounded unusually thick.

Before Ava could respond, the private elevator chimed sharply in the foyer.

The heavy doors glided open, and Eleanor Ashford stepped out into the living room. Her tailored suit was spotless, her silver hair immaculate, but her face was pale with icy, dangerous fury. In her gloved hand, she held a printed copy of the front page, shaking it as she walked toward them.

"Have you completely lost your mind, Lucas?" Eleanor's voice echoed through the high-ceilinged room like a cracking whip. "You defended her on national television! You threw away our PR strategy, changed the board's statement, and now the entire country thinks you are in love with an associate architect!"

Lucas set the tablet down on the marble counter, his face instantly locking into an impenetrable wall of iron as he moved to stand directly between his mother and Ava. "Mother. That is enough."

"Do not 'Mother' me!" Eleanor snapped, marching right up to the kitchen island, her dark eyes flashing with pure rage. "Victoria’s mother just called me in tears! The Sinclairs are pulling out of the northern port deal entirely! They claim you have chosen this nobody over our family's legacy!"

Eleanor slammed the newspaper onto the marble counter, right over the spot where the photo lay.

"Lockridge and the board are convening an emergency termination vote at five o'clock," Eleanor declared, her voice dropping into a chilling whisper. "Unless you publicly strip this girl of your name by tomorrow morning, Lucas... your own father will vote to remove you as CEO."