Married To My Devilish Rival

Chapter 5

Daphne Whitmore

Two worlds collided the night Tristan Carrington walked into Petali Neri and watched me.

Friday night flashes through my mind.

I can still feel the weight of his gaze, the way it seemed to leave trails of sparks wherever it lingered.

How easily he cracked my composure.

I hated it. How unaffected he looked watching me as if he didn’t make my heart race.

I wonder if he recognized me. If he knew those green eyes belonged to me. If he knew whose body he’d been watching all night.

His rival.

Snapping out of it, I shake my head as if that will shake him out of my head.

I have work to do.

The Project Singapore is hanging by a thread. I should be preparing for my meeting with the project manager, figuring out how we’re going to fix this and get everything ready for the launch.

I glance at my wristwatch. He should be here any moment now.

The abrupt ringing of the telephone nearly makes me shriek.

“Miss Whitmore? Mr—”

Nora’s voice fills my ear as I press the telephone to my ear.

“Finally. Send him up.”

“But—”

“Nora, please. I don’t have time for another delay. Just send him in.”

“Of course, Miss. Whitmore.”

The line ends with a click.

My hand reaches for the report, fingers hanging mid air when I glance at the bouquet of red roses that arrived on my desk this morning, the note ‘From Bryce’ hanging from the bouquet.

I have no doubt that my mother put him up to this, in an attempt to win my heart.

And I don’t even like red roses.

It saddens me that my mother has become so obsessed with my love life, she doesn’t even know what her daughter likes.

I wonder what she’ll think of her daughter’s secret life. Or what Bryce’s face will look like when he finds out.

No man will marry a woman who dances on a pole for others to see.

They won’t understand the freedom it gives me. The peace.

They will only see the wrong of it.

A knock interrupts my thoughts.

I tear my eyes from the bouquet.

“Come in,” I say, flipping through the report.

“Adrian, I hope you have a solution for Project Singapore,” I say the moment the door opens, missing the shift in the air.

I barely look up, eyes scanning the report.

I expect Adrian to respond, but he doesn’t.

So when I look up, it’s not Adrian but the last person I want to see.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Tristan walks into my office, shutting the door with the click before strolling in like he owns the place.

Is he here because he recognizes me ?

Is he here to expose my secret for the whole world to see?

My mind flies from one question to the other, each leaving me with a pang of dread.

“Good morning to you, Whitmore,” Tristan says, taking long strides toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.

I nearly miss the folder in his hand.

He’s here to expose my little secret.

Panic crawls up my neck as I think about what part of my secrets is in that folder.

With my mind racing, I clear my throat and straighten my spine, forcing my expression to remain neutral.

“What are you doing in my office?”

He stares over the city. “Is that how you greet your guests, or am I receiving special treatment?”

He doesn’t show the slightest hint of malice.

He might not be here to blackmail me, but an uncertain part of me wonders why he decides to grace my office with his presence.

“Who let you in?”

“You did.”

What?

Then my earlier conversation with Nora replays in my head. I cut her off before she finished her statement. It wasn’t Adrian who was here to see me but Tristan.

“Why are you here?”

He turns from the window, his shoes clicking against the floor as he takes the seat opposite me, eyes trailing to the bouquet on my desk. Something dark flickers in his eyes briefly.

“Red roses? I thought you hated them?”

I turn my attention back to the report, trying to look busy as though him remembering that detail doesn’t unsettle me.

“You prefer magnolias.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement. A fact.

And for some reason, that makes my heart race.

“I prefer you mind your business,” I snap.

“Still as charming as ever.”

My nails tap impatiently against the desk. “Get to the point, Carrington.”

“I’ve heard about your difficulties in your company.”

My jaw tightens.

“Ah, I see. You’ve been doing your homework.”

“Your company is hardly a secret, Daphne. Especially when its problems are becoming public knowledge.”

My fingers tighten around the pen.

The last thing I want is to let him get to me.

“If you’ve come here to gloat, the door is behind you. Don’t let it hit you on the way out.”

He straightens his tie, unbothered. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

I quirk an eyebrow.

Well, that’s unexpected.

He places a folder on the desk and slides it towards me.

I don’t look at it. I hold his gaze.

“A partnership between Whitmore Hotels and Carrington & CO Enterprises. We take on the financing for Project Singapore. Your company retains its operational role, and we negotiate the remaining terms.”

A partnership.

But why?

“What’s the catch?”

Business moguls like Tristan don’t make offers like this without wanting something in return.

“Marry me.”