My One Night Stand Wears a Suit

Chapter 5

This was the second time she was hiding away in the toilet.

But Daphne needed to regroup.

She leaned against the cool marble wall, her breath coming faster than she wanted it to. First days were always overwhelming, but this wasn’t nerves over a new job. This was something heavier—like walking into a trap she hadn’t seen coming until the door clicked shut behind her.

Her hands itched toward her bag. She pulled out her phone and pressed Victoria’s name. It rang twice before dropping to voicemail. No comfort in her best friend's voice, no quick-witted reassurance to tell her she was being dramatic.

She chewed her lip and typed quickly instead:

“Well, I met Mr. Mysterious and guess who he is? Tall-dark-and-brooding!”

She stared at the screen, then added: “The one from that night.”

Her thumb hovered. For a second she considered deleting the whole thing, pretending none of this had happened. But the weight in her chest was too much. She hit send.

No reply. Just silence.

She slipped the phone back in her bag and gripped the sink, forcing herself to look in the mirror. Her reflection didn’t look like someone who was falling apart—but inside, her pulse was sprinting. She could still feel his gaze, the way it pinned her earlier. Like he was remembering too. Like he’d planned this.

She shook her head sharply. No. She couldn’t afford thoughts like that. Not here. Not now.

Straightening her blouse, she pulled her shoulders back. “Get through the day,” she whispered to her reflection. “Just get through the day.”

Then she pushed the door open and stepped back into the corridor, every inch of her movements practiced, like armor she hoped wouldn’t crack.

Her steps echoed too loudly in the quiet corridor. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around, to disappear again—but she forced herself forward.

The office door loomed ahead. She hadn’t realized how close she’d come to feeling cornered until the shadow in the doorway moved.

Edward.

“Miss Hart.” His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made her stomach twist. She froze.

He leaned casually against the frame, hands in pockets, eyes fixed on her like he was measuring her.

“I—I was just…” she began, but the words faltered.

“You were hiding,” he said softly, a statement, not a question. “That’s… interesting.”

“I—I just needed a moment,” she stammered, aware of how weak it sounded.

“Moments are for the unobserved,” he said softly. “But you’re not invisible, are you?”

Her pulse jumped. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Edward stepped forward, not close, not threatening—yet everything about him was undeniable, drawing her attention inescapably.

“I unsettle you,” he said. Statement, not question.

Daphne’s fingers curled around her bag strap. “I… yes,” she admitted, words tight. “A bit.”

“Hmm…a bit.” His lips tilted slightly. His gaze lingered, calculating, and she felt exposed in a way she hadn’t anticipated. “Tell me, Daphne, is it usual to run into your one night stands?”

The question stunned her, Heat rushed to her cheeks. “That was my first…” she blurted, then bit her tongue. Too late.

His smile was slow and self-satisfied. “I'm honored.”

Daphne's face couldn't get any redder. She just wanted the ground to open up and swallow her to put an end to this very embarrassing moment.

“What do you think about dinner tonight, Miss Hart?”

Dinner? Was he really asking her out to dinner?

“I don't think that'll be wise Sir.”

One brow arched.”Wise?” She nodded.

“Most people wouldn’t hesitate.” His voice remained calm, matter-of-fact. “An invitation from me tends to draw a different response.”

“I’m not most people.”

For a beat, his mouth curved—more acknowledgment than amusement. “Clearly.”

The silence stretched, and she felt the weight of it, of him, until she had to fill it. “It’s my first day here Sir,” she said quietly. “I wouldn't want to start rumors or give anyone a wrong interpretation.” She argued.

“Ahh…..rumors” He c****d his head. “Only, they won't exactly be just rumors, would they?”

Edward didn't know what he was doing prodding her. Normally, he was the one drawing the line, making it clear there’d be no repeat. But with Daphne… it was different and maybe that was the problem here—The shoe was very much on the wrong foot and he wasn't used to it. That night had marked him in a way he couldn’t forget, and her insistence on dismissing it scratched at his pride. He refused to believe it hadn't been the same for her.

Daphne tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, her knuckles whitening as she forced herself to hold his gaze. She willed her voice not to tremble.

“Sir… what happened that night… it was—” she paused, swallowing hard, heat creeping up her neck again. “It was a mistake. One we’ll best forget about.”

Her words were firm, but her pulse betrayed her. He was watching too closely, and she knew he saw it—the flicker of hesitation, the way her breath caught at the memory she was trying so hard to bury.

Edward’s eyes sharpened. “A mistake?” he echoed, almost tasting the word. “Is that what you've decided to call it?.”

Daphne’s chest tightened. She forced a small, professional smile. “What I call it doesn’t matter anymore. What matters is that I have a job to do here, and I won’t compromise it.”

He studied her for a long moment, as though dissecting every layer of her restraint. His presence filled the space, making it hard to breathe.

Daphne dropped her gaze to the floor, needing the break from his stare. Then, as smoothly as if the moment had never happened, he inclined his head.

“As you wish, Miss Hart.” His tone was level, professional, unflinching. “We’ll keep things exactly where they belong.”

Relief should have followed, but it didn’t. Something in his tone made her feel as though she’d been measured, noted, filed away for later—That he wasn't finished with her.

Nathan’s footsteps broke the tension. “Mr. Malcolm,” he called lightly as he approached, holding a folder, “the board is ready for you.”

Edward’s eyes remained on Daphne for one more breath, then he turned toward Nathan without a flicker of hesitation. “I’ll be there.”

As he passed, his voice brushed her like a fingertip. “Settle in, Miss Hart.”

Not a threat. Not a promise. Just a statement, delivered in that even voice that left her pulse skittering.

Then he was gone, Nathan falling into step beside him, the measured sound of his stride carrying down the marble hall until silence returned.

Daphne remained rooted in the corridor, her pulse refusing to settle, caught between fear, fascination, and the undeniable pull that came with Edward Malcolm’s attention. Whatever this was, it was only beginning—and she had the sinking feeling she’d already lost before the game had even started.

---

Inside the mirrored lift, Edward adjusted his tie, his reflection cool and composed. Yet beneath that surface, irritation flickered. Not sharp, not lasting—just foreign.

Refusal.

It had been a long time since anyone had given it to him. Longer still since he’d cared.

And that, more than her words, unsettled him.