LOVE IS A DEBATE: RIVALRY TO ROMANCE (Novella)

DAMAGE CONTROL

The Aftermath

The next morning, I woke up to five missed calls from PR, two crisis briefings, and one text from my mother that said,

"Smile through it, keep your head up darling. Perception is power. You got this. Xoxo"

By 10 a.m., I was sitting in the Ashborne International boardroom - sleek, cold, all glass and chrome - watching two empires pretend this was a "strategic alliance" and not a corporate truce born out of scandal.

Our parents were all there - Jonathan and Evelyn Ashborne, composed as ever, and my own, Genevieve and Theodore Valencourt, perfectly polished. They were smiling, exchanging polite words that felt like negotiations wrapped in charm.

There wasn't tension between them, not yet - just relief. Relief that this merger could keep both legacies spotless.

"This partnership," Jonathan was saying, "positions both brands as leaders in sustainability. Youthful innovation meets established trust - it's exactly the narrative we need."

Translation: we'll make it look good.

I smoothed the sleeve of my ivory blazer and nodded at the talking points. My mother met my eyes across the table - the kind of look that said play nice.

And then I felt him before I saw him.

Beckett Ashborne - late, of course, because he could be.

He strode in like the room belonged to him. Charcoal suit, silver watch, the same calm precision that irritated and fascinated me in equal measure.

He offered his father a brief nod, his gaze flicking to me for only a second.

It was the kind of look that could freeze someone - sharp, unreadable, but with something simmering beneath. Guilt, maybe. Or curiosity.

I kept my eyes on the agenda. "You're late," I said smoothly.

He took the seat beside me - of course he did.

"I was preparing," he said. "Didn't want to appear... superficial."

I turned my head just enough to glare at him. "Oh? So you are capable of self-awareness. How refreshing."

His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "I was referring to my presentation, but it's good to know you're still thinking about me."

"Please," I said under my breath, leaning slightly closer so only he could hear, "the only thing I'm thinking about is how you managed to weaponize arrogance and make it look like professionalism."

He tilted his head, eyes glinting with amusement - and something else. "You sound impressed."

"I sound irritated."

"Same thing, in your case."

The rest of the meeting blurred into corporate speak - sustainability initiatives, public messaging, PR strategy. Our parents beamed, already envisioning glossy campaigns and shared profits.

To them, this was a win.

To me, it felt like being handcuffed to my rival.

When the meeting ended, I gathered my folders quickly. Beckett stayed where he was for a moment, then rose and walked toward me - slow, deliberate.

He stopped beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne - clean, expensive, frustratingly familiar.

"Adriana," he said quietly. My name rolled off his tongue like it was something he wasn't supposed to say aloud. "For what it's worth, yesterday wasn't... intentional."

I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "That's the thing about words, Ashborne. Intentions don't undo impact."

He took a step closer, and suddenly he was right there - tall enough that the air between us felt smaller. He rested one hand on the table beside mine, the gesture casual, deliberate, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

His gaze lingered, steady and unreadable.

"So," he said, voice low, "we'll need to meet. Work on ideas. Strategy."

"And you need to be this close to me in order to say it?" I asked, arching a brow.

He smiled - slow, infuriating. "No. I just wanted to."

My pulse jumped. He didn't move, didn't look away, until the corner of his mouth curved into something that looked dangerously close to a smirk. Then he stepped back, unhurried, gathering his notes as if he hadn't just set the air on fire.

"We'll talk details over the phone later," I said, forcing my tone to stay cool.

He glanced over his shoulder as he walked away. "If you wanted my number so badly, all you had to do was ask."

"You wish"

I exhaled sharply, more annoyed than I should've been.

Because the truth was - I wasn't sure if I wanted to punch him or kiss him.

And that was going to be a problem.