A Deal With The Billionaire, a secret with his enemy

‘If she had known that one ruined cake would unravel her entire world, perhaps she would have stayed back and let the rain swallow up the day. But she didn't. She ran instead, not from disaster, but straight into it. Into the moment that would shatter and rewrite every rule she thought she lived by.’

The rain lashed against her skin, cold and punishing.

Thunder roared above like war drums, as if the sky would fall on her.

But Trisha didn't care.

She was too desperate to care.

Her sneakers, thin and worn, squished with every step as she sprinted towards the hospital, clutching a small, square-sized vanilla cake box.

It was her brother Liam's birthday, and she had not remembered early enough to bake him a cake like she had always done in previous years.

The past couple of days had been rough.

But still…

How could she have forgotten?

She burst into the hospital lobby, her soaked clothes and shoes leaving a trail of water and mud behind her as she ran towards the elevators.

She slammed the up button. Nothing. Slammed again. Still nothing.

“Come on…” she muttered in frustration.

It was almost past visiting hours.

The lights above the elevator doors only flickered in protest.

She groaned loudly, “Fine!” and then turned sharply to the stairs.

She began to climb fast, obviously too fast because her wet shoes slipped halfway up and her foot caught the edge of the step.

She fell forward, the cake box flying out of her grip and colliding with someone's chest.

“Oh, no! No, no, no!” Trisha cried out.

She scrambled up and climbed a few more stairs.

“Please no…” She dropped to her knees, trying to gather whatever was left of the mess.

“You sure know how to make an impression,” she heard a deep, amused voice above her.

She looked up and froze as she stared at the most striking figure she had ever seen.

6'4". Sharp jaw. Deep grey eyes. His smooth, perfectly styled hair almost grazing his eyebrows.

He was casually dressed. Wearing a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up enough to expose his tattooed arms.

His scent filled her nostrils. A unique blend of peaches and strawberries.

Odd for a male of his physique.

“I—I’m so sorry. I wasn't looking.” Trisha stammered.

The man's lips curved into an arrogant smirk. “Obviously.”

There was a quiet authority in his voice, calm but impossible to ignore.

Trisha shuddered but doubted it was due to the cold biting angrily at her skin.

“How do we take care of this?” He spoke again.

Trisha's eyes darted to his ruined shirt.

“I—I'm…” Her voice shook. Exhaustion settling on her shoulders.

Her knees still stung from the fall.

“I might know a way,” the man said, slipping a business card into her soiled palms.

His fingers brushed hers briefly, sparking an unwanted feeling in her chest.

“You clearly owe me a new shirt; come by my office in two days and