Page 36 of Tender Temptation

What if she was in an accident? What if she’s hurt? Abducted?Dead.

The darkness of my thoughts is a black hole, pulling me under.

Why didn’t I insist on getting her address? I know she’s not on socials, but why don’t I know her parents’ first names? Why don’t I know what fucking school she went to? We’ve spent nearly every waking minute together for the past few weeks. I can tell you the location of every freckle on herbody.

How do I not know how to track her down?

The thought of Ivy scared and alone is a dagger to my soul.

As I wait for coffee to brew, the empty bottle taunts me. Evidence of my failed attempt to cope. For all my talk of integrity, I’m a fucking fraud.

The thing is, her absence is suffocating. The silence in my loft is a stark contrast to our conversations and the sounds of our passion. Her laughter, once a beautiful melody filling my loft, now echoes like a ghostly reminder. Will I ever hear it again?

Dragging my weary body to the shower, I let cold water shock my system. Wash away the stench of alcohol and despair. I resolve to find her, no matter the cost. The fear I’m already too late is crushing.

When I find her—and I will—I’ll never let her go again.

I can’t believe the most important meeting of my career is in an hour. I have no idea how I’m supposed to get through it, let alone make a presentation. Yet, after nearly canceling two dozen times, something compelled me to keep it on the books.

The reality is, Ivy is probably fine. Safe with her family. It doesn’t explain why she won’t text me back, but it’s possible she doesn’t want to talk to me after I rejected her idea of eloping. Maybe she’s ashamed about lying to me about her virginity. Maybe her dad has her on lockdown. Who knows.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’ve dedicated my entire adult life to McGloughlin Construction. Today is crucial, a potentially career-defining day. I have to suck it up for an hour.One goddamn hour. Surely, I can push my personal shit aside and manage.

Once I’ve scrubbed myself clean, I get dressed. Rather than my usual work clothes, I put on a pair of dark jeans and a button-up shirt. I keep my steel-toed work boots on, though. I don’t have the energy for pretense. I am who I am. A blue collar worker who’s made something of himself.

Shit. Was I enough for her? Her family is rich enough for a full house staff. It’s possible our story was always going to end this way.

Ithinkher feelings for me were real. Mine certainly are. I love her. She says she loves me. It felt sincere. But, could I have been her summer fling? A walk on the wild side? I mean, the girl was a twenty-four-year-old virgin, for God’s sake. Who could blame her for wanting to sow some wild oats. I sure did at her age.

The fucking age difference. It’s always worried me.

Every moment we shared was precious to me and the thought of it being over like this twists a knife in my gut.

The thought of her fucking someone else makes me feel murderous.

Fuck it.

I grab my keys and head out.

The way this organization disclosed the meeting location to me was nuts. Enshrouded in layers of secrecy I’ve never experienced in my life. Yesterday, I was required to sign a new stack of NDAs. The address was finally sent to me in an encrypted email message a hour ago.

I guess it underscores the high stakes and confidentiality of the project, but it didn’t make planning easy. Luckily, the drive to the meeting isn’t far and I find myself at a compound close to the Port of Seattle with plenty of time to spare.

Trying to push thoughts of Ivy to the side for a moment, I sit in the car to visualize my presentation. It’s useless. Ivy invades my thoughts instead. Her laugh. Cuddling on the couch. Making love whenever and however the mood strikes.

Shaking the memories off, I decide to head inside. There’s no shame in arriving early. I’m shown to the designated conference room—a stark, modern space. Very cold and impersonal. Setting up my materials, I attempt to anchor myself in the moment, but my hands tremble when I lay out the sample blueprints on the polished glass table. The words and diagrams blur before my eyes.

Then the door opens.

Stanley Bright, titan of the shipping industry, steps into the room with a presence demanding attention. He’s a tall, imposing figure with a broad, sturdy frame. His hair issilver and neatly trimmed. His beard is impeccably groomed, which adds to his distinguished appearance.

His unusual blue eyes are sharp and assessing—yet familiar—as he scans me from head to toe before extending a hand. “Stanley Bright. Thank you for coming today.”

“Cillian McGloughlin, sir. It’s my pleasure.” I grip his hand tightly as we shake. There’s something about this man. I’ve never met him, but it’s like we know each other. I can’t seem to place him, though.

A few minutes later, a string of executives wearing dark suits whose faces are a blur, follow him in. The last woman to enter the room stops my heart.

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