Page 18 of Tempted By Eden

Cora

Lamb chop?

Nathan

Lamb to the slaughter? Not a fan of that kids’ show?

Cora

Pretty sure I’m not old enough to remember it.

Nathan

What? Lamb Chop’s an icon and so freaking cute!

Cora

Umm, okay…

What a weirdo—but I kinda love it. Smiling to myself, I log off and head to the lifts to meet Nathan.

We enter the auditorium on level thirty-six, and Nathan guides me to the side of the stage. The space is huge, with plush red velvet seats arranged in steep, theater-style rows, creating an atmosphere that feels more like a high-end cinema than a corporate meeting room. When the last few stragglers arrive to find their seats, Nathan gives me the rundown.

“Okay, Rossi, when I introduce you, just keep it short and sweet. Don’t expect a warm welcome from everyone,” he warns.

Nathan strides to the center of the stage, his voice booming as he welcomes the crowd. “Good morning, everyone. Hope you all had a great weekend. Tina is off sick today, so I’ll be introducing our new employee, Cora Rossi, before handing over to James for the monthly update. Cora will be working closely with me as our new senior public affairs specialist. Please make her feel welcome.”

He motions for me to join him on stage. My heart skips a beat, but I force my legs to move with as much confidence as I can muster. Standing beside Nathan, I project my voice as loud as possible, keeping my message short and sweet like he suggested. “Thank you, Nathan. I’m really looking forward to meeting all of you and working together.”

Public speaking doesn’t usually faze me, but the sea of blank faces staring back offers no warmth, making the moment feel like an eternity. I can practically feel the walls closing in around me.

Sensing my panic, Nathan steps in to fill the silence. “I’m sure we’ll all make her feel welcome and part of the team,” he says, glancing off to the side. “Great. James is here now to take us through the monthly update.”

We retreat to the side of the stage, and I whisper to Nathan, “Well, that was fucked.”

“Yes. Yes, it was,” he deadpans.

My relieved chuckle dies on my lips when my eyes lock onto a man staring at me—dark eyes that look so much like my son’s.

Oh no.

Please, no.

Oh God, no.

My heart stops. Blood drains from my face and the world around me sharpens and blurs all at once.

Jonathon is glaring at me from the other side of the stage, a storm of emotions raging across his face—confusion, anger, disgust. My knees go weak.

He’s the first to break eye contact, striding across the stage and commencing his update in his clipped American accent. But I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Here, under the harsh fluorescents of the auditorium, he looks different to how he appeared on Saturday. But his presence is just as commanding, if not more so. The dark fabric of his tailored suit highlights his broad shoulders and lean physique. This time though, his black hair is neatly slicked back, and his sharp jawline is clean-shaven. This man was deep inside me less than forty-eight hours ago, his body intertwined with mine. I can still taste the salty, earthy flavor of his cum on my tongue, feel the roughness of his stubble against my thighs.

The room empties around me, but I’m frozen, the sounds of shuffling feet and low murmurs fading into a dull roar in my ears. I didn’t hear a single word of his speech, too lost in the shock of seeing him again.

Nathan’s voice slices through my daze like a lifeline. “Cora, are you okay?” he asks. “You’re white as a sheet. Do you need to sit down?”

Before I can answer, Jonathon—or James, I suppose—cuts through the crowd like a predator homing in on its prey, his glare locked on me with an intensity that makes my blood run cold. My heart hammers against my ribcage, each beat more frantic than the last as he closes the distance between us. An unreadable look flickers in his eyes, one that sends a chill down my spine and roots me to the spot.

When he stops just inches from me, the air thickens, as if the entire room were holding its breath. “Follow me,” he commands. There’s no question in his voice—only an ironclad expectation that I’ll comply.

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