Page 24 of Tempted By Eden

The pounding in myhead is relentless, each throb like a hammer to my skull. I pry my eyes open, but the spinning room forces them shut again.

Am I still drunk?

Nathan and I didn’t leave the bar until two, after drinking far more than we should have for a weeknight. It’s been years since I stayed out that late—or had that much fun.Nathan’s a blast to be around, undeniably cute, but there’s no spark between us. No butterflies in my stomach, no heat coursing through me… not like a certain tall, dark, and infuriating CEO. The image of his smug face tightens the vice around my temples, intensifying the pain.

What the hell was I thinking? Getting wasted on my first day is a new low.

I drag myself into the kitchen, hoping that coffee might perform some miracle on my sorry state. Dad and Leo are finishing breakfast, both looking annoyingly bright and chipper.

“Morning, Momma!” Leo’s cheerful voice cuts through my throbbing head like a knife, and I wince, forcing a smile that’s more like a grimace.

“Morning, baby,” I croak, reaching for the mug of coffee Dad’s holding out.

“Good night?” Dad’s smirk says it all.

“Yeah, until now,” I mutter, taking a cautious sip. The strong, black coffee offers a small relief as it slides down my throat.

Dad chuckles. “Ahh, to be young again. Leo, get your things, pumpkin. Grandpa’s taking you to kindy,” he calls, his voice at an unnecessarily loud volume.

“Dad!” I snap. “For the love of God, you’re killing me here!” I shoot him a glare, rubbing my temples as if that will somehow lessen the pain.

“Sorry, darling,” he whispers with exaggerated softness.

As they leave, I consider how I’m going to survive the day when just standing here is a challenge.

I manage to make myself presentable—or at least somewhat less of a disaster. My white silk blouse is neatly tucked into my high-waisted pants, and I throw on a blazer for good measure, hoping it’ll help me look more put-together than I feel.

Staggering into the building, the world sways. If I can reach my desk without passing out or puking, I might make it through the day.

I spot Nathan in the lobby, looking every bit as wrecked as I feel. His hair is a mess, stubble darkens his jawline, and his tie is hanging loose around his neck.

“Well, you look like shit,” he jokes with a weak chuckle as I approach.

“You aren’t exactly fresh as a daisy yourself,” I retort, eyeing his untucked shirt.

Before he can respond, a familiar, deep voice booms behind us, making my blood run cold.

“You both look horrible.”

Nathan and I spin to see James standing there, his gaze flicking between us with a mix of disdain and irritation. We must look like we’ve just rolled out of bed together.

Great, he already thinks I’m a hooker. Now, the office slut.

I close my eyes briefly, wishing I were anywhere but here. When I reopen them, James is staring directly at me, his expression unreadable.

“Both of you—my office in ten minutes,” he snaps. The elevator dings, and he storms inside and jabs the button. “Get the next one.”

As the doors close, Nathan grunts “fuck,” and I can’t help it—I burst out laughing. It must be the remnants of alcohol still flowing through me, because nothing about this situation is funny.

We manage to stifle our laughter as we step into the next elevator, both of us sobering up—mentally, at least—as we prepare for the inevitable lecture. We quickly stash our things at our desks and head to the top floor, determined not to make our situation worse by being late.

The top level of the building is a different world from the floors below. Where the lower levels are warm and collaborative, this floor is all business—pristine white marble, glass offices, and sleek, black furnishings that scream corporate efficiency. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

Nathan approaches the receptionist, a woman in her late sixties with perfectly coiffed gray hair and flawless makeup that puts my feeble contouring skills to shame. She’s dolled up in a bright red pantsuit, looking every bit the picture of competence and poise. In comparison, Nathan and I look like something the cat ate and regurgitated.

“Hey, Portia, we’re here to see James as requested,” he says, flashing that killer smile of his. It’s amazing to watch—that smile would charm the pants off just about anyone. “This is Cora. She started yesterday,” he adds, nodding in my direction.

Portia smiles warmly, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “James is expecting you both. Go on through.”

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