Page 2 of Natural Temptation

I hold back a sigh. Of course they're expecting growth. Eve and Val Silva, the owners of the Au Naturel chain of resorts, are great people. But they're also dead serious about business. "I understand, James. We've implemented several new strategies to enhance guest experience and boost word-of-mouth marketing. I'm confident we'll see results."

"I certainly hope so, Ryan. The Au Naturel brand is known for excellence, and we can't afford to let standards slip. Not even on a remote island paradise."

His words sting more than they should. I've poured my heart and soul into this resort, using it as a lifeline to pull myself out of the darkness that threatened to consume me after...No, I won't think about that. I know James, as well as Eve and Val, don't think of their resorts as just another line item on a spreadsheet. It's their calling.

"Don't worry, boss," I say, infusing my voice with a confidence I don't entirely feel, "I assure you every guest who sets foot on Heirani Motu will experience nothing short of perfection. You have my word."

"See that they do, Ryan. The future of the resort depends on it." With that ominous parting shot, James ends the call.

I lower the phone, staring at the dark screen. The weight of expectation settles over me like a heavy cloak, and for a moment,I allow myself to feel the full force of it. Then, with a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and continue my walk back to the office. Every day is another chance to prove myself. And I won't let anyone down—not James, not the guests, and most importantly, not myself.

As I exhale slowly, I allow the frustration to sift away with every breath. Stabbing a hand through my hair, I mutter to myself once again. "Get it together, Kimble. James won't fire you."

I really need to stop talking to myself out loud.

With a final glance at the darkening horizon, I turn and start the trek back to my office. My feet sink into the cooling sand with every deliberate step, mirroring the weight I feel settling in my chest. The conversation with James replays in my mind, his words a constant reminder of the pressure I'm under.

As I reach the path leading away from the beach, I quicken my pace. My movements are purposeful, every stride reflecting the discipline I've honed over years of managing crises—both personal and professional. The lush foliage whispers around me, but I barely notice its beauty, my mind already racing through tomorrow's to-do list.

"Welcome speech, staff briefing, final room checks," I recite under my breath, organizing my thoughts as I navigate the familiar trail.

The resort's main building comes into view, its warm lights a beacon in the moonlit night. I pause for a moment, taking in the sight of the star-studded sky and the island that has become my home for the past few weeks. This is more than just a job. It's my redemption, my chance to prove that I can still make something meaningful, even after everything that's happened.

I square my shoulders before stepping inside the lobby. The cool air-conditioning hits me as I enter, a stark contrast tothe balmy evening outside. I nod at the night staff, who offer cheerful greetings as I urge myself to respond in kind.

On the way back to my office, I can't help wondering what challenges tomorrow's guests will bring. But I push the thought aside. After all, I've faced worse things—much worse. And this time, I'm determined to make this island my new home, permanently.

Once inside my office, I sink into my chair with a sigh. The computer screen flickers to life, its glow casting shadows across my desk. I pull up tomorrow's guest list, each name a potential landmine in the delicate balance of running Au Naturel. I scroll through the document, uncertain of why I'm bothering to do that. The task relaxes me, and that's all that matters.

My gaze dances over the names and any special requests they might have asked for. The Johnsons wanted extra towels. Mr. Patel requested a vegan menu. The Coopers are celebrating twenty years of marriage, so they requested the anniversary package.

I pause, my finger hovering over the trackpad, and try to memorize the first names of all the new guests. That's no easy task. But my previous career taught me to notice everything. Before I know it, I've cataloged all the first names.

With a satisfied sigh, I lean back and clasp my hands behind my head.

I close the guest list and pull out a fresh sheet of paper, clicking my pen over and over. Time to craft the perfect welcome speech. My fingers tap a staccato rhythm on the keyboard as I begin to write.

"Welcome to Au Naturel Naturist Resort South Seas," I say, testing the words. "Where paradise meets...No, too cliché." I cross it out, frowning. The speech needs to be warm, inviting, professional. Just like me, huh? A wry smile tugs at my lips. Ifonly everyone knew how much effort goes into maintaining this facade.

I try again. "Welcome to Au Naturel Naturist Resort South Seas. We're delighted to have you join us on Heirani Motu, where..."

The words flow easier now, my pen racing across the page. I describe the island's lush beauty, the crystal-clear waters, the hidden waterfalls waiting to be discovered. Every sentence is carefully constructed, designed to paint a picture of serenity, sensuality, and adventure. The interim general manager won't be getting any of that.

While I work, I feel the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. This is what I'm good at—setting the stage for others to find their bliss even if I can't seem to find my own, creating an experience they'll remember long after they go home.

I pause, tapping the pen on my chin until inspiration strikes again.

"Remember," I say softly, practicing the words, "at Au Naturel, we celebrate the beauty of the human form in all its diversity. Here, you're free to be your authentic self."

The irony of those words isn't lost on me. I glance up, catching sight of my reflection on the polished desktop. The fading light casts shadows across my face, emphasizing the lines of worry etched around my eyes. I twist my lips into a frown as I mutter, "Authentic self, my ass. When's the last time you let anyone see that, hey, Kimble?"

The reflection offers no answer, just a weary look that speaks volumes. I see the weight of expectations in the set of my shoulders, the guard I've built in the tightness around my mouth.

This is who you are now. The capable resort manager. The professional.

But even as I speak the words, a part of me rebels. Is this really all I am? A collection of polite phrases and efficient gestures, hiding behind a mask of competence? I spin my chair around, unwilling to look at my own reflection anymore, unable to face the questions in my own eyes. The speech lies finished on the desk, a testament to the persona I've crafted. It's good. It's exactly what the guests need to hear.

So why does it feel like I'm lying?

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