Page 34

I glance at the clock: 9.55 a.m. They’ll be here any minute.
I fiddle with the cord connecting the projector, and my presentation finally displays on the screen.
Thank fuck.
“Are you alright?” Nathan asks, tilting his head as he watches me scroll through the slides.
“Just nerves,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Everything needs to be perfect.”
Nathan leans in closer, raising an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re totally fine. Definitely not on the verge of a nervous breakdown or whatever.” He rolls his eyes but thankfully drops it. “Well, at least you look like a boss. Vintage cream pantsuit, black stilettos? You’re giving off some serious ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibes today. Plus, the ponytail?” He mimes a chef’s kiss. “You’re killing it.”
I laugh, the strain easing just a little. “Glad you approve, fashion police.”
He grins. “You’re lucky I don’t have the power to fine you. With the amount of outfit repeating you’ve been doing, I’d be making a killing.”
I smirk, shaking my head as I adjust the collar of my cream blazer, feeling a tad self-conscious. It’s been years since I bought myself anything new to wear. “And here I thought you were just in HR for the paperwork.”
“Hey,” he protests, feigning hurt, “I’m multifaceted. Some days I’m a people person, some days I’m a fashion guru. Today, I’m both. I brought my A game.”
“Clearly,” I reply dryly, though his light-hearted teasing does manage to chip away at my anxiety, if only for a second. Nathan knows how to diffuse tension without making a big deal out of it.
I check the clock again. It’s 9.58 a.m. Almost time.
Executives trickle in, taking their seats with the quiet efficiency of people accustomed to long meetings. Fingers tap rhythmically on keyboards, eyes flick between laptop screens and paperwork. A few thumb through their phones, barely looking up. The soft murmur of idle chatter mixes with the hum of the projector.
Nathan watches me for a beat, his grin fading. He leans in, dropping his voice. “You’re going to be fine, Cora. You’ve got this.”
I nod, grateful for the pep talk. I’ve prepared all week for this; I’m ready. Even so, the knowledge does little to calm the nervous flutter in my stomach.
“Thanks, Nathan.” I manage a smile. “Hopefully I still have a job in an hour.”
Before he can respond, the door swings open.
James strides into the room first, with Dameon close behind. Their entrance draws the attention of everyone already seated, the soft chatter instantly evaporating. My breath falters, the weight of James’s presence constricting my lungs. I swear the air in the room shifts when he’s here.
James is, as always, devastatingly handsome, his tailored suit fitting him like a glove. He exudes power with every step. But it’s Dameon who makes my nerves spark to life. The glint in his eyes tells me everything I need to know—he hasn’t forgotten Saturday night. He knows exactly what happened between James and me.
Heat rises to my cheeks, my mouth suddenly dry. I struggle to hold Dameon’s gaze—it’s like looking into the eyes of someone who knows all my secrets. I swallow hard, trying to keep my expression neutral.
James is all business, his face giving nothing away. But Dameon… his smirk is unmistakable.
Shit.
“Morning,” James says coolly, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on me. “Cora, Nathan.”
Nathan gives a nod, unfazed as ever, but I’m not nearly as composed. I force a smile, but it’s stiff, like a mask barely holding together. My fingers dig into the sides of the projector remote, as if gripping it hard enough will keep my nerves in check. But when James looks at me, I feel it again—that slip of control, like trying to hold water in my hands.
“Good morning, Mr. Hayes, Mr. Hayward,” I reply, my voice steady even though my pulse is racing.
Dameon shoots me a wink, his smirk growing a little wider.
Oh God. He’s definitely enjoying this.
Nathan settles into the chair beside me at the front of the room, while James and Dameon take their seats at the far end of the table. James rests against the chair back, one arm resting casually on the armrest, but there’s nothing relaxed about him. He’s watching—waiting. His silence isn’t passive; it’s charged.
I clear my throat, gripping the remote again as if it’s my safety net. All eyes are on me. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue, but for a split second, everything freezes—James’s steady gaze, Dameon’s smirk, Nathan’s silent support. It all feels like a pressure cooker, ready to burst. I force myself to breathe, to remain calm. “Now that we’re all present, let’s begin. Thank you, everyone, for your time today…”
I click the first slide into view, praying the presentation goes smoothly—and that I can get through the next hour without dying of embarrassment.