Page 75 of Divine Temptations

“Because you believe in the power of independent journalism?” I offered weakly.

She barked out a single laugh. “No. Because you had a thing. A voice. A brand. And now? Now I have a flaccid SoundCloud account with zero uploads and an influencer who ghosted me like a sophomore after a bad Tinder date.”

My face was on fire. “I needed time to regroup.”

“I thought you had the hots for Jude Brooks,” Claudia shook her head and sighed. “The man’s very handsome. What happened? Is he straight? I thought you’d do ANYTHING for a story.”

“I tried,” I blurted. “Swear to God I tried to seduce him and…”

“You needed time to cry into your ethically sourced hotel pillow because some hot preacher didn’t let you sit on his lap?” Her voice oozed fake concern.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. She grinned like a lioness who’d just spotted the weakest gazelle.

“Ohhh,” she said, circling me. “So that’s what happened. He turned you down. You got the spiritual door slammed in your face and ran home with your halo between your legs.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Did you really try to seduce him?” She asked, deadly sweet.

“No, but…”

She stared. Fuck, she could get anything out of me.

“Yes,” I admitted. “Sort of. Maybe. I was vibing.”

“You were thirsty,” she corrected. “And now you’re embarrassed because the pretty boy in white linen didn’t want to take your not so humble offering?”

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “This is so humiliating.”

“Yes, it is,” she agreed brightly. “And you know what the cure is? Content. You go back to your sad little studio, slap on that over-processed podcast voice, and you give me an episode. You tell your listeners that Saint Jude of Riverbend is a con man or a second coming or whatever, but you do it with flair and receipts.”

I looked up at her. “You want me to go after him?”

She shrugged. “I want you to say something. You’re not a priest, Julian. You’re a provocateur. If you can’t screw him, skewer him.”

I blinked. “That was graphic.”

Claudia winked. “This is marketing, darling. We don’t do subtle.”

Claudia moved behind her desk like she were claiming territory, then dropped into her chair and folded her hands. “You’re what, licking your wounds? Mourning a man you knew for the length of a Marvel movie? Get a grip, Julian.”

“I’m not mourning,” I snapped.

She leaned forward, her expression indulgent and cutting all at once. “Oh, honey, you’re pouting. And let me tell you—nothing tanks a personal brand like a grown man sulking over unrequited —”

“Don’t say it.”

She smiled wider. “—Devotion. What did you think would happen? That he’d drop to his knees and beg for you? That the heavens would open and a chorus would sing while you two slow danced in the mist?”

I stood up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think I do.” She tilted her head. “This one bruised your ego. That’s all. And now you’re spiraling instead of doing your damn job.”

My hands clenched at my sides. My heart was beating too fast, my jaw tight with something hot and sharp I couldn’t swallow down anymore.

“Doing my job?” I growled. “I went down there and did the research. Then I sat through his ridiculous rituals and visited his so-called healing center. I saw him up close. I made contact.”

Claudia raised a perfectly sculpted brow. “And then he made no contact.”