Chapter 25: “Cora, Dinner’s on Us”

For all her bravado, the sales manager was new money—recent wins, fresh praise, and the kind of arrogance that blooms overnight. She’d convinced herself Mr. Watson would obviously prioritize her. So of course she needed to corner Cora and demand to know what “trick” she’d used to get that private lunch.

Cora sighed. Why did so many people believe Julian Watson’s bed was a ladder anyone could climb? If it were that easy, there wouldn’t be any room left.

“It has nothing to do with me,” she said evenly.

“Nothing to do with you?” The manager’s eyes flashed. “You expect me to believe a client gossiped to Mr. Watson? Don’t play dumb.”

“Sorry, I have work. Excuse me.” Cora turned to go.

A manicured hand clamped around her wrist. “You’re not going anywhere until you explain.”

Colleagues drifted closer, hungry for spectacle. This wasn’t just the manager’s question—everyone wanted to know why Mr. Watson treated Cora differently.

Cora met the woman’s gaze. “No comment.”

What was she supposed to say? I walked into the wrong room, slept with the wrong man, got pregnant, and now we’re married on paper? Even if she told the truth, who would believe her?

“Arrogant little— You think being his warm body makes you his wife?” the manager sneered. “Looks like someone needs a lesson. I’ll do Mr. Watson the favor.”

Cora jerked her wrist, trying to break free. The manager raised her hand and swung.

Gasps burst around them.

Pinned by the grip on her arm, Cora could only squeeze her eyes shut and wait for the sting.

It never came.

Silence sharpened. Then more shocked inhales, like the whole floor forgot how to breathe.

Cora opened her eyes.

Julian was behind her, fingers locked around the manager’s wrist. His grip was iron; his voice colder.

“I must’ve missed the memo where employees discipline each other on my behalf.”

He glanced at Cora, and annoyance darkened his eyes. “And you were going to stand there and let her hit you? Who does she think she is.”

Around them, people reeled. Mr. Watson had just stated—plainly—that the sales star didn’t even deserve to touch Cora. The implication was unmistakable.

He released the woman with a shove. “Notify HR. Termination.”

Austin stepped in, offering Julian a wipe. Julian cleaned his hands, let the wipe fall into a nearby bin, then took Cora’s hand and steered her away.

The manager stared after them, stunned. “No—no! I’m the top performer in sales! You can’t fire me! Mr. Watson!”

She lunged, but Austin blocked her path, voice flat. “Leave quietly and you’ll receive the standard package. Or don’t.”

Her legs gave out. She sat hard, eyes blank.

Austin turned to the crowd. “Anyone else not busy?”

They scattered.

—

Down the corridor, Cora eased her hand from Julian’s. He let go without a fight.

“I—I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I embarrassed you.”

“I couldn’t care less about her,” he said, tone still cool. “But you’re a mother now. Try protecting yourself.”

Cora ducked her head, chastened. His irritation ebbed as quickly as it had flared. That, too, unsettled him.

“Back to work,” he said, and walked off.

As his footsteps faded, Cora exhaled for what felt like the first time all afternoon. At least now, no one will lay a hand on me again. Not unless they’re suicidal.

When she returned to the executive floor, Julian was out. Good. The room always felt too small when he was in it. With him gone, she could finally breathe—and finish the handful of tasks he’d left. He wasn’t exactly overloading her.

Near closing, Austin still hadn’t appeared to see her out. Cora decided not to wait. She packed up and headed for the lobby.

That’s where they found her.

“Cora! Hey—Cora, it’s us!” A ring of familiar faces closed in—former coworkers from Facilities. The same people who used to pass her in hallways like she was air.

Her shoulders tensed, instinct tugging her a step back.

“It’s me—remember?” one of them chirped. “We heard about your promotion and realized we never celebrated. Let us treat you to dinner, okay?”

Cora blinked, then recognized them properly. No malice—just overeager smiles. The irony made her want to laugh. Once upon a time, they couldn’t be bothered to say hello. Now they were practically bowing.

She almost declined, then remembered the quiet of the big house and the untouched dinner that wouldn’t be waiting. Julian wouldn’t be home. Why not?

“I can’t do spicy,” she said. “And no alcohol.”

“Of course! You pick, we pay,” they chimed, practically tripping over their own enthusiasm as they ushered her toward a car.

They chose a sleek Japanese place. Cora didn’t eat out like this often; the private tatami room, the low table, the softened lights—she felt clumsy and overdressed all at once. She knelt where they indicated, copying their posture.

“Assistant Team Lead now,” one of the savvier ones said, grin syrupy. “You’ll have to look out for us in the future.”

“Right, right—Lead,” another corrected himself quickly. “You’re Mr. Watson’s right hand! If we ever… you know, slip up, please put in a good word.”

The flattery flowed like warm sake—endless, sweet, and a little nauseating.