Temptation: Breaking Victoria Sharp

He opened her door and leaned into the car's interior, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the confined space. Victoria's heart began to pound as his cologne enveloped her, that subtle spice that had been driving her to distraction all week. He was so close she could see the fine weave of his sweater, could feel the warmth radiating from his body, could count his eyelashes if she wanted to.

"James, what are you—" she began, her voice breathless with a mixture of alarm and anticipation. Her pulse hammered in her throat as every nerve ending came alive. "This isn't appropriate. If you think you can just—"

"What?" James asked, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion as he reached past her to retrieve the large wrapped gift bag from the floor behind her seat. "What are you talking about?"

Victoria stared at the bag in his hands, Morrison's complimentary gift pack for their continued partnership, which she'd completely forgotten about and felt mortification wash over her in hot, humiliating waves. She had thought he was leaning in for something intimate, had been prepared to either surrender to or fight off whatever advance she had imagined he was making.

Instead, he had simply been retrieving a gift bag.

"I... nothing," she stammered, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I thought you were—never mind."

But James's eyes had sharpened with understanding, a slow smile beginning to curve his lips as he registered what she'd thought was happening.

"Oh," he said softly, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction that made Victoria's mortification complete. "Were you expecting something else?"

"No," Victoria snapped, bolting from the car with as much dignity as she could muster. "Absolutely not."

She strode toward the elevator with her spine rigid and her cheeks flaming, James's quiet chuckle following her across the parking garage like an unwelcome caress.

The remainder of Thursday passed in a haze of humiliation and unwelcome self-awareness. Victoria threw herself into work with renewed determination, reviewing quarterly projections, analyzing market data, drafting strategic assessments for the Singapore expansion. Yet throughout the afternoon, she found her attention drifting to her moment of mortification in the parking garage, to the way James had looked at her when he had realized what she'd been expecting.

She was losing control of the situation, losing the careful distance she'd maintained since their confrontation. Worse, she was beginning to suspect she wanted to lose control, wanted to stop fighting whatever was building between them.

The realization terrified her.

Victoria Sharp did not lose control. She created order from chaos, built companies from determination and strategy, dissolved boards when they failed to meet her standards. Control was the foundation of everything she had accomplished, the bedrock upon which she had built her success.

Yet as Friday morning approached, Victoria found herself wondering what James would wear, what subtle message his clothing choices would convey. The wondering itself was a loss of control, an acknowledgment that he had successfully captured her attention in ways that had nothing to do with quarterly projections or regulatory compliance.

By Friday evening, Victoria was forced to acknowledge a truth she had been avoiding all week: James Mitchell was winning whatever game they were playing, and she was running out of strategies to maintain her distance.

The burgundy cashmere, the forest green cable knit, the black merino that had displayed every line of his well-proportioned athletic build; each choice had been deliberate, calculated to remind her of moments they'd shared, colors she'd chosen, details he'd memorized during their months of working together. It was strategic, sophisticated, and entirely too effective.

James was peacocking, displaying his worth and desirability with the same quiet confidence he brought to regulatory analysis and market research. And despite every instinct that warned against mixing personal attraction with professional relationships, despite years of maintaining careful boundaries between her emotional life and her business empire, Victoria found herself responding to his campaign.

The burgundy cashmere haunted her dreams Friday night, along with memories of James leaning into the car, her mortifying assumption about his intentions, his quiet chuckle that had followed her to the elevator. Saturday brought no relief...only the growing realization that her carefully constructed defenses were crumbling under the patient pressure of James's strategic lure.

By Sunday evening, Victoria was forced to acknowledge the truth she had been fighting all week: she was attracted to James Mitchell in ways that had nothing to do with professional admiration and everything to do with the heat that flared when he looked at her, touched her, challenged her assumptions about what she wanted from her carefully ordered life.

The control she had prized so highly was slipping, had been slipping since the moment James had challenged her to earn his kiss, to woo him. Each perfectly chosen outfit, each color that echoed her choices, each moment of quiet confidence chipped away at her resolve until Victoria was left with a choice she had been avoiding:

Continue fighting an attraction that grew stronger each day, or acknowledge that James Mitchell had become something more than her strategic officer, something that threatened and thrilled her in equal measure.

As Monday morning approached with its promise of another week of James's patient campaign, Victoria realized she was no longer certain which choice she would make.

The only certainty was that James had succeeded in making himself impossible to ignore, impossible to categorize as merely professional, impossible to dismiss as a momentary lapse in judgment.

He was peacocking, and it was working with devastating effectiveness.

The question now was whether Victoria Sharp, master of her own destiny, was prepared to surrender the control she'd guarded so fiercely or whether she would find a way to regain the upper hand in whatever game they were playing.

Either way, Victoria acknowledged as she prepared for another week of James's subtle campaign, the careful distance she'd maintained was gone. Whatever came next would require a new strategy entirely.

And for the first time in her professional life, Victoria wasn't certain she had one.