What exactly did James want from her? The question circled in her mind, though she knew the answer. He'd been admirably direct: clarity. Honesty about what she wanted from him beyond his professional capabilities.
The more disturbing question—the one Victoria was reluctant to examine too closely—was what she wanted from James.
Not just his strategic mind, not just his unparalleled efficiency and anticipation of her needs or addictive lips. Something more complicated. Something that made her arrange his office personally, defend his strategies passionately, watch him when she thought he wouldn't notice.
The realization that had been building since their confrontation finally crystallized: Victoria didn't know how to want someone without controlling them. Didn't know how to desire without dictating the precise terms of that desire. Didn't know how to connect authentically when authentic connection meant vulnerability she couldn't strategically manage.
By 8:30 AM, with no progress made on the work she'd intended to complete, Victoria changed into a charcoal suit with a crimson blouse—armor for the day ahead. She carefully applied makeup, styled her hair into its usual perfect chignon, selected simple but expensive diamond studs.
Each element of her appearance was a deliberate construction of the Victoria Sharp who commanded respect, who maintained control, who never showed vulnerability or uncertainty.
Yet as she prepared to leave for the office, Victoria found herself hesitating. James would be there, the confrontation between them still fresh, his challenge still unanswered. For the first time in years, she felt genuinely uncertain about how to navigate a professional interaction.
Victoria reached for her phone, considering a text to reschedule their 9:00 AM meeting—a strategic retreat to give herself time to reestablish equilibrium. Her fingers hovered over the screen, mind racing through possible messages that would maintain her authority while creating necessary distance.
But distance was exactly what had created this situation—the careful maintenance of professional boundaries she periodically allowed to blur before reinforcing with renewed rigidity. James had called out this pattern directly, labeled it manipulative. The accusation stung precisely because it contained truth she hadn't been willing to acknowledge.
Victoria set down her phone without sending a message, uncomfortable with the realization that her instinctive response was to retreat into the exact behavior James had confronted her about.
Instead, she moved to her bedroom, sitting on the edge of her immaculately made bed. Sleep had evaded her completely after returning home, her mind too active with replaying the confrontation and analyzing its implications. Now, exhaustion began to settle over her, the cumulative effect of a sleepless night and emotional upheaval she rarely permitted herself to experience.
Victoria leaned back against the pillows, allowing herself a brief moment of rest before facing the day ahead. She closed her eyes, but immediately saw James's face—not the deferential assistant or the strategic partner, but the man who had turned her chair to face him directly, who had demanded she see him as more than a function of her corporate structure.
Her fingers found her phone again, drawn to it almost against her will. What could she possibly say that wouldn't sound defensive or controlling? How did one respond to being told to "earn" a kiss? To "woo" someone? The entire scenario was outside her carefully mapped experience.
Victoria Sharp didn't chase. Victoria Sharp didn't woo. Victoria Sharp didn't earn men's attention or affection. She selected suitable candidates from those already demonstrating interest, evaluated their compatibility with her life and goals, and permitted carefully bounded relationships that never threatened her carefully constructed control.
And yet.
The memory of that brief, accidental brush of lips lingered with unexpected persistence. The electricity of the contact, the way time had seemed momentarily suspended. The impulse that had followed—the genuine, unplanned desire to lean forward and kiss him properly. Not strategically, not as a calculated move, but as an unguarded expression of something she hadn't permitted herself to acknowledge.
Victoria opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom as dawn fully broke outside her windows. The unsettling truth was that James had seen through her carefully maintained façade with disturbing accuracy. Had recognized the contradictions in her behavior that she herself had refused to examine.
Had challenged her to step outside the controlled parameters she'd established between them.
"Earn them," she murmured again, testing the foreign concept. "Woo him," she added, the words feeling almost absurd coming from her lips. They still felt wrong in her mouth—uncomfortable, almost humiliating in their implicit power reversal.
Yet beneath the discomfort lay something else—a strange, unwelcome curiosity. What would it mean to pursue rather than be pursued? To actively demonstrate interest rather than passively receiving attention? To step outside the carefully constructed patterns that had defined her relationships for years?
Victoria picked up her phone again, opened her messages to James. The screen remained blank as she considered what to write. Something professional that acknowledged their meeting? Something personal that addressed his challenge? Something that maintained her authority while demonstrating the clarity he'd demanded?
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing and deleting multiple attempts as the minutes passed. Each message felt either too formal or too revealing, too dismissive or too acquiescent. None captured the complex reality of what had transpired between them or what might follow.
In the end, Victoria set the phone down without sending anything. Whatever response she made to James's challenge needed to be deliberate, not reactive. Considered, not impulsive. If he wanted clarity, she first needed to find it within herself.
She rose from the bed and gathered her belongings, preparing to face the day ahead—and James—without the shield of electronic communication. Whatever happened next would happen in person, where neither of them could hide behind carefully constructed text messages or email formality.
The thought was both unsettling and strangely liberating. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Victoria Sharp was stepping into a situation she couldn't fully control or predict. A situation where familiar patterns had been disrupted and new rules had yet to be established.
If James wanted her to earn his lips, to woo him, she first needed to decide if they were worth earning—and what price she was willing to pay in vulnerability to have them.