"I have to admit," she said, "this is considerably more interesting than your usual approaches."
Richard smiled, but something in his expression shifted subtly. "I've been trying to show you that I'm more than just another jock with money, Victoria. We could have something real."
And there it was, the inevitable pivot from professional to personal that seemed to plague every interaction she had with successful men.
"Richard," Victoria began, her tone immediately cooling, "I thought we'd established—"
"No, hear me out," he interrupted, moving closer. "I know you've turned me down before, but I've never understood why. Look at me objectively; I'm successful, intelligent, financially secure. I'm tall, attractive, athletic. I can match you intellectually and financially. By every measurable standard, I'm exactly what you look for in a man."
Victoria's jaw tightened at his presumption. "Excuse me?"
"Come on, Victoria. Everyone knows your type. You're practical about relationships; no emotional games, no messy complications. You date men who meet your criteria: successful, intelligent, sophisticated. Men who can be partners in the life you've built." Richard's voice carried a note of frustration. "I check every box on your list. So what am I missing?"
The accuracy of his assessment stung precisely because it wasn't entirely wrong. Victoria had always been strategic about relationships, choosing partners who complemented her professional ambitions rather than complicated them. But hearing her romantic life reduced to a checklist felt reductive and insulting.
"You're right," she said coldly, her chin lifting with defiant pride. "I am practical about relationships. I do prefer men who are successful, intelligent, and sophisticated. I have no interest in emotional drama or partners who can't match my professional standards."
Richard's expression brightened, clearly interpreting her admission as progress.
"But," Victoria continued, her voice cutting through his satisfaction like ice, "meeting the basic qualifications doesn't automatically make someone suitable. You assume that checking boxes equals compatibility, but you're missing something fundamental."
"Which is?"
Victoria studied his face, handsome in a conventional way, confident bordering on arrogant, successful but somehow... forgettable. Even during their stimulating conversation, she had felt no spark of genuine interest beyond intellectual appreciation.
"Chemistry," she said simply. "Connection. The indefinable element that makes someone interesting rather than just impressive on paper."
Richard's jaw tightened. "And I don't have that?"
"No," Victoria replied without hesitation. "You don't."
For a moment, Richard looked genuinely taken aback, as if the possibility of not being irresistible had never occurred to him. Then his expression hardened with wounded pride.
"Right. So who does qualify then? Because from what I've observed, you don't seem to have that magical chemistry with anyone else either."
The words hit closer to home than Victoria cared to admit, sparking a flash of defensive anger.
But James does.
The thought appeared unbidden in her mind, so sudden and clear it nearly took her breath away. Victoria pressed her lips together, forcing the dangerous idea back into the depths of her subconscious where it belonged.
"That's none of your concern," she said icily.
Richard studied her face intently, his athlete's instincts apparently picking up on something in her expression. "There is someone, isn't there? Someone who doesn't fit your usual profile."
Victoria's composure wavered for just a moment long enough for Richard to notice.
"Interesting," he said thoughtfully. "Well, whoever he is, I hope he appreciates what he's got. Not many men could handle someone like you, Victoria."
Without waiting for her response, Richard turned and walked away, leaving Victoria alone in the hallway with her churning thoughts.
She quickly entered the nearest private lounge, grateful to find it empty. The room was elegantly appointed with leather furniture and soft lighting, designed for quiet business conversations or moments of respite from larger events.
Victoria sank into a chair, her head spinning as Richard's words echoed in her mind. Not many men could handle someone like you.
The observation was probably meant as an insult, but it struck her as surprisingly accurate. Most men were either intimidated by her success or saw it as a challenge to overcome. They wanted to be with Victoria Sharp the CEO, the powerful woman they could claim as a trophy, but few seemed genuinely interested in understanding the person beneath the professional façade.
Against her will, her mind began comparing Richard to James, a mental exercise that felt both dangerous and inevitable.
Physically, Richard had certain advantages. At six-foot-four, he carried himself with the commanding presence that came from years of professional athletics, his stature naturally drawing attention without feeling overwhelming. His features were conventionally handsome, his confidence evident but not overbearing.
James, by contrast, was perhaps five-foot-ten on a generous day, tall enough to make her feel feminine but not so tall as to make their height difference dramatic.
James possessed a different kind of presence entirely, one that had nothing to do with physical stature and everything to do with quiet intensity. While not as tall as Richard, his athletic build spoke of disciplined strength rather than showmanship. But it was his demeanor that created the most unsettling effect on Victoria's carefully maintained composure.
There was something in the way James carried himself, a controlled confidence that felt simultaneously respectful and challenging, that made Victoria acutely aware of herself as a woman rather than simply a CEO. He had a way of listening that made her feel truly heard, of offering observations that revealed depths she hadn't expected.
Where Richard's intelligence tonight had felt performative, impressive but calculated to win her approval, James's intellect manifested as genuine strategic thinking. He never seemed to be trying to impress her; instead, he simply was impressive, his insights emerging naturally from authentic expertise rather than prepared talking points.
But perhaps most unsettling was James's patience. Unlike Richard's persistent but ultimately respectable pursuit, James never pushed or demanded. He simply... waited. Observed. Responded to her cues with the kind of subtle awareness that suggested he understood her better than she was entirely comfortable with.
The realization that she was mentally cataloguing James's qualities sent a spike of alarm through Victoria's chest. This was exactly the kind of thinking she had been trying to avoid—the dangerous territory where she starts comparing James to every Men expressing interest.
Everything about him is perfect!
The thought appeared with crystalline clarity before she could stop it, and Victoria felt her breath catch. James didn't seem impressed by her title or intimidated by her success the way other men were. Instead, he treated both as simply aspects of who she was rather than the defining characteristics that determined his interest.
James wasn't perfect, no one was. But sitting alone in the private lounge, forced to confront her own reactions by Richard's uncomfortably accurate observations, Victoria had to acknowledge the truth she knows but have been avoiding for weeks.
Every other man seemed to pale in comparison to James Mitchell, not because he overwhelmed her with dominance or charm, but because he had the rare ability to make her feel simultaneously challenged and understood. He didn't try to control or impress her; he simply engaged with her as an equal while somehow making her hyperaware of the woman beneath the CEO façade.
The admission terrified her more than any hostile takeover or boardroom confrontation ever had.
Victoria closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips to her temples as she tried to regain her equilibrium. She was Victoria Sharp, CEO of Sharp Innovations, a woman who had built an empire through calculated decisions and emotional discipline. She did not lose her composure over employees, no matter how complicated their history or how unsettling their presence.
But as she sat in the elegant lounge, the sounds of the anniversary celebration drifting up from below, Victoria knew with growing certainty that James Mitchell represented the kind of complication she'd spent her entire adult life avoiding and the kind of connection she'd never realized she'd been missing.
The thought should have sent her running in the opposite direction. Instead, it left her wondering where James was tonight, and why his absence felt more significant than the presence of every other man who had tried to capture her attention.