"No," Victoria said automatically, the word slipping out before she could stop it.
Margaret looked surprised. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do you know them? I just thought they seemed well-matched."
Victoria's face flushed as she realized her subconscious denial had been spoken aloud. She forced her professional smile back into place, hoping her momentary lapse had not been too obvious.
"Yes," she corrected smoothly, her voice steady despite the earthquake happening in her chest. "They do make a lovely couple."
The words tasted like ash in her mouth. She wanted to throw up.
Margaret smiled and moved on to speak with other guests, leaving Victoria standing alone with her churning emotions. She tried to focus on the Petrov's continuing speech, on the romantic story of their courtship and marriage, but her attention kept fragmenting back to the scene at the bar.
Katherine was undeniably attractive, successful in her own right, age-appropriate for James. Everything about her screamed suitable match for an ambitious, intelligent man building his career. Her blue dress complemented her coloring beautifully, and her confident body language suggested someone comfortable in social situations.
The realization made Victoria feel physically ill.
She excused herself from the group around her, claiming a need for some air, but instead found herself standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. The lights below blurred as she struggled to understand the violent emotions coursing through her system.
This was insane. She was Victoria Sharp, CEO of a thriving company, a woman who had built her success on emotional control and clever thinking. She did not fall apart over watching an employee socialize with another woman. She did not experience primitive territorial instincts over someone who had never been hers to claim.
Yet as she watched Katherine's hands grow bolder in their exploration of James's arm, Victoria had to grip the window frame to keep from storming across the ballroom.
The evening continued its torturous progression. Victoria maintained her composure through the remainder of the speeches, through the transition to dinner seating, through endless rounds of polite conversation with other guests and suitors. But her attention remained fractured, pulled constantly toward James and his increasingly obvious admirer.
Katherine had clearly decided to make her interest known. Victoria watched the woman maintain her position close to James as they moved from the bar to their assigned table, watched her hand rest possessively on his arm as they walked, watched her lean close to whisper comments during the meal service.
What made it worse was that James seemed genuinely engaged by Katherine's attention. He smiled at her comments, listened intently to her observations about the industry, responded to her questions with the kind of focused attention that Victoria had always associated exclusively with their professional interactions.
What about the tension between them? The electricity in her office that night, the challenge in his voice when he'd told her to earn his lips. Was he perfectly capable of moving on while she remained trapped in the complicated web of their unresolved dynamic?
The thought sent a fresh wave of something dangerously close to panic through her system.
When the orchestra began playing more selections that are romantic and couples started moving to the dance floor, Victoria found herself surrounded by a group of local business leaders discussing upcoming charity initiatives. She nodded at appropriate intervals, made suitable comments about corporate social responsibility, and fought the urge to physically turn her back on the rest of the ballroom.
But peripheral vision was a cruel thing.
She could see James and Katherine at their table, could see Katherine's hands growing more familiar in their touches, could see the way other guests noticed them with approving glances.
Victoria's champagne glass trembled slightly in her hand as Katherine rose to whisper something directly into James's ear, her lips practically brushing his skin. The intimate gesture sent such a violent surge of possession through Victoria's system that she actually took a step forward before catching herself.
"Excuse me," she said abruptly to the group around her, her voice cutting through their discussion of sustainable business practices with razor coldness. "I need to make a quick call."
She didn't wait for responses, instead moving with purposeful strides toward the hallway. Behind her, she could hear the group resuming their conversation, probably attributing her departure to the kind of urgent business that demanded CEO attention even during social events.
If only they knew, the truth was far more complicated and infinitely more humiliating.
Victoria found herself back in the private powder room, her composure finally cracking as she gripped the marble countertop and stared at her reflection. Her face was flushed, her breathing slightly accelerated, her carefully applied makeup showing hairline cracks around her eyes.
She looked like a woman on the edge of losing control.
The realization was terrifying. Victoria Sharp did not lose control. Victoria Sharp had built her entire identity around maintaining perfect composure in every situation, and never allowing emotions to compromise her judgment or effectiveness.
Yet here she stood, shaking with jealousy over a man she had spent months keeping at careful professional distance.
A man who had challenged her to earn his attention, to woo him if she wanted more than the controlled dynamic she'd established between them.
A man who was currently being wooed quite effectively by someone else.
Victoria closed her eyes, trying to center herself through the breathing techniques she had learned during her MBA program for managing high-stress negotiations. But instead of finding calm, she found herself reliving every moment of Katherine's possessive touches, every whispered comment, and every intimate gesture that suggested a rapidly developing connection.
The territorial rage that surged through her was unlike anything she had ever experienced. It was primitive, illogical, absolutely counter to everything she believed about professional boundaries and emotional control.
It was also undeniably real.
Victoria opened her eyes and studied her reflection with growing clarity. The woman staring back at her wasn't the composed CEO who commanded respect through creative marketing and careful emotional management. This was someone raw, vulnerable, operating on instincts she'd spent years suppressing.
Someone who wanted James Mitchell with an intensity that terrified her.
Someone who was willing to fight for him.
The realization should have been appalling. Instead, it felt like awakening from a long sleep.
Victoria straightened her shoulders, smoothed her gown, and reached for her phone with hands that had stopped trembling. She scrolled through her contacts until she found James's number, and then composed a message with the same determination she brought to million-dollar negotiations.
"James, I need to speak with you privately. Room number 567, second floor down the hall from the ballroom. Please come now."
She sent the message without hesitation, then settled into one of the room's elegant chairs to wait.
For the first time in months, Victoria knew exactly what she wanted. The only question was whether she had the courage to claim it.