The office was finally quiet at seven-thirty on Monday evening, the usual bustle of daytime activity replaced by the peaceful hum of after-hours cleaning crews and the distant sounds of traffic from the street below. James had stayed late to finish reviewing the quarterly projections from that morning's meeting, wanting to get ahead of the analysis work that would be required for Wednesday's follow-up presentation.
He was one of the few people who actually enjoyed the solitude of working late. There was something peaceful about having the office to himself. Being able to focus without interruption on the detailed work that was his specialty. The building felt different after hours, more intimate somehow, as if he could finally relax into his professional environment without worrying about maintaining the careful composure that daytime interactions required.
Especially after this morning, James thought, his fingers automatically adjusting the silk tie that had somehow become both a comfort and a constant reminder of Victoria's claim on him. The memory of her possessive touches and territorial declarations had been lurking in the back of his mind all day, surfacing at unexpected moments to send heat spiraling through his system.
James saved his work and began the familiar ritual of shutting down his computer, organizing the papers on his desk, and preparing to head home to his quiet apartment. The routine was soothing after a day that had been emotionally charged despite his ability to maintain professional focus during the meeting.
He was looking forward to the solitude of his evening, maybe a glass of wine, some light reading, and the chance to process everything that had happened between him and Victoria without the distraction of work responsibilities. The silk tie would come off, the professional armor would be set aside, and he could finally allow himself to think about what it meant to be claimed by Victoria Sharp.
James gathered his briefcase and suit jacket, taking one last look around his office to make sure everything was in order for tomorrow. The midnight blue tie caught the light from his desk lamp, a subtle reminder of the morning's intensity that made his pulse quicken despite his attempts to remain composed.
He pressed the call button for the general elevator and waited in the quiet hallway, his mind already beginning to shift from work mode to the more relaxed headspace of evening. The soft ding of the arriving elevator seemed unnaturally loud in the empty corridor.
James stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor, settling back against the polished brass handrail as the doors began to slide closed with their familiar mechanical whisper.
And then, just as the doors were about to meet, a perfectly manicured hand shot between them, triggering the sensor that caused them to spring back open with a slightly startled mechanical sound.
Victoria Sharp stepped into the elevator like she owned it, which, James supposed, she technically did. Her presence transformed the ordinary space into something charged with possibility, and James felt his evening suddenly become infinitely more interesting.
"Good evening, James," Victoria said smoothly, her voice carrying a warmth that made his name sound like something precious.
"Good evening," James replied, and found himself genuinely pleased to see her. "Working late too?"
"Couldn't seem to concentrate after that meeting," Victoria said, pressing the button for the ground floor and settling back against the opposite wall. "My mind kept wandering to more... interesting topics."
The way she said it, with that slight pause and the hint of a smile, made James's pulse quicken. There was something deliciously conspiratorial about her tone, as if they were sharing a secret.
"I know the feeling," James admitted, surprising himself with his honesty. "The Henderson projections were fascinating, but I kept finding myself thinking about other things entirely."
Victoria's smile widened. "Such as?"
Twenty-third floor, the elevator announced.
"Silk ties," James said, his voice dropping slightly. "And the woman who chose it for me."
The admission hung between them like a challenge, and James felt a thrill at the way Victoria's eyes lit up with approval and something that looked like pride.
"Mmm," Victoria murmured, her gaze dropping to the tie in question. "It looks perfect on you. I have excellent taste."
"In ties?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.
"In everything," Victoria replied smoothly, her confidence both cocky and amusing.
James laughed, a genuine sound that seemed to delight her. "Modest as always."
"Modesty is overrated," Victoria said, tilting her head as she studied him. "I prefer honesty. Speaking of which, what do you do when you get home? I realize I know almost nothing about James Mitchell after hours."
"Nothing terribly exciting," James said, but found himself wanting to share more than his usual polite deflections. "I cook dinner, nothing fancy, but I've gotten decent at a few basic dishes. Pour a glass of wine. Read."
"What kind of wine?" Victoria asked, and her genuine curiosity made the question feel intimate rather than intrusive.
"Usually a nice Cabernet," James replied. "Though I've been experimenting with Italian wines lately. There's something about a good Chianti that pairs perfectly with a quiet evening."
Nineteenth floor.
"Italian wines," Victoria repeated, and James caught something approving in her tone. "I'm impressed. Most people stick to what they know."
"I like trying new things," James said then felt heat rise in his cheeks at the potential double meaning. "When it comes to wine, I mean."
Victoria's smile turned positively wicked. "Of course. Though I find that curiosity tends to extend to other areas of life as well."
The elevator felt warmer suddenly, charged with the kind of tension that made James hyperaware of every breath, every small movement Victoria made.
"What about you?" James asked, surprising himself with how much he wanted to know. "What does Victoria Sharp do when she's not conquering the business world?"
"I cook," Victoria said, her voice carrying genuine enthusiasm. "Real cooking, not the sad meals most people manage after work. I find it therapeutic."
"What kind of cooking?" James asked, genuinely intrigued by this glimpse into her private life.
"Italian, mostly. There's something about making pasta from scratch that clears my mind completely. It requires focus and patience, qualities I don't always get to exercise at work."
Fifteenth floor.
James found himself picturing Victoria in a kitchen, her hair pulled back, flour dusting her hands as she worked dough. The image was both domestic and incredibly appealing.
"That sounds amazing," he said honestly. "I've always wanted to learn to make fresh pasta, but it seems intimidating."
"It's not, once you understand the basics," Victoria said, her eyes lighting up. "It's all about the texture of the dough, the way it feels under your hands. Very tactile."
The way she said "tactile" made James's breath catch. Everything about Victoria seemed designed to make him think about her hands, her touch, the way she might guide him through the process.
"Maybe you could teach me sometime," James said, the words coming out before he could second-guess them.
Victoria's smile was radiant. "I'd love that. Though I should warn you, I'm a very hands-on teacher."
Eleventh floor.
The promise in her voice made James's pulse race. "I think I can handle that."
"Can you?" Victoria asked, tilting her head with that expression that made James feel like she was seeing straight through him. "You're full of surprises, James Mitchell."
"So are you," James replied, emboldened by her obvious approval. "Victoria Sharp, who finds making pasta meditative. Who would have thought?"
"What else would you like to know?" Victoria asked, and the question felt like an invitation to explore territory they'd never ventured into before.
James considered this, studying her face in the soft elevator lighting. "What do you read? I'm curious if your literary tastes are as sophisticated as your wine preferences."