Temptation: Breaking Victoria Sharp

"Victoria," Samantha said quietly, her expression softening with understanding, "I've known you your entire life. I was there when you organized your stuffed animals by market capitalization at age seven. I watched you create a strategic plan for your college applications that would have impressed seasoned executives. I've seen you focused, determined, and completely in control for two decades."

She squeezed Victoria's shoulder gently. "So when I see you put salt in the sugar bowl and almost burn garlic you've been staring at instead of chopping, I know something or someone has managed to slip past those magnificent defenses of yours."

Victoria tensed, her instinct to deny, deflect, and redirect, the same strategies she employed when board members had questioned her decisions or competitors had probed for weaknesses. But this was her mother, who had always seen through Victoria's carefully constructed facades with disturbing accuracy.

Before Victoria could formulate a response that would neither confirm nor deny Samantha's assessment, her father's voice called from the doorway.

"Is my daughter burning down our kitchen after all these years?" Fabian Sharp asked, his tone warm with affection as he entered the modest kitchen. At fifty-five, he remained sturdy average height with thick brown hair just starting to gray at the temples and the practical bearing of a man who had spent thirty years as a civil engineer. "I always wondered if her cooking skills would one day match her business acumen, though she did learn from the best." He winked at his wife.

Victoria glanced down, realizing with dismay that the garlic and onions had indeed begun to brown too quickly while her attention had wandered. She quickly adjusted the heat and added a splash of white wine to the pan, rescuing the dish with practiced movements that belied her momentary inattention, movements her mother had taught her through years of cooking together.

"Everything's under control," she said firmly, shooting her father a look that dared him to contradict her.

Fabian exchanged a glance with Samantha, their silent communication honed by nearly thirty years of marriage. "Of course it is," he agreed, moving to the refrigerator to retrieve a beer. "You've had everything under control since you were three years old and insisted on dressing yourself for preschool."

The gentle teasing in his tone did little to soothe Victoria's irritation with herself. She added the diced tomatoes to the pan with more force than necessary, causing a few to escape onto the worn but clean countertop.

"Though I must say," Fabian continued, leaning against the kitchen table as he opened his beer, "I haven't seen you this distracted since that summer you were seventeen and obsessed with the captain of the debate team. What was his name again, Sam?"

"Michael Hamilton," Samantha supplied, her eyes twinkling as she arranged a modest cheese board. "Tall boy, very serious, wore those wire-rimmed glasses. Victoria used to pretend to read on the porch swing every afternoon, coincidentally right when he jogged past our house."

Victoria felt heat rising to her cheeks not from the memory of adolescent infatuation, which seemed laughably distant now despite being only nine years ago, but from the uncomfortable accuracy of the comparison. Had she really been so transparent these past few hours? Had her carefully maintained composure slipped so noticeably?

"I'm not distracted," she insisted, focusing intently on stirring the sauce. "I'm mentally reviewing the regulatory implications of data sovereignty laws in Singapore while preparing dinner. It's called multitasking."

Fabian chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "Of course, sweetheart. And I'm mentally reviewing structural engineering principles while enjoying my beer."

Victoria shot him a look that would have silenced junior executives instantly. Her father merely grinned, completely immune to the glare that had once caused a rival CEO to visibly flinch during negotiations.

"So," Samantha said casually, arranging sliced cheese on the board with practical precision, "who is he?"

Victoria nearly dropped the wooden spoon. "Who is who?"

"The man who has my brilliant daughter putting olive oil in her coffee and staring at garlic," Samantha clarified, her tone matter-of-fact despite the startling accuracy of her assessment. "The one who has you checking your phone every seven minutes like clockwork."

"Six and a half," Fabian corrected mildly. "I timed it."

Victoria stared at her parents, momentarily speechless. The automatic denial formed in her mind, practiced, polished, and perfectly reasonable. There was no "he." There was only work, strategy, and the relentless pursuit of excellence that had defined her life for as long as she could remember.

Except.

Except for the unbidden memory of James's expression as he'd challenged her. The quiet confidence with which he'd established boundaries she'd never anticipated. The heat that had flashed through her when their lips had accidentally brushed, a heat that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with a wanting she hadn't permitted herself to acknowledge.

"There's no one," Victoria said finally, the denial feeling hollow even to her own ears. She reached for the basil, tearing leaves with precise movements that kept her hands occupied and her eyes averted. "I'm simply processing some... interpersonal complexities at work."

"Interpersonal complexities," Fabian repeated, exchanging another meaningful glance with Samantha. "Is that what we're calling it these days?"

Victoria ignored him, focusing on stirring the sauce with excessive attention. The rich aroma of garlic, tomatoes, and herbs filled the kitchen, a recipe her mother had taught her years ago that Victoria had perfected with her own subtle adjustments, one she could normally prepare while simultaneously reviewing quarterly projections or drafting strategic plans. Yet today, even this familiar task required conscious focus to prevent further errors.

"Well," Samantha said after a moment, her voice softening, "whoever this person is who's created these 'interpersonal complexities,' he must be quite remarkable."

Victoria looked up sharply. "Why would you assume that?"

Samantha smiled, the expression gentle but knowing. "Because in twenty-five almost twenty-six years, I've never seen anyone distract you from your focus. Not boyfriends, not competitors, not even when you made that bold decision to dissolve your board and take full control of your company's direction." She arranged crackers on the board with practical efficiency. "Whoever has captured your attention like this must possess qualities that even Victoria Sharp finds difficult to categorize or dismiss."

The assessment was uncomfortably perceptive. Victoria turned to the stove, adjusting the heat unnecessarily while formulating a response that would neither confirm nor encourage her mother's observations.

"It's a professional situation," she said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "A valuable team member who has recently established... unexpected boundaries."

"Ah," Fabian said, his tone suggesting deeper understanding than Victoria had intended to provide. "Someone who doesn't simply fall in line with Victoria Sharp's carefully orchestrated world. How refreshing."

Victoria shot him a warning look, which he met with the same unruffled amusement he'd displayed throughout her childhood when she had attempted to establish authority beyond her years. Unlike her employees, her father had never been intimidated by her intensity.