Victoria laughed, a genuine sound that transformed her entire demeanor. "Biographies, mostly. I like learning how other people built their empires. Though I have a weakness for mystery novels, the more convoluted the better."
Seventh floor.
"Mystery novels?" James repeated, delighted by this unexpected detail. "I would have pegged you for literary fiction."
"Too pretentious," Victoria said with a dismissive wave. "I want to be entertained when I read, not lectured. Give me a good murder mystery with a clever detective and I'm happy."
"Any favorites?" James asked, genuinely curious now.
"Agatha Christie, of course. Dorothy Sayers. Though I've been working through Louise Penny's Inspector Gamache series lately." Victoria paused, her smile turning slightly mischievous. "What about you? Let me guess, serious non-fiction? Business strategy guides?"
"History," James admitted. "Biographies of historical figures. Some philosophy."
"Philosophy," Victoria repeated, her interest clearly piqued. "What kind?"
"Stoicism, mainly. Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus." James felt his cheeks warm slightly. "I know it sounds dry, but there's something appealing about the idea of maintaining equilibrium no matter what life throws at you."
Third floor.
Victoria's expression softened into something that looked almost tender. "That's very you, James. Very... controlled."
"Is that a bad thing?" James asked, genuinely curious about her assessment.
"Not bad," Victoria said thoughtfully. "But I wonder what it would take to make you lose that control. What would push James Mitchell past his carefully maintained equilibrium?"
The question hung between them, loaded with implications that made James's pulse race. Victoria was watching him with that intense focus that made him feel like the most fascinating person in the world.
"I'm not sure," James said honestly. "I've never really tested those limits."
"Never?" Victoria asked, raising an eyebrow. "Not even when you were younger? No wild college experiments? No moments of complete abandon?"
James felt himself flush. "I was always the responsible one. The designated driver. The one who made sure everyone else got home safely."
"And now?" Victoria asked softly.
Second floor.
"Now I'm wondering what I might have missed," James admitted, the words coming out more honestly than he'd intended.
Victoria's smile was soft and knowing. "It's never too late to find out."
The elevator dinged softly as they reached the ground floor, and James realized with surprise that he didn't want their conversation to end. For the first time since he'd known Victoria, they'd talked like two people getting to know each other, rather than boss and employee or predator and prey.
Ground floor.
The doors opened with their familiar whisper, but neither of them moved immediately. Victoria was still watching him with that expression that made James feel like she was seeing something in him that he didn't even know existed.
"This was nice," Victoria said finally, her voice carrying genuine warmth. "I feel like I'm finally getting to know the real James Mitchell."
"I could say the same about you," James replied, surprised by how much he meant it. "Victoria Sharp, who loves mystery novels and making pasta from scratch."
Victoria stepped out of the elevator, but paused in the doorway, turning back to face him. "Have dinner with me this weekend," she said, and it wasn't quite a question.
James felt his heart skip. "Are you asking me on a date?"
"I'm asking you to let me cook for you," Victoria said, her smile turning playful. "Though if you want to call it a date, I won't object."
"Yes," James said, the word coming out without hesitation. "I'd like that very much."
Victoria's smile was brilliant. "Saturday evening. Seven o'clock. I'm sure you know where I live or I could text you my home address."
She began walking toward the parking garage, then paused and looked back over her shoulder. "And James? Wear something you don't mind getting a little messy. Learning to make pasta can be... hands-on."
She moved but paused again and turned back to face James, who was still standing in the elevator doorway like he'd forgotten how to move.
"Have a good evening, James," she said, her voice carrying warmth and something that might have been affection. "Sweet dreams."
And then she was walking away, her heels clicking against the marble floor as she headed toward the parking garage, leaving James standing in the elevator with his mouth slightly open and his mind completely blank.
Sweet dreams, he repeated silently, watching Victoria's retreating figure until she disappeared around a corner. She told me to have sweet dreams.
The elevator doors started to close again, and James had to quickly step forward to avoid being carried back up to the office floors. He stood in the empty lobby, briefcase in hand, trying to process what had just happened.
She came down in the general elevator, James thought, his mind beginning to function. She never uses the general elevator. She has her own private express elevator that would have been faster and more convenient.
She chose to ride down with me.
The realization hit him with startling clarity. Victoria hadn't ended up in the elevator with him by accident or coincidence. She'd deliberately chosen to use the general elevator, had timed her departure to coincide with his, had orchestrated their entire conversation.
She planned this, James thought, a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth. Victoria Sharp planned a ninety-second elevator conversation just to ask me about my reading preferences and whether I can cook.
The knowledge left a sweet feeling in his chest, the idea that Victoria was orchestrating their interactions, planning seemingly casual encounters James found it oddly charming.
She's trying to get to know me, he realized. Not James Mitchell the employee, but James the person. She wants to know what I read and whether I cook and what I do with my evenings.
It was such a normal, human approach to developing a relationship that it seemed almost surreal coming from Victoria Sharp. But that was exactly what made it so effective. Instead of using her usual direct, overwhelming approach, she'd chosen subtlety and genuine interest.
This is what wooing looks like, James thought with growing appreciation. Not grand gestures or expensive gifts, but taking the time to learn who I am as a person.
The realization filled him with warmth that had nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with the knowledge that Victoria saw him as more than just an object of desire. She was interested in his mind, his preferences and his daily routines.
Sweet dreams, Victoria had said, and James suspected that for the first time in weeks, he actually might sleep peacefully instead of lying awake replaying their interactions and wondering what came next.
He finally began walking toward the building's exit, his steps lighter than they'd been in days. His heart racing with anticipation and something that felt suspiciously like joy. The evening ahead, dinner alone, some reading, the quiet solitude of his apartment suddenly seemed less appealing than it had twenty minutes ago.
She asked me to dinner, he thought, a smile tugging at his lips. Victoria Sharp asked me to dinner.
More than that, she'd talked to him like he was someone worth knowing, someone whose thoughts and preferences mattered to her. Warmth filled his chest with the possibility of something real developing between them.
As he walked toward his car, James found himself looking forward to Saturday with an anticipation that felt both thrilling and terrifying. The thing growing between him and Victoria, it was becoming something he couldn't rationalize away.
Maybe being wooed by Victoria Sharp isn't going to be the overwhelming experience I expected, James thought as he unlocked his car. Maybe it's going to be something even better.
Maybe it's going to be real.