"No. Absolutely not." Victoria's voice cut through the conference room like a blade. "We're not leading with market penetration metrics. It's defensive and suggests we're compensating for something."
The strategy team exchanged nervous glances. Three hours into what should have been a ninety-minute meeting, Victoria had rejected every proposed approach to the Haverford presentation. James watched from his corner position as Daniel tried again.
"The client specifically asked for comparative market data," Daniel said, his voice impressively steady despite the sweat beading at his temples. "We can't just ignore their request."
Victoria tapped her pen against the glossy table. "We're not ignoring it. We're reframing it. The data goes in the appendix where they can find it if they want it, but we lead with innovation and projected growth. Haverford didn't hire Sharp Innovations for a history lesson—they want to know how we'll transform their future."
James made a note on his tablet. Victoria was right, of course. She usually was about these things, though her delivery left much to be desired. The meeting would have been over two hours ago if she'd simply led with her vision instead of dismantling everyone else's.
"James," Victoria said suddenly, "what do you think?"
The room fell silent. Victoria rarely solicited James's opinion in front of the strategy team. He was there to take notes, manage the presentation deck, and occasionally slide a perfectly timed coffee in front of her when her energy flagged—not to contribute to the creative direction.
"I think," he said carefully, "that we could satisfy both approaches by opening with a single, powerful comparative metric that transitions immediately into our innovation strategy. One backward glance before facing firmly forward."
Victoria's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her eyes. "Give me an example."
James tapped his tablet, bringing up a chart on the main screen. "This one. Shows Haverford's current market position—respectable but stagnant—and then transitions directly into where our strategy would take them in eighteen months. It acknowledges where they are without dwelling on it."
The room held its collective breath as Victoria studied the chart. Finally, she nodded once. "That works. Build the presentation around that concept. I want a draft by six." She stood, gathering her materials. "James, with me. We need to finalize arrangements for tonight's dinner with Petrov."
As the door closed behind them, James heard the distinct sound of relieved sighs from the strategy team. Victoria strode toward her office, not checking if he followed. She never did.
"Send the team the framework you just outlined," she said over her shoulder. "And make sure they understand I want innovation front and center, not buried under statistics."
"Of course."
Inside her office, Victoria settled behind her desk, her posture perfect as always. "The reservation at Aurelia is for eight. Mikhail Petrov is bringing his wife and his CFO. The wife is named..."
"Anastasia," James supplied. "She's an art historian specializing in post-modern conceptual installations. Their anniversary is in two months—twenty-five years. They have twin daughters attending Stanford."
Victoria's eyebrow arched slightly. "Good. Make sure there are flowers in the private dining room. Nothing ostentatious, but elegant. Anastasia favors orchids."
"Already arranged. White Phalaenopsis orchids with subtle gold accents to complement Aurelia's décor."
"And the gift?"
"A limited edition art book on emerging Russian conceptual artists. Personally signed by the editor, who happens to be a former colleague of Anastasia's."
The corner of Victoria's mouth twitched upward—the closest thing to approval James typically received. "Well done. You'll attend dinner, of course."
It wasn't a question, but James nodded anyway. "I've prepared briefing materials on both Petrov's business interests and Anastasia's current art projects."
"Good. I want this deal closed by dessert." Victoria turned to her computer, then paused. "You're having lunch with Winters tomorrow?"
The abrupt change of subject caught James off guard. "Yes. He's sending a car at one."
"Hmm." Victoria typed something, her expression unreadable. "Wear the gray suit. The one with the subtle blue threading."
James blinked in surprise. "Any particular reason?"
"It photographs well." She didn't look up. "Winters likes to document his conquests."
The implication—that Winters might parade James as a high-profile poach from Victoria Sharp—was clear. Also clear was Victoria's unspoken instruction to represent Sharp Innovations well in any such photos.
"I'll keep that in mind," James said neutrally.
Victoria continued typing. "Winters will try to charm you. He's quite good at it."
"You sound like you're speaking from experience."
Her fingers paused imperceptibly over the keyboard. "I told you. Ancient history."
"But relevant history, apparently."
Victoria looked up then, her blue eyes sharp. "Chad hasn't changed his fundamental nature in seven years. He still sees people as either assets to acquire or obstacles to overcome." She returned to her typing. "Just be aware that his charm conceals calculation."
"As opposed to your approach, which is calculation without the charm?"
The words slipped out before James could stop them. He expected a cutting rebuke, but instead, Victoria's lips curved into what might almost be called a smile.
"Precisely. At least I'm honest about it." She glanced at her watch. "I have calls until four. Then I need to review the Haverford presentation before we leave for Aurelia. Have the car ready at seven-thirty."
Dismissed, James returned to his desk, wondering about the brief moment of honesty—almost playfulness—in Victoria's response. These glimpses of the person beneath the perfectionist CEO were becoming more frequent. Or perhaps he was simply becoming more attuned to seeing them.
His phone buzzed with a text from Winters: Looking forward to lunch tomorrow. My assistant says you prefer Thai. I've reserved a table at Thai Something.
James frowned. He hadn't told Winters's assistant anything about his food preferences. The message was clear: Winters had been doing his homework on James, probably talking to people in his network. It was both flattering and slightly unnerving.
He typed back: Sounds great but I'd prefer a different place. Thank you.
Another message arrived almost immediately: I'm sure Victoria is keeping you busy as always. Don't let her work you too hard before our meeting. I need you sharp and open-minded.
The message carried a familiarity that felt presumptuous. James didn't respond, instead turning his attention to sending the Haverford presentation framework to the strategy team.