After what felt like an eternity, Victoria broke the silence again, her voice softer than he'd ever heard it. "Your breath..."
James braced himself for another cutting remark.
"It's... actually quite fresh," she finished, sounding genuinely surprised.
The unexpected compliment caught him off guard. "Thank you?"
"Better than most men," she continued, a hint of her usual sharpness returning. "At least you're not like some with their fish breath. Small mercies, I suppose."
Before James could respond to the backhanded compliment, Victoria did something that shattered every professional boundary between them. She closed the microscopic distance, her fingers threading through his hair at the nape of his neck. The gesture was possessive, commanding—utterly Victoria Sharp and she pressed her lips deliberately against his.
James felt his soul leave his body, his breath catching as he registered what was happening. For three years, he had maintained perfect professional distance from Victoria Sharp—admiring her from afar, enduring her caustic remarks, suppressing any inappropriate thoughts. And now, in an abandoned amusement park maintenance room, she was kissing him.
This wasn't tentative or exploratory—it was a claiming, fierce and unapologetic. Her lips moved against his with practiced skill, her tongue sweeping boldly across his lower lip before delving deeper.
James's eyes went wide with shock, his pupils dilating as the full impact hit him. His hands flew up instinctively, hovering uncertainly in the air before finding purchase against the wall behind him. The kiss was nothing like he'd imagined—it was fire and silk, demanding and generous all at once. Victoria kissed like she did everything else: with complete mastery and unwavering confidence.
She angled her head, deepening the kiss further, one hand sliding down to grip his tie while the other remained tangled in his hair. The small sound she made against his mouth—part satisfaction, part hunger—sent electricity racing down his spine.
When she finally pulled back, her breathing was slightly uneven, her lips flushed and glistening. James stared at her with wide, dazed eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked utterly undone, his usual composure completely shattered.
"My God," he breathed, his voice hoarse with amazement. "You... that was..."
Victoria's smile was triumphant, her eyes bright with satisfaction at his reaction. "That was me kissing you," she said matter-of-factly, though her fingers still played with his tie.
He remained perfectly still, afraid that any movement might either end the moment or encourage something he knew would be professional suicide. His mind raced with confusion while his body responded with immediate, undeniable interest.
Victoria pulled back slightly, her eyes studying his face with analytical precision. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, where his heart was thundering an erratic rhythm.
"Your heart is racing," she observed, her tone curious rather than mocking. Without warning, she leaned in again, reclaiming his lips with more purpose this time, as if conducting an experiment and checking the results.
James's hands remained rigidly at his sides, though every instinct urged him to pull her closer. When she finally broke the kiss, he turned his face slightly away, struggling to regain his composure.
"Ms. Sharp," he said, his voice hoarse, "I think you should back off."
Victoria's expression held something dangerous—a mixture of amusement and predatory interest. "I don't think I will," she replied, her fingers now tracing a pattern on his chest. "You work for me, James. You're essentially my property from nine to five. I can do as I please."
The possessive statement sent a conflicting surge of indignation and unwanted arousal through him. "That's not how employment works," he said, fighting to keep his voice steady. "And I'd appreciate it if you didn't confuse the situation."
"What situation?" Victoria asked innocently, though her hand continued its exploration, now playing with his tie. "I'm just alleviating the boredom while we wait for rescue."
James knew better than to mistake her actions for genuine interest. This was Victoria Sharp—the woman who had spent three years making cutting remarks about his height, his clothes, his cautious nature. She didn't see him as a man; she saw him as a convenient distraction, another thing she could control.
"I'm a man, Ms. Sharp," he said firmly, catching her wrist to stop her wandering hand. "And you shouldn't get careless."
Victoria looked pointedly at his hand on her wrist, then back up to his face with a raised eyebrow. "A man? I don't see a man here. I see an employee who's forgetting his place."
Her casual dismissal hit with precision. James released her wrist as if burned, anger flaring bright and hot within him.
"I'd say the same to you," he said, the words escaping before he could censor them. "This is harassment, and you know it."
Rather than the outrage he expected, Victoria laughed—a genuine sound of surprise and delight that he had never heard from her before. "Bold words from someone who's still technically on the clock," she said, but there was no real malice in her tone, just a strange sort of appreciation.
The sound of her laughter did nothing to ease the tension coiling tight within him. If anything, it made it worse. This version of Victoria—playful, unpredictable—was more dangerous than her usual icy demeanor. At least with cold Victoria, he knew where he stood. This Victoria made him forget all the reasons he should keep his distance.
James shifted uncomfortably, trying to create space between them, but the confines of the room made it impossible. Worse, his body was responding to her proximity in ways that were becoming increasingly difficult to hide. He silently prayed she wouldn't notice, knowing Victoria would never let him live it down if she realized the effect she was having on him.
"Look," he said, his voice strained as he fought for control, "this is an unprofessional situation that we've found ourselves in. Let's not make it worse by doing things we'll both regret when we get out of here."
Victoria tilted her head, studying him with the same intensity she usually reserved for quarterly reports and competitor analyses. "Who says I would regret it?" she asked softly.
The question hung in the air between them, loaded with possibilities that James refused to consider. He was not going to be a momentary diversion for Victoria Sharp. He had spent years building his professional reputation. He was not going to throw that away for a moment of weakness in a maintenance closet.
"I would," he said firmly, even as part of him silently acknowledged the lie.
Victoria's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise —crossing her features before her usual mask slipped back into place. "Your loss," she said with nonchalance, taking a tiny step back.
The movement created the barest hint of distance between them, but it felt like a chasm. James took a deep breath, trying to center himself, to remember who they were outside of this bizarre bubble of time and space.
"When we get out of here," he said carefully, "I think we should both agree to forget this happened."
Victoria's gaze was cool and assessing. "Already forgotten," she said, but her eyes told a different story.
The silence that followed was excruciating. James focused on controlling his breathing, on willing his body to calm down, on mentally reciting financial regulations—anything to distract from Victoria's presence mere inches away. She had returned to examining the door mechanism, her side features to him, the line of her beautiful jawline and elegant neck.
Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. The air in the small room grew increasingly stifling, charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled possibilities. James had never been more aware of another person's presence—the subtle shift of Victoria's weight from one foot to the other, the faint scent of her expensive perfume, the sound of her controlled breathing.
Just when he thought the tension might suffocate them both, there was a metallic click. The door, seemingly of its own accord, swung open, revealing the dim corridor beyond.
The sudden release from their confinement was so unexpected that neither of them moved for a moment, as if unsure whether to trust this apparent salvation.
James was the first to break the spell. Without a word, he stepped quickly out of the maintenance room, drawing in a deep breath of the musty but comparatively fresh air of the abandoned amusement park. He needed distance, needed to reestablish the professional boundaries that had momentarily dissolved in that confined space.
Behind him, he heard Victoria's heels clicking on the concrete as she followed him out. He didn't turn around, didn't trust himself to look at her just yet.
"James," Victoria's voice was surprisingly tentative.
He paused but didn't turn. "Yes, Ms. Sharp?"
"This... incident... doesn't leave this building. Are we clear?"
James nodded once, still facing away from her. "Crystal clear."
"Good," she said, her voice regaining its usual crisp authority. "Now, let's get back to the car and salvage what's left of this disaster of a day."
As they walked in silence toward the exit, James knew that something fundamental had shifted between them. The careful professional distance he had maintained had been breached, and he wasn't sure it could ever be fully restored.
Victoria strode ahead of him, her posture perfect, her demeanor once again that of the untouchable CEO. Anyone looking at her would never guess that minutes ago she had been kissing her assistant in a maintenance closet.
James followed a step behind, as was his usual position. On the surface, everything was back to normal. But beneath that surface, a current now ran between them—powerful, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.
The question was whether either of them would be brave enough—or foolish enough—to acknowledge it again.