by Julie Cannon
The guard checked her name off a list on his clipboard and escorted her to the elevator, then waited for her to step inside. He punched the button for the second floor and wished her a good day. Victoria checked herself in the mirrors on the elevator doors and was just unbuttoning her coat when the doors opened. The smell of rich coffee hit her nostrils as she stepped out into the vestibule.
“Ms. Sosa, good morning. I’m Amy, Mr. Braxton’s assistant here in Brussels. May I take your coat?”
“Thank you.” Victoria was impressed by the poise of the young woman, who was at least a foot shorter than she was. Most women couldn’t help gawking momentarily before they remembered their manners. Amy didn’t seem the least bit fazed. Perhaps Braxton had briefed her.
“This way please,” Amy said, after she hung up Victoria’s coat. “Ms. Monroe is already here and Mr. Braxton will be with you in a minute. He’s on a call right now but won’t be long. There is coffee and water in the conference room. Can I get you anything else?”
Victoria replied in French, “No, thank you, that won’t be necessary.” Amy smiled broadly.
Tate was standing, looking out the window, her back to the door but she turned when Victoria spoke to Amy. Their eyes met and all the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. She didn’t hear Amy close the door behind her.
Tate was wearing black pleated trousers topped with a bright green shirt tucked in at the waist. Her belt was wide and funky, and she had on a pair of clunky black boots. She looked nothing like someone bidding on a multi-billion-dollar company. In contrast, Victoria wore navy slacks with a pale blue shell and contrasting jacket. She felt old and dowdy while Tate looked like she had just stepped off the campus of any Ivy League school in the country. She looked deliciously handsome, just as she had in Victoria’s dream last night.
Tate’s expression gave nothing away when she said good morning, but her eyes danced with desire. Oh, God. It’s way too early in the morning for this.
Victoria put her briefcase down on the floor beside a chair and crossed the room to the gleaming stainless coffeepot on the credenza. “Good morning,” she said, pouring a cup of hot coffee. “Thank God, the real thing instead of the instant stuff.” The cup rattled on the saucer and she grasped them with her other hand, more nervous than she thought.
“Sleep well?” Tate asked.
Victoria hadn’t heard Tate move, but the deep voice came from just over her right shoulder. Tate was standing much closer than Victoria wanted her to be. She stepped away toward the safety of her chair. “Yes, thank you.” She didn’t dare return the question. Who knew where Tate would take any reference to night and beds. She chided herself. A woman as sexual and sensuous as Tate didn’t need darkness or a bed.
“I didn’t,” she replied, not waiting for Victoria to ask. “I kept dreaming of waffles, chocolate, and a beautiful blonde.”
Victoria’s hand was in her briefcase and she froze midway from pulling out a sheaf of papers. The look of desire in Tate’s eyes hadn’t dimmed, and Victoria’s blood began to race so loud she thought everyone in the building could hear it. She remained motionless as Tate stepped closer.
“It looks like you didn’t get much sleep either.”
Victoria’s legs trembled and she rested her thighs against the hard table for support. She had no idea why she was so drawn to Tate. She was brash and a cutthroat in business, not minding who or what she left in her path. She was much younger and so comfortable with her sexuality she didn’t appear to give a shit what anyone thought of her. She was very different from any woman Victoria had ever been attracted to.
Thankfully, Tate didn’t come any closer, and Victoria pulled herself out of the tempting abyss when Peter Braxton entered the room.
“Ladies, good morning.” Braxton didn’t appear to notice the tension or the fact that Tate was standing inches from her. Four people followed him into the room and he quickly made introductions.
Victoria forced herself to concentrate on each man’s name and his function at Braxton Europe. She had to convince these men, as well as Peter, that Drake was the company to sell to. They settled into their seats and began their presentations.
Each man took an hour to review the financials, market trends, industry reports, and people issues for his respective business unit. Victoria took notes to keep her mind from drifting to Tate, who sat beside her.
The morning passed quickly and over lunch they all continued their conversation, with both Tate and her asking follow-up questions. All too soon they were back in the conference room for another hour before they donned blue lab coats and headed onto the factory floor.
The afternoon flew by and after they shook hands with Braxton’s staff, they affirmed a final agreement to meet in Hong Kong in two days. Crossing the lobby she buttoned her coat, and a blast of bitter-cold wind struck her the instant she stepped outside. Tate was waiting for her and stepped forward when Victoria exited the building and headed toward the car door her driver had opened.
“Have dinner with me?”
Victoria was afraid this would happen, which was why she’d purposely dawdled in the ladies’ room upstairs. She didn’t want to be forced to come up with a plausible reason to decline. She was exhausted from trying to focus on all of the factors of Braxton Europe she needed to know, and Tate’s every movement beside her didn’t help. She could say she was flying to Hong Kong this evening, but there weren’t many direct flights from Brussels to Hong Kong. She could easily get caught in that fib.
“It’s been a long day, Tate, and I’m really tired. All I want to do is go back to the hotel, soak in a hot bath, and order room service.” And of course work half the night, but she didn’t tell Tate that.
Tate propped herself suggestively against her car. “Can I wash your back?”
“No.”
The expression on the driver’s face indicated that he was enjoying their conversation.
“Can I at least tuck you in?”
Victoria’s frustration jumped to the surface. Her nerves had been overloaded all day, especially the main one between her legs. “No.” Victoria slid into the backseat. Before the driver had a chance to close the door, Tate stuck her head inside.
“What do I have to do to get you to say yes?”
There was more in her question than what she was asking. “I’m not going to say yes to what you want, Tate, so you can stop asking.” Victoria could smell Tate’s cologne, as she had all day.
“But it’s what you want too, Victoria. Why deny it?”
“I’m not denying it,” Victoria admitted. “I’m simply not acting on it. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Victoria effectively ended the conversation and her driver closed the door.
Tate watched Victoria’s car pull away, an unfamiliar ache filling her chest. She hated that Victoria had gotten under her skin and wasn’t about to let it happen again. She pushed the unwelcome sensation aside and told her driver to take her to an American bar.
Two hours later Tate’s eyes burned from the cigarette smoke and her body throbbed from thinking about Victoria. Seeing Victoria today had been harder than she thought. She had anticipated feeling some excitement when she was with her again, but nothing had prepared her for her consuming consciousness of Victoria. She couldn’t think and could barely pay attention to Braxton and his drones.
“At the risk of sounding clichéd, can I buy you a drink?”
Tate almost laughed at the tired line, but when she saw a stunning redhead slide into the seat beside her she smiled. “As long as you don’t expect me to ask you if you come here often.” The woman’s laugh was genuine and Tate signaled for the bartender.
Tate lifted her glass to indicate another of the same. This would make her third Crown Royal on the rocks. One more on her empty stomach might just make her forget about Victoria.
The redhead made her interest known before she finished her first drink, and Tate was tempted. Maybe a night with another woman would get her mind off
Victoria. The woman beside her was more than willing, and Tate knew it would merely be a casual fling.
She was about to say yes when she realized, even in her alcohol-induced state, that she didn’t want sex with a total stranger. She wanted to make love with Victoria, and anyone other than her would be a poor substitute.
“Thanks, and under other circumstances I’d say yes, but this isn’t a good time for me.” She briefly wondered if there would ever be a good time again.
*
Victoria’s cell phone rang just as she was about to step into the tub. She looked at the caller ID and debated whether to answer, but if she didn’t, Edward Hamacher would call all night until he got her. Reluctantly she grabbed the robe from the hook on the back of the door and flipped open her phone.
“Victoria Sosa.” She always answered the phone with her full name when he called. She needed to immediately establish power and a sense of professionalism whenever he was concerned.
“Victoria, it’s Edward,” he said unnecessarily.
“Yes, Edward, what can I do for you?” He wanted an update but she was determined to make him ask for it.
“Where are we?”
She ignored his question and answered instead, “It’s just as I expected. They have a very well-run operation here. Braxton has a good executive staff that seems to be on top of everything.”
“So you plan to recommend that we close this deal?” He had been trying to get Victoria to commit to buying Braxton from the very first day it was discussed. Victoria had insisted that while Claire and the external auditor were looking at the books, she would be touring the facilities. When and only when all doubts were gone would she make a formal offer to Braxton. Edward was obviously losing patience.
“We’ve talked about this several times, Edward. I can’t in good conscience, let alone fiscally, agree to this merger if I’m not certain it is in our best interest. I am more confident today than I was yesterday, but I still need to see their Asia operations. Claire will be done with the books by the end of the week. We’ll have a much better idea then.”
“The clock is ticking, Victoria,” Edward said menacingly.
“Is there anything else, Edward? I still have a company to run and a million things to do tonight.” Unfortunately a relaxing bath was off the list. She was too pissed at him to be able to unwind. Taking a quick shower and tackling her e-mail had moved to the top of the list.
“I’ll be waiting for your call, Victoria.”
The way he said her name was so condescending she ground her teeth. “I’ll report back to the entire board the results of my site visits and the audit as scheduled. Now if there’s nothing else, good night, Edward.” Victoria hung up the phone far more calmly than she felt. “Bastard,” she said to Hamacher’s unhearing ears.
For the second time in as many nights, Victoria slept very little. She typed up her notes, including her thoughts on Braxton, while they were still fresh in her mind. The sun was starting to lighten the sky by the time she shut off her laptop. Her eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and her brain was mush. Her legs twitched from inactivity. She decided to go for a short run to relax. Her flight wasn’t until two that afternoon, and she could sleep during the fourteen-hour trip to Hong Kong.
Thirty-five minutes later Victoria was breathing heavily and sweating profusely, but her mind was clear. The streets around her hotel were empty this early in the morning, and she ran for a full hour before she returned to her room to shower and pack.
She was proud of herself. She had thought of Tate only half the time. Once her mind was empty of work it was free to drift to more pleasant things, and Tate Monroe was definitely pleasant. Sort of. She was more than pleasant to look at, made her body feel things she had almost forgotten, but she was driving her crazy.
Why couldn’t they have met under different circumstances? Victoria laughed to herself. They would have never met. Tate’s youth meant they didn’t run around in the same social circles. But if they had?
She and Carole weren’t committed but casual, getting together whenever they could. She wasn’t seeing anyone other than Carole, but that was primarily because she hadn’t met anyone she wanted to go out with, let alone have sex with. She thought about the situation for a minute and decided she wouldn’t be cheating on Carole if she were to sleep with someone else. She suspected Carole did, but they never talked about it. They never needed to.
Carole was comfortable. She was equally busy, didn’t push or make demands on her. Victoria unconsciously compared her to Tate. Tate as a lover would be demanding, exciting, challenging, and would expect the same from her partner. She would be as intense about sex as she was about life. Victoria’s heart raced again, but this time not from exercise. Sex with Tate would be astonishing.
*
Tate’s head was splitting and she felt like a train had run over her. Then she remembered the train was named Victoria. Raising her head off the pillow, she groaned as her stomach threatened to empty. Why did she drink so much? Why did she say no to the woman? She rarely declined such an appetizing invitation. At the risk of vomiting, Tate rolled on her stomach and fell back asleep.
Several hours later, after stumbling out of bed after her wake-up call, Tate moved slowly to the shower. Her flight was at six that evening and the car would pick her up at three thirty. That gave her several hours to clean up and get ready, and judging by the way she felt, she would need every minute.
She spent thirty of those minutes simply standing under the warm spray in the shower. She was tempted to use the pulsation head to ease the tension in her groin, but her mind had finally begun to clear, and she didn’t want the pounding between her legs to settle in her head again.
Much later, dressed and on the way to the airport, Tate reviewed her itinerary. She would land in Hong Kong early tomorrow, and Clayton would expect her to call before she landed. The day would be similar to yesterday, but with a different cast of characters. Meetings, questions, answers, charts, graphs, and Victoria.
Tate settled into her seat in first class, and once they reached their cruising altitude she called Clayton on the air phone. It was two thirty in the afternoon in New York. She briefed him on some of her additional thoughts about how to clinch the deal from the information she had pilfered from Victoria’s briefcase.
While Victoria was ill and sleeping in Phoenix, Tate had opened the case, pulled out everything inside, and hit the mother lode. The latest financials, last month’s profit-and-loss report, and a preliminary draft of the report Victoria was preparing on the Braxton deal. Tate had made copies of everything, using the fax/copier in the office section of her suite, and neatly replaced everything exactly where she found it.
Now all she had to do was make her plan work.
Chapter Fourteen
Tate had no clue. Not about what she was doing, not about what she wanted, and certainly not about Victoria. They had been in Hong Kong for three days, and during that time she saw a side of Victoria that had only peeked to the surface in Brussels. Yes, she was bright, inquisitive, and perceptive, but she was also kind, generous with her attention, and respectful of everyone she met.
What were Victoria’s staff meetings like? Clayton’s were often filled with derogatory comments about competitors and insider information that was questionable as to the source of the facts and how they were obtained. The Sumner rumor mill had designated Tate and her boss as the Jaws of Life—a cross between the predator in the movie Jaws and the piece of equipment firemen and rescue squads used to extricate victims from horrific, often metal-bending accidents. She often felt like a shark, circling her prey and watching as it grew weaker and weaker until the opportune time for her to strike. She didn’t concern herself with the residual damage her actions caused, just the gratification and financial reward of the kill.
Victoria’s meetings, on the other hand, were probably factual and data-based, where humanity and respect weren’t just words on the company Internet site but prin
ciples that the employees lived and breathed every day. Tate mulled that over. She scoffed at companies that were, in her opinion, noble to a fault. The fault was that they often couldn’t make the tough decisions and failed because of that lack. She, however, had no trouble with that aspect of business, having learned from dual masters—her father and Clayton Sumner.
Yet her growing attraction to a woman ten years older than she was puzzled her. Each time they were together in Hong Kong, Tate found herself studying Victoria. The way she spoke, moved, and cocked her head when she was concentrating. The way her face lit up when she smiled.
Tate had become obsessed with her. She had scoured the Internet, gathering every article that even mentioned Victoria’s name. She consumed every ounce of information on Victoria and felt as if she had known her for years instead of weeks. Every commentary, critique, and exposé all provoked the same conclusion: Victoria Sosa was a woman of substance, style, composure, kindness, and a keen business sense. At one point Tate toyed with the idea of doing the same research on herself, but there would be no comparison. Absolutely no comparison. At times Victoria scared her.
How had Victoria become so successful? How had she managed to rise to the top of her field and still be admired by everyone? Hadn’t everyone left a body or two by the side of the road on their climb up? Tate surely had, and in some cases they were piled pretty high. She had always believed that honor was an accepted casualty of success. Didn’t nice guys always finish last? Victoria obviously missed that lesson in business school, whereas Tate had earned the highest mark in class.
