Page 59 of Impossible Love

Is it wrong that I’m turned on by how handily she’s kicking ass? Her substantial Yale MBA expertise aside, it seems Victoria’s secret weapon is how relaxed and easy-going she is at the negotiating table, even when the stakes are high. She’s handling her combatants with grace. Killing them with competency.

I might even go so far as to say that she’s a “people person.” That’s one of my all-time-most-hated expressions. I guess it’s because I’m more of an explosives person, myself.

She’s both.

It’s true that business negotiations can be a lot like the battlefield. Today, it’s been a pleasure watching as the truth slowly dawns on these men. That Victoria Backlund’s strike impact perimeter might be a lot wider than they anticipated.

Ka-boom, bitches.

I just hang back, relaxing in my armchair off in the corner of the conference room. I sip my designer water and enjoy the view of the Bay. I wait for her opponents to surrender.

It takes just another half hour.

We thank everyone for their time and head for the elevators. Victoria stands next to me, briefcase held at her front. A sly smile spreads across her pretty face.

“You rock, Backlund.”

She nods slowly, then delivers some of the best side-eye I’ve ever seen. “You have no idea.”

I laugh and squeeze her hand, wondering if that was blatant innuendo. If it was, then the next five minutes could go pretty smoothly. If I’m misreading her, it could get ugly.

We exit the revolving doors and stand on the Embarcadero sidewalk. I see the shiny black Town Car at the curb.

“Victoria, I have an idea.”

Actually, it’s more like a plan that’s already in motion. I told Declan the meeting was running late, and that he should pick us up in the morning. But I’m not sure how she’ll react to my efforts. She could think it’s hot. She could think I’m an ass.

She looks up at me, one eyebrow arched. “And what idea is that?”

“It’s already late. What do you say we just spend the night in town, maybe grab some dinner.”

I see the gears turning in that brilliant, beautiful head of hers. She misses nothing. She’s certainly aware of what I’m suggesting.

“All right,” she says matter-of-factly. “Let me call Millicent and see if she can get us—”

“No need.” I step to the car and open the back door for her. “Hop in.”

She’s quiet on the ride. She asks exactly zero questions about what I have planned. I think she likes not knowing. It probably doesn’t happen a lot in her life. She probably doesn’t allow it to happen.

“I didn’t bring anything to change into,” she says, almost to herself. She stares out the window at the evening city lights and early sunset.

“I’ve taken care of that, too.”

If all goes right, clothes won’t be needed. But I believe in being prepared.

The car pulls up to the castle-like Fairmont Hotel. I hold the door for Victoria, and almost immediately, we’re greeted by the concierge.

“Mr. MacLaine. So good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Massi. It’s good to see you, too. How’s your daughter? Is she enjoying Stanford?”

“Oh, yes! Thank you for asking.”

I place a hand on the small of Victoria’s back. It’s a territorial move, I know. But she doesn’t pull away. Another good sign.

“Massi, this is my business associate, Victoria Backlund.”

“A pleasure, Ms. Backlund. Kindly follow me.”

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