PART 5:

“And who is this? Surely not a new acquisition, Victoria. He looks a bit depreciated. Don’t tell me Harrington Global has started a charity division for the city’s blue-collar unfortunates.” Victoria’s hands curled into tight fists under the table. The sudden, fierce urge to throw her glass of water in Richard’s face was nearly overwhelming.

“Richard, you will leave this table immediately before I make sure “It’s all right, Tory,” David interrupted smoothly. He didn’t shrink under Richard’s insulting gaze. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered, his eyes calmly assessing the billionaire rival. David looked at the gold Rolex Daytona gleaming on Richard’s wrist.

“Nice watch,” David noted casually. “Though, if you’re going to wear a Daytona, you should really have the mainspring serviced. The second hand is lagging by about a quarter of a beat. Usually means the internal lubrication has completely dried out. It happens when someone buys an expensive machine just to show off rather than actually taking care of it.

” Richard’s smug smile faltered, his face flushing a violent shade of red. He instinctively covered his watch with his opposite hand. “Excuse me?” “I’m just saying,” David continued, his voice calm, steady, and utterly devastating in its simplicity. “You can dress up a rusted chassis in a $10,000 paint job, but anyone who actually knows what they’re looking at can still hear the engine knocking.

Have a good evening, Richard.” The two investors behind Richard stifled quiet coughs, awkwardly looking away. Richard, thoroughly humiliated and entirely unequipped to verbally spar with someone who didn’t play by high society rules, glared venomously at David. “Enjoy your charity dinner,” he spat, before turning on his heel and storming away.

Victoria stared at David, completely awestruck. In all her years in the corporate world, she had never seen anyone dismantle Richard Carmichael with such effortless, grounded precision. “You,” she breathed, a spark of pure admiration igniting in her chest, “are incredibly dangerous, Dave. I deal with stubborn, overinflated tires every single day at the shop.

” David grinned. He was an easy read. He looked around the opulent, stifling room, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. “You know what? You were right. This place is terrible.” Victoria reached across the table, acting on pure, unadulterated impulse, and grabbed his hand. Her skin was warm against his calloused palm.

“Let’s get out of here.” “Where to?” David asked, his heart hammering against his ribs as he let her pull him up from the booth. “You mentioned your daughter likes burgers,” Victoria said, her eyes practically shining as they navigated through the maze of tables toward the exit.

“I happen to know a place downtown that makes the greasiest, most spectacular bacon cheeseburger in Seattle, and I am buying.” The rain had finally reduced to a misty drizzle by the time David’s rusted Ford F-150 pulled into the gravel parking lot of Mick’s All Night Diner. It was a stark, unapologetic contrast to the velvet-draped pretension of Le Sans.

Here, the primary sources of illumination were a flickering neon sign that buzzed like an angry hornet, and the harsh fluorescent lights hanging over cracked red vinyl booths. The air was thick with the comforting, heavy aroma of frying onions, seasoned beef, and black coffee. Victoria stepped out of the truck, her $3,000 Alexander McQueen dress brushing against the damp gravel. She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she took a deep breath of the greasy air, a look of profound relief washing over her striking features. As they walked inside, the bell above the door jingled cheerfully. Mick, a burly man with a thick beard and an apron covered in flour, looked up from the grill. “Davey, haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays.

Usual?” “Make it two.” “Mick,” David called out, guiding Victoria to a corner booth, “and double the bacon on both.” Victoria slid into the vinyl seat, the material squeaking slightly. She looked entirely out of place, yet utterly at ease. When Mick brought over two massive, glistening burgers, accompanied by a mountain of golden fries, Victoria didn’t hesitate.

She picked up the burger with both hands, took a massive bite, and closed her eyes in pure, unadulterated bliss. “Oh my god,” she mumbled, grabbing a paper napkin to catch a stray drop of sauce. “That is spectacular. Lassance could never.” David chuckled, watching her shed the rigid, icy armor she had worn at the restaurant.

Under the harsh diner lights, with her hair slightly messy from the rain, and a smudge of ketchup near her thumb, she was breathtakingly beautiful. The intimidating billionaire CEO had vanished, leaving behind a woman who was fiercely intelligent, surprisingly funny, and deeply exhausted by the weight of her own world.

“So,” David said, stealing a fry from her basket, “you run a multi-billion-dollar empire, you drive a temperamental classic car, and you aggressively defend blue-collar mechanics against snobby board members. Who exactly is Victoria Harrington?” Victoria wiped her mouth, her expression turning thoughtful.

“She’s someone who spends 90% of her time playing a high-stakes game of chess, where she doesn’t actually like any of the other players. I inherited the company from my grandfather. He taught me how to be ruthless, how to build walls, and how to never show weakness. But lately,” she paused, looking down at her hands, “lately, the walls just feel like a prison.

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