7. On Her Terms
Chapter Seven
ON HER TERMS
The board offers me Rick’s job, calling it an opportunity to restore confidence.
What they mean is that they want the woman Rick blamed to repair the company he damaged without disrupting the value they still hope to extract from it.
I decline.
Max offers another option. Span360 can fund a new company, manufacture the ring, and distribute it through its wellness clubs and hospitality partners. His initial term sheet gives me authority over product design. It also makes my company a subsidiary of his.
I decline that too.
“You rejected twelve million dollars before breakfast,” Luna says.
We’re sitting in the old apartment surrounded by takeout containers and drafts of new corporate structures. The framed magazine cover calling Rick a self-made genius is face down on the floor.
“It came with control provisions.”
“It came with enough money to purchase a small island.”
“I don’t want an island.”
She pauses as she’s twirling noodles around her fork. “You say that because you’ve never owned one.”
I laugh, and it feels both strange and good.
Over the next six weeks, we negotiate a third path.
VidaRing will transfer the original scoring system, related development rights, and a portion of customer infrastructure into a new independent company as part of settling my ownership and employment claims. In exchange, I’ll license VidaRing limited use of certain legacy systems during its transition.
Max’s investment company will provide capital. Span360 will offer manufacturing and distribution services under separate contracts. Neither will control the board.
I will.
Luna will be chief operating officer, and Mei will join our scientific advisory team.
The new company will be called Verity.
Truth.
Not perfection. Not control. Not the promise that a ring can solve the mystery of being human.
Information honestly given.
The final negotiation takes place in Max’s penthouse because his attorneys have occupied every conference room in his office. Rain moves across Manhattan outside the windows. Papers cover the dining table. We’ve been arguing for three hours over expansion costs.
“You’re underestimating customer acquisition,” Max says.
“You’re inflating it to justify a larger reserve.”
“I’m inflating it because launching a consumer product is expensive.”
“I launched VidaRing.”
“You launched VidaRing in an apartment with frozen peas under your computer.”
“And it worked.”
“Your computer nearly caught fire.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I’ve heard the story.”
“That was Rick’s version,” I say.
“Actually, it was Luna’s.” Max studies the spreadsheet again. “Increase the reserve by fifteen percent, and I’ll accept the governance protections.”
“Ten.”
“Twelve.”
“Eleven, and you stop pretending your distribution projections are conservative.”
He extends his hand. “Done.”
I look at it. Six weeks ago, Rick offered me money to accept blame for his choices. Tonight, Max offers me money while making it difficult for himself to control mine.
I place my hand in his, his fingers close around mine, and neither of us lets go.
“You negotiate like you expect betrayal,” he says.
“I negotiate like I’ve experienced it.”
“I’m not Rick.”
“I know.”
Max’s thumb moves once across my knuckles. “You’re the only person in this industry I’m not confident I can outthink,” he says.
My pulse quickens. “That may be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“I can do better.”
“Can you?”
He steps closer, and I rise from the chair.
For weeks, I’ve felt this approaching in glances, unfinished sentences, and the careful distance he keeps whenever we’re alone. Max has never pushed. He’s left the decision waiting between us as if he knows I need the freedom to choose it.
So I do.
I slide one hand behind his neck and kiss him.
For one suspended second, he doesn’t move, then his arm circles my waist, and he draws me against him.
The kiss deepens slowly, giving me time to retreat, but I don’t.
His mouth is warm and demanding without taking too much. Every time I change the angle, he follows. Every time I pull him closer, his hold tightens.
Desire moves through me with startling force. I’ve been living inside my head for months—calculating risk, preserving evidence, anticipating attack. Max’s hand gliding along my back returns me to my body.
He breaks the kiss, breathing hard. “Courtney.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“I need to hear what you want.”
The question reaches deeper than he intends. Rick never asked what I wanted unless he’d already decided which answer was acceptable.
I touch Max’s face. “I want you.”
His eyes darken.
“Not because you helped me and not because the contracts are signed,” I say. “Because I walk into a room and look for you. Because you listen. Because I don’t have to disappear for you to feel important.”
“You couldn’t disappear if you tried.”
“I did for fifteen years.”
“Not to me.” He kisses me again, and this time, there’s nothing cautious in it except the care beneath the urgency.
He lifts me onto the edge of the dining table, scattering financial projections across the polished wood. I laugh against his mouth, and he smiles as he slides between my knees.
His hands move over my waist, my hips, the length of my thighs beneath my dress. He touches me as though he’s been imagining it and still can’t quite believe he’s allowed.
I open the buttons of his shirt. His skin is warm beneath my palms. He’s solid and real.
Max lowers his mouth to my throat, and pleasure unfurls wherever he touches, loosening something that has been clenched inside me for years. His hands aren’t impatient. He notices every breath, every shiver, and every involuntary movement, and he answers it.
When he carries me to the bedroom, I don’t feel rescued. I feel chosen.
He sets me on my feet beside the bed and lets me undress him. He lets me look and touch, and he lets me decide the pace.
Then he reaches for the zipper of my dress. “May I?”
“Yes.”
The fabric slips down my body, and for one terrible instant, old instincts surface. I wonder what he sees, whether my softness disappoints him, and whether the years show.
Max’s expression silences every fear. “Beautiful.” His voice tells me he’s hungry for me.
He kisses the curve of my shoulder, then lower, his hands following until I’m trembling. When he kneels in front of me, I catch my breath.
“Max.”
His gaze lifts. “Please.” The request is almost unbearably intimate.
He touches me, then tastes me, with patience that becomes its own kind of intensity. He pays attention to what makes my knees weaken and my hands fist in the sheets. Pleasure builds until I’m no longer worried about sound or dignity or whether wanting too much will make me difficult.
I let myself have it, and my release leaves me shaking.
Max comes back over me, and I pull him down, kissing him with the taste of my own surrender on his mouth.
When he enters me, he moves slowly at first, watching me. The fullness of him draws a broken sound from my throat.
“Tell me,” he murmurs.
“More.”
He gives it to me. The rhythm grows harder and deeper, our restraint finally gone. I meet every thrust, and I don’t make myself quiet. I don’t measure my need against his comfort. I take pleasure without translating it into something useful for anyone else.
Max’s control breaks with mine.
Afterward, rain taps softly against the windows. I lie with my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat settle.
His fingers move through my hair, and he doesn’t tell me this changes everything. He doesn’t ask me to promise anything. “What do you want now?” he asks.
The question could mean tonight, or it could mean tomorrow. It could mean my life.
I lift my head. “I want to launch Verity.”
He smiles. “I suspected.”
“I want my own apartment.”
“Reasonable.”
“I want us to keep doing this.”
His hand settles at my hip. “I was hoping.”
“And I want breakfast.”
“That may be your most demanding term.”
“I’m controlling shareholder.”
“I find that extremely attractive.”
I kiss him again because I can.