Chapter 18 #2
I knew I had to make a move. The ice had cracked, the hostility was gone, and the air between us was vibrating with a fragile, terrifying potential.
But I also knew, with absolute, terrifying certainty, that if I pulled out the old billionaire playbook, I would destroy this delicate truce in a heartbeat.
The old Malcolm would have handled this with a grand, overwhelming show of financial force.
He would have orchestrated an impossible-to-get reservation at Canlis.
He would have hired a private Michelin-starred chef, lined the alleyway with luxury catering trucks, or used his wealth to buy a grand, sweeping gesture designed to impress her into submission.
But I was entirely done with that man. I shoved the grease-stained rag into the back pocket of my canvas pants, rolled my aching shoulders, and stepped out from the shadows of the wings, walking directly into her light.
Paige looked up as I approached, her hands stilling on her clipboard.
I stopped a few feet away, suddenly feeling infinitely more nervous, more desperately exposed, than I had ever felt walking into a boardroom to negotiate a billion-dollar merger. I swallowed the thick knot of anxiety in my throat.
“Paige,” I started, my voice low and quiet in the empty auditorium. “I know the cast just broke for dinner. I know you usually use this hour to isolate in your office and catch up on the rental budgets while eating a stale protein bar.”
She offered a faint, self-deprecating smile, confirming the miserable reality of her tech-week diet.
“Let me cook for you,” I said, laying the raw, unvarnished request entirely bare between us.
I didn’t try to dress it up. I didn’t try to make it sound casual.
“Come back to the penthouse with me tonight. Just for dinner. There are no private chefs. There are no caterers. There is absolutely no corporate agenda. It will just be me, a hot stove, and a simple meal made entirely by my own two hands.”
I held my breath, laying my pride completely on the floor. “Please. Let me take care of you for one hour.”
Paige stopped. She slowly lowered her clipboard, her dark eyes locking onto mine.
She took a step back, leaning her shoulder against the historic plaster of the proscenium arch, taking a long, silent moment to study my face.
She was looking past the dark stubble on my jaw, past the deep exhaustion bruising my eyes, searching for any hidden trap, any lingering trace of the arrogant titan who used to view every interaction as a transaction.
She relaxed her posture, but her eyes remained sharp, intelligent, and fiercely commanding.
“Alright,” she said softly, the single word sending a massive, staggering wave of relief crashing through my nervous system.
But before I could even let that breath out, she lifted her chin, her expression shifting into one of absolute, unyielding authority.
“But if I am going to walk into that kitchen with you, Malcolm, we are going to get a few things entirely straight,” she stated, her voice echoing clearly across the empty floorboards.
“If we are going to try to rebuild this, the old dynamic is permanently dead. I am not stepping back into the exact same structure that suffocated me.”
“I don’t want the old dynamic,” I said instantly, stepping closer, desperate to assure her. “I will burn the old structure to the ground.”
“Then you need to listen to me,” Paige commanded, stepping away from the arch to close the distance between us.
She stood directly in front of me, forcing me to meet her fierce, beautiful gaze.
She was laying down the absolute, non-negotiable terms of engagement, and I knew my life depended on how I answered.
“Rule number one,” she said, holding up a single finger.
“Radical transparency. You do not get to build corporate walls between us anymore. You do not get to fight massive, empire-ending battles in secret, and you do not get to hide your stress from me under the arrogant guise of ‘protecting’ me. If your firm is crashing, you tell me. If you are struggling, you share it. You do not get to carry the weight of the world by yourself and leave me entirely locked out of your mind.”
I absorbed the blow, the deep truth of her words cutting me to the bone. “I understand. No more walls. No more secrets.”
“Rule number two,” she continued, her voice growing stronger, fueled by the righteous preservation of her own soul.
“My career and my neighborhood theater will never again be treated as a cute, secondary hobby that exists only when your corporate empire allows it. My work matters. My dream gets equal billing on the marquee of our life. You do not get to prioritize the Seattle skyline over the foundation of my life.”
“Equal billing,” I echoed, my voice thick with a profound, overwhelming humility. “I swear it.”
“And rule number three,” Paige said, her dark eyes flashing with a terrifying, unyielding promise.
She reached out, her index finger pressing firmly against the center of my chest, right over my hammering heart.
“No more freezing me out. The absolute second you start retreating into your work, the second you start using your massive wealth as a shield to isolate me, I am gone. I will not negotiate. I will not beg for your attention. I refuse to ever be starved of your emotional presence again.”
I stood perfectly still in the dim stage lighting, her finger burning like a brand against my chest. I listened to every single word, absorbing the heavy, non-negotiable weight of her boundaries.
The old Malcolm would have found a way to argue. He would have deployed a sophisticated defense, pointing out his financial contributions, justifying his past behavior, or attempting to soften her terms to give himself a tactical out.
I didn’t do any of that. I looked down at my own calloused, blistered hands, the physical evidence of the ego I had finally managed to slaughter.
Then, I looked back up at the brilliant, fierce, incomparable woman standing in front of me—a woman who was brave enough to give a completely broken man a terrifyingly beautiful second chance.
I reached up, moving slowly so I wouldn’t startle her, and gently wrapped my taped hand around the fingers she had pressed against my chest.
“I accept every single rule,” I vowed, my voice a deep, gravelly rasp of absolute conviction.
I didn’t just speak the words; I swore them directly into the marrow of her bones.
“I am completely done trying to buy your forgiveness, Paige. I am ready to build a new foundation with you. And I promise you, I will make it completely unbreakable.”
Paige let out a slow, trembling breath, the last remaining trace of her defensive tension melting away under the warm stage lights. She didn’t pull her hand away from my chest. She just looked up at me, a soft, incredibly vulnerable smile finally breaking across her beautiful face.
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice thick with the promise of a new beginning. “Then let’s go make dinner.”