Chapter 12 #3
"Because I wanted to see you," I say instead, letting just enough of the truth bleed through to make her breath catch. "And because some negotiations work better face to face. There's nuance in person. Context. Things you can't convey through email or video calls."
"This isn't a negotiation, though. You're offering me a contract. That's a unilateral decision on your part."
"Everything is a negotiation, Romee. Every conversation, every business relationship, every interaction between two people who want something from each other." I pause, watching her process that. "The question is just whether you're aware you're negotiating or not."
She huffs out a breath that might almost be a laugh, though there's no humor in it, just exasperation. "Of course you'd think that. Of course you'd frame human interaction as some kind of tactical chess match."
"You disagree?" I ask, genuinely curious now. "You operate in corporate environments. You know better than most how this works."
"I think some things should be straightforward. Clear. Not everything needs to be a strategic business maneuver or some kind of power play." Her voice drops, becoming quieter but somehow more intense. "Not everything needs to be calculated."
"Then what would you prefer?" I ask, and I'm not entirely sure I want to know the answer.
The question comes out lower, rougher than I intended. She catches the shift in my tone immediately, her eyes widening slightly as the energy in the room changes.
"I'd prefer honesty," she says quietly. "I'd prefer knowing whether this is actually about business or if this is you trying to keep me in your orbit by any means necessary."
"Can't it be both?" she whispers, the question barely audible in the charged space between us.
"That's what scares me," I say, and the words come out rougher than I intend, heavy with an honesty I don't typically allow myself to voice. The admission settles between us like a confession, raw and unguarded in a way that seems to surprise even me.
The flush blooms across her cheeks in real time, a cascade of color that spreads from her collarbone upward, betraying every carefully constructed layer of her professional armor.
Her jaw clenches visibly as she fights the urge to retreat into the safety of corporate deflection, to pull that vulnerability back inside where it can't be weaponized or rejected.
Her hands grip the counter so tightly her knuckles turn white, and I can see the exact moment she's warring with herself, the part of her that wants to dissolve into this moment versus the part that's terrified of what it means if she does.
I move before I can stop myself, stepping fully into her personal space until she's backed against the kitchen counter and I'm bracketing her in with both hands on either side of her hips. She sucks in a sharp breath but doesn't tell me to move.
"You want honesty?" My voice drops an octave, rumbling out of my chest in a way that makes her shiver.
"Fine. Yes, I want to keep you in my orbit.
Yes, I spent two weeks having legal draft a contract that would give you every possible advantage because I want you to have zero reasons to say no.
Yes, I am absolutely using business as an excuse to see you again because you told me to stay away and I'm trying very hard to respect that while also losing my mind. "
Her lips part slightly, her breathing shallow.
"But that doesn't make the contract any less legitimate," I continue.
"It doesn't change the fact that you're exactly what my company needs and that this is a mutually beneficial business arrangement.
You're looking at this like it's either professional or personal, like it can't possibly be both.
But I'm an Orc, Romee. We don't separate things into neat little boxes.
When we want something, we want all of it. "
"Thrall—"
"I want you running my events. I want you building your empire using my company as your foundation.
I want you successful and independent and fierce.
" I lean down until my mouth is next to her ear.
"And I want you in my bed every night after you've spent the day proving to everyone else exactly how brilliant you are.
I want both. I'm not interested in choosing. "
She makes a small, breathy sound, her hands coming up to press against me in a gesture that sends a jolt of satisfaction through me.
She's not pushing me away, she's simply touching, her palms flattening against the fabric of my shirt as if she needs to verify that I'm real, that this moment is actually happening.
The contact is electric, and I can feel my control threading thinner with each second.
"The contract terms are acceptable. All the clauses, the compensation structure, the performance benchmarks, every detail is precisely what my company requires.
But if you want to negotiate additional benefits beyond what's written in black and white, CEO Lin, I'm genuinely open to discussion. I'm listening."
Her fingers curl deeper into my shirt, bunching the fabric in her fists as her breathing becomes noticeably more ragged.
"What kind of additional benefits?" she asks, her tone somewhere between curiosity and a challenge she can't help but issue.
"That depends entirely on what you're willing to offer," I reply, my hand splayed across the small of her back, holding her steady against me. "What's your opening position?"
She turns her head slightly, angling herself until her lips are almost brushing my jaw, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin.
"And if I'm not willing to negotiate in the kitchen?" she asks, her voice carrying a loaded implication.
The suggestion in her tone makes heat coil low in my gut. I pull back just enough to look at her face, reading the flush in her cheeks and the way her pupils have dilated.
"Then perhaps we should relocate to a more appropriate venue for these kinds of sensitive negotiations," I murmur, my voice dropping even lower as I trace the curve of her jaw with my thumb. "Somewhere more conducive to the kind of detailed discussion we're about to have."
She tilts her chin up slightly, meeting my gaze with that infuriating blend of defiance and desire that has consumed my every waking thought for the past three weeks.
"My bedroom is down the hall," she says, the words landing like a challenge wrapped in an invitation. "Second door on the left. It's where I keep my most important files."
"Is that where you want to negotiate the terms of our arrangement?
" I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear her say it anyway.
The predatory part of me, the part that has been straining against my carefully maintained control since the moment she walked into that conference room, is practically vibrating with anticipation.
Her eyes flash with a dangerous combination of challenge and heat, and I can feel her pulse accelerating beneath my fingertips where they rest against her neck.
"I want to negotiate whether we're having an arrangement at all," she counters, her voice steady despite the tremor I can feel running through her. "Because there's a significant difference between a business partnership and whatever this is becoming."
"I thought you wanted independence," I say, my tone carrying the slightest edge of amusement at her attempt to maintain the upper hand when we both know exactly where this is heading.
"I do." She slides her hands up my chest to grip my tie. "But I'm starting to think independence doesn't have to mean isolation. And I'm definitely rethinking my position on mixing business with pleasure."
"That's a significant strategic shift," I observe, my tone carefully neutral even as the predatory satisfaction coils through my chest. She's reconsidering. She's negotiating.
"I've had three weeks to reconsider my entire approach," she says, and there's that defiant spark in her eyes again, the one that makes my blood run hot.
She reaches up and tugs on my tie, using it as leverage to pull me down closer, her movements deliberately provocative.
"Do you want to hear my revised proposal, or are we just going to stand here in my kitchen while you loom menacingly?
Because I can do this either way, but I prefer efficiency. "
I slide one hand around her narrow waist, feeling the controlled strength of her even as I grip her, this woman who refuses to be intimidated by 300 pounds of Orc and attitude.
With minimal effort, I lift her easily onto the kitchen counter, the granite cool beneath her as I position her so we're finally at eye level instead of her having to crane her neck up at me like she's addressing a monument.
It's a small thing, but necessary. I need to see her clearly.
"I'm listening," I rumble. My hands settle on the counter on either side of her hips, caging her in. "Tell me everything."
"I accept the contract," she says, wrapping her legs around my hips. "Full terms, three-year commitment, with the understanding that this is a legitimate business arrangement that I intend to execute flawlessly."
"Agreed."
"And separately, completely unrelated to any professional relationship—" She pulls me closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I'm willing to explore a personal arrangement with very specific terms."
"I'm very interested in hearing these terms."
"Equal partnership. No high-handed Orc protection unless I specifically ask for it. No acquiring my competitors or making my problems disappear without my consent. If we do this, we do it as equals, not as CEO and employee."
"You're not my employee. You're an independent contractor," I state flatly, making it clear this distinction matters to me on a level that goes far deeper than semantics.
"Thrall." Her voice carries a warning, a plea wrapped in exasperation.