Chapter 12 #4
"Agreed," I rumble, my hands sliding slowly up the smooth curve of her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my palms. "Equal partnership. Though I reserve the right to express my opinions, loudly and at length, about anyone who has the audacity to disrespect you. That's non-negotiable."
"Express, not eliminate," she counters, her tone brooking no argument. Her fingers thread deliberately into my hair, tugging just enough to remind me she's serious.
"That's a significant restriction," I growl, though we both know I'm already agreeing to it. "You're asking me to watch someone treat you poorly and do nothing but voice my displeasure. That goes against every instinct I have."
"Those are my terms." She pulls my head back slightly to meet her eyes, holding my gaze with the unwavering intensity that first drew me to her. "Take it or leave it. I won't compromise on this."
I lean in slowly until our mouths are almost touching, the proximity intoxicating. "Are these the only terms we need to discuss, or do we need to negotiate additional clauses? I want this done right."
"That depends entirely on your next move," she says, her voice breathless. "Are you planning to disappear for three weeks every time we have a disagreement? Because I need to know that right now."
The accusation lands like a blade, sharper than she probably intended. "You left," I counter, my voice more defensive.
"Because you made a major business decision that affected my career without consulting me first."
"I was trying to help."
"I know." Her expression softens slightly. "And I appreciate that your instinct is to protect and provide. But I need you to trust that I can handle my own problems."
"I do trust you. I just—" I stop, forcing myself to be as honest as she's being. "I'm not good at standing back and watching you struggle when I have the resources to fix it."
"Then we're going to have to find a compromise," she says, her chin lifting with that familiar stubbornness I've come to recognize as her default defense mechanism.
"Because I absolutely cannot be with someone who thinks fixing my problems, swooping in like some kind of green-skinned savior, is the same thing as respecting my autonomy and my right to choose my own path. "
I exhale slowly through my nose, feeling her words settle across my chest. "And I can't be with someone who's too damned stubborn and self-reliant to accept help when it's offered with nothing but genuine intentions. Someone who'd rather suffer alone than admit she might need another person."
We stare at each other across the narrow space between us, the air itself seeming to thicken with the sheer force of our opposing wills. Her jaw is clenched. My hands are curled into fists. Neither of us is backing down, and we both know it.
"So we're at an impasse," she says finally, her voice quiet but no less resolute. The words hang there between us like a verdict, heavy and impossible to ignore.
"No. We're negotiating." I lean closer, my mouth brushing hers. "You want equal partnership. I want to protect you. The compromise is that I ask before interfering, and you actually consider accepting help instead of automatically refusing out of pride."
"That's not pride. That's self-preservation."
"It's both."
She huffs out a breath, but doesn't disagree. "Fine. You ask first. And I'll try to be less reflexively independent."
"That's the weakest commitment I've ever heard."
"It's the best you're getting."
I cup her face in both hands, tilting her head back to meet my gaze. The heat radiating from her skin is intoxicating, and I can feel her pulse quickening beneath my palms. "Are the terms acceptable, CEO Lin, or do we need to continue this negotiation in the bedroom?"
Her eyes darken with a hunger that mirrors my own, pupils dilating as she considers the question. "I think the bedroom might be more appropriate for finalizing the details of our arrangement."
"I agree entirely."
I lift her off the counter with ease, and she wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers already working at the knot of my tie with an impatience that sends heat coursing through me.
I carry her down the narrow hallway toward her bedroom, my footsteps heavy and deliberate against the hardwood floor.
"Three weeks," she murmurs against my mouth, her words tumbling out in a rush. "Three weeks of terrible coffee and sleeping alone and trying to convince myself I didn't need you. Trying to convince myself I didn't miss this—miss you."
"I know." I kick her bedroom door open with the heel of my boot, laying her down carefully on the soft expanse of her bed before following her down, bracketing my weight above her. "I was doing the same thing. Fighting it. Losing."
"How'd that work out for you?" she asks, breathless and flushed beneath me.
"Terribly." I brace myself above her, drinking in the sight of her flushed and eager beneath me. "Turns out I need you significantly more than I need pride or distance or professional boundaries."
She pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like relief and hunger and coming home.
"Then I guess we're both terrible at staying away," she whispers.
"Completely incompetent."
"Good thing we're better at negotiating."
I laugh against her mouth, and she tugs me closer, and the contract sits forgotten on her kitchen table while we work out the much more important terms of exactly how this is going to work between us.