“Are you hearing yourself?” she says. “You, of all people, telling me something doesn’t have to be a negotiation.”
“I negotiate when there’s something to be gained,” he says. “With you, I’m not interested in winning. I’m interested in… having.”
Her throat goes dry.
“Having,” she repeats.
“Having you in my bed,” he says. “In my office. In my space. In my life. Consistently.”
“You make that sound like a business acquisition,” she says.
“That’s the only language I know,” he says, unashamed. “But if you want me to translate, I can.”
She should run.
She should throw the coffee in his face, call him a liar, walk out, and never look back.
Instead, she hears herself say, very quietly, “Translate.”
His eyes darken.
“I want you to keep coming back,” he says. “Not just when you’re scared.
