She grip her purse strap too tight. Her eyes search my face, looking for proof of something she's afraid to find.
"So." She whispers at my doorway. "Seventy-five million dollars."
"Give or take."
"That's a lot of money to throw away on principle."
"If you still feel this is all about principle."
She takes a step inside. "What else would you call making decisions about my company without consulting me?"
"Smart business." I lean against my desk, gripping the edge. "Whitmore was undervaluing your assets by thirty percent."
"You should have called me."
"So you could tell me no?"
"Yes." Her knuckles go white around her purse strap. "That was my right."
"And it was my choice." I hold her stare. "Last time I checked, I don't need permission to spend my own money."
The accusation should
