Even if every instinct I have is screaming that I’m lying to both of us.
She picks up the contract again. Flips through the pages.
I watch her read. The way her brow furrows when she hits a clause she doesn’t like. The way she worries her bottom lip when she’s thinking.
I force myself to look away. To focus on something else. Anything else.
This is a business arrangement.
That’s all.
So why the hell does it feel like I just made a deal with the devil and signed away something I can’t afford to lose?
Finally she looks up. “I want editorial control over any community facing materials. And I want veto power over which developers we engage with. If I think someone is acting in bad faith I’m walking away and you don’t get to overrule me.”
“Done.”
“And I want it in writing. Also, that this stays confidential. No press. No public announcement. I’m not interested in being part of your foundation’s PR campaign.”
That one stings but I don’t show it. “Also done.”
She studies me like she’s trying to figure out the hidden angle.
There isn’t one. Not really.
You’re such a liar.
Forcing away the though, I extend my hand across the table. “Do we have a deal, Counselor?”
She looks at my hand. Then at my face.
The hesitation stretches.
Then she reaches across and takes my hand.
The contact is brief. A handshake between colleagues.
Except her palm is warm and her fingers linger half a second too long and when she pulls away I can still feel the ghost of her touch.
Fucking hell.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“We have a deal,” she says quietly.
I should feel satisfied. I just secured six weeks of access to the exact expertise I need, plus the credibility boost that comes with her name attached to the project.
But instead I just feel hollow. Like I won the battle but lost something I didn’t know I was supposed to be protecting.
She’s only here because I’m paying her 100k. Because the terms were good enough to overcome her better judgment.
Not because she wants to be.
Not because she forgives me.
Not because any part of her still gives a damn about who I am or what I’m trying to become.
And that’s fine.
