"You're squeezing too hard," Sam murmurs.
I loosen my grip. "Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. I'm terrified too." He flashes me a grin that's only slightly manic. "But like, a fun terrified. Like a roller coaster."
"I hate roller coasters."
"I know. That's what makes this metaphor perfect."
We stop outside Sterling's door. The oak looks more imposing than yesterday, if that's possible. The brass nameplate gleams like a warning.
Sam takes a breath. "Okay. We go in there, we present the proposal, and we don't blink. No matter what he says."
"And if he laughs us out?"
"Then we leave with our dignity and our relationship intact." Sam squeezes my hand. "That's the win condition, remember? Not the internship. Us."
He's right. I know he's right. But god, I want this to work. Not for me—for him. For us. For the future we stayed up all night building.
I knock.
"Come in."
We push through the door. Sterling is behind his desk, same as yesterday. Dr. Thorne is notably absent. It's just him, in his expensive suit, with that shark's smile.
"Mr. Morse. Mr. Sharma." He gestures to the chairs. "I have to admit, I'm curious which one of you is here to sign the non-compete."
"Neither," Sam says.
We don't sit. We stand in front of his desk, shoulder to shoulder. Sam pulls the proposal from his bag—twenty pages, bound as professionally as possible from the all night printer station in the library—and sets it in front of Sterling.
"What's this?" Sterling picks it up, flipping through with a frown.
"A counter-offer," I say. My voice is steadier than I expected. "You gave us two options. We're proposing a third."
Sterling's eyebrow rises. "I wasn't aware this was a negotiation."
"Everything's a negotiation," Sam says. "You taught us that."
A flicker of something crosses Sterling's face. Surprise, maybe. Or amusement.
He leans back in his chair, still holding our proposal. "Enlighten me."
"A joint internship," I say. "Both of us or neither of us. We split the stipend, share the workload, and deliver twice the output."
"That's not how the Johnston works."
"It's not how it's worked before," Sam corrects. "But look at page seven. We've outlined a collaborative model that addresses every concern you raised yesterday. You said we were a liability because we couldn't separate personal and professional. Fine. We're not separating them. We're integrating them."
Sterling flips to page seven. His eyes scan the text. His expression gives nothing away.
"You said our connection made us hesitate," I add. "But connection isn't weakness. It's accountability. When we work together, we catch each other's blind spots. My quantitative rigor with Sam's qualitative insight. His creativity with my structure."
"You're stronger together," Sterling says flatly. "That's your pitch?"
"That's the data," Sam says. "Page twelve shows the productivity analysis. Page fifteen has the projected deliverables. We're not asking you to take a risk on sentiment. We're showing you the math."
Sterling is quiet for a long moment. He sets the proposal down on his desk. Folds his hands.
