She hands me the bills and our fingertips connect for the briefest of moments. I watch her soft features harden right before my eyes and she clears her throat, stands up straight, and the cold ice queen facade quickly returns.
“You actually haven’t been loaning me the money,” she begins. “You haven’t paid me your leasing fee yet, so the money you’ve been giving me is actually what is owed. I’m aware we haven’t agreed to a price, and no contract has been signed, but considering what you once paid—”
“Yes, what I once paid,” I interrupt. “But that was then. The past. Things are going to be different this time. There won’t be a leasing agreement.”
Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back. “Excuse me? Of course, there’s going to be a leasing agreement. Our fathers had one, and—”
“You’ve proven to me that you and I will never have what our fathers had. The minute you kicked me out on the street going against everything our fathers built, you proved to me that you can never be trusted again.”
“And we’ve agreed to rectify that.”
“Yes, we have. But not by signing a leasing agreement. I’m not going to risk repeating history and giving you the power to sever the agreement and land me back on the street once you get back on your feet or get a chip on your shoulder again. I’m not a fool. I’m not going to let that ever happen again. I’m in The Whitney, and I never plan to leave it again,” I state, keeping my voice calm and even regardless of the fury raging inside me at the memory of what Katja did to me and just how helpless I was.
Never again.
I will never be that man again.
“I gave you the thirteenth floor. I gave you the rooftop—”
“And you’re going to give me a percentage of The Whitney. A true partnership.”
“Never. Nonnegotiable.” She crosses her arms and stands her ground. “I’m not signing any contract with those terms.”
I look around the room and smile. “I also want the penthouse.”
She laughs. “Absolutely not. I’m not moving.”
“I’m not asking you to move,” I say. I point to the room that is across from hers. The room that belonged to her dead husband. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” she says, her eyes darting to the empty bedroom. “I’m not living with you.”
“You managed to cohabitate with your loser husband. Therefore, you can do it with me.”
“No.”
“The thirteenth floor is already full. We need my suite for a paying guest.” I hold up the bills she just handed me. “Clearly we need paying guests.”
“Dex,” she says as she licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “The penthouse is also off the table. This is not up for negotiation.”
I put down the pile of bills and clear the distance between us so that I’m standing inches from her. I can smell the fruity essence of her shampoo, and my fingers itch to tug on the rope around her waist. I know there’s nothing beneath the robe, and it would be so easy to…
“I’m standing here offering to fix everything for you,” I say, my voice low but firm. “I have the means to take all this debt away. You deserve to go one day without the worry of money hanging over you. But in return, you have to accept I’m here to stay.” I lean in even closer. So close that I can kiss her if I want. “Forever.”
“I’m not asking you to leave The Whitney,” she says on an exhale. She takes a few steps away and turns her back to me. “But what you want in this new contract is unacceptable. You aren’t my business partner, and you are not my roommate.”
“Yet.”
She spins to face me with fire in her eyes. “Ever.”
“But you want my money.”
“I needed a loan. A loan and nothing more.” I watch the courage and fight return to her body as if an injection of strength is being given through her veins. “And I don’t need you to fix everything. I can fix it myself.”
I walk over to the wet bar and take it upon myself to pour a scotch. I can feel Katja’s eyes burning the back of my head, but she doesn’t say a word as I take my time preparing the drink.
I finally speak after a long, awkward moment of silence. “There’s plenty of room for the both of us in the penthouse, just as there is plenty of room for us both to own The Whitney,” I say as I take a sip from my drink.
“When I agreed to let you come to The Whitney—”