“It is.”
“Then we remove it.”
My heart started pounding again, but this time for a completely different reason.
“You can’t just—” I gestured helplessly at the papers. “You can’t just fix it like this.”
“I am not fixing it,” he said evenly. “I am correcting my error.”
I stared at him.
“You own your company,” he went on. “You set your terms. You determine your employment.”
“And the hotel?”
“A separate asset. Also yours.”
“That’s—” I let out a breath. “That’s insane.”
“It is equitable.”
“No, it’s not, it’s—” I cut myself off, shaking my head. “You don’t just hand someone a company and a hotel and call it even.”
He held my gaze. The room tilted slightly.
“You’re kidding.”
“I do not joke about legal structures.”
My pulse roared in my ears.
“What do you mean?”
“If you choose to leave,” he said, and something tight flickered beneath the calm, “I will sign an agreement ensuring you retain assets worth upwards of a million dollars.”
The words landed.
“I am not attempting to trap you,” he said quietly. “I am attempting to remove every reason you would feel trapped.”
Silence filled the room. I looked down at the papers again.
My company. It was all there in my name. All I had to do was sign.
“You did all this . . . yesterday?” I asked faintly.
“Yes.”
Of course, he had.
Because that was who he was. When he decided something mattered, he moved.
“I don’t understand you,” I admitted.
“I am aware.”
I let out a shaky breath, my fingers still resting on the edge of the paperwork. The imbalance was gone. Or at least . . . changed.
“You’re trying to make this even,” I said slowly.
