Page 50 of Cruel Kiss

"Fine."

"Three." I take a breath, because this is the one that matters. "The company. My company. You give it back before any of this happens. I want the paper in my hand before I sign anything else. If you can't do that, there's no deal, and I'll take my chances with Mercer."

He's quiet.

I wait. I've learned to wait. I learned it from him, actually, because he does it better than anyone.

"You know why I said I couldn't," he says finally. "The people I'm worried about. The moment you legally own it again?—"

"I know why you said it. I don't care." I give him my fiercest scowl. "It's my company. It always was. And I want it back now."

He looks at me for a long time. Then he nods. "Alright. Consider it done. All of it. Hands to myself most of all." As if to prove his point, he tucks them in his pockets.

But after everything we've been through, I can't help but remain suspicious. "Just like that?"

A small, tired smile appears at the corner of his mouth. "That's how a deal works, right?"

I look down at the folder between us. My divorce. The end of one thing and, apparently, the very strange beginning of another.

"Fine," I say. "We have a deal, Mr. Akov."

"Yes, we do, Ms. Meadows." He pauses and smiles wickedly. "Or should I start calling you something else?"

"Don't push it," I snap.

I turn to march upstairs, because the literal and figurative heat in the kitchen is getting to be a little bit too much for me.

But I can't help a soft, stupid smile stealing across my face as I go.

14

RONAN

I have the papers printed and ready before Cali is even awake the next morning.

Navi curses me out over the phone about it, tells me I'm handing back the only thing keeping her tied to me and that that is all a big mistake and I'm a moony-eyed moron going gaga for love.

I let him talk, tell him he's right, then tell him that I'll have his balls in a jar on my desk if the transfer isn't completed before nine.

By the time Cali comes down in her pink robe with her hair in a knot, the folder is sitting on the kitchen table.

I've moved the salt and pepper to make room for it.

I've made her coffee the way she likes it as well, too much cream, the sugar she pretends she doesn't want. All the little things she never thought anyone would ever see.

She sees the folder and stops in the doorway.

"That it?" she asks.

I nod.

Hesitantly, she sits, perched on the edge of her chair like she thinks a trapdoor might open up underneath her at any moment and plunge her into a pool of hungry piranhas. She must be the slowest reader in human history, but I force myself not to rush her.

There's not much to it, ultimately. Bradshaw Holdings has been dissolved, the founder's interest returned to her, and a new company reconstituted that holds every single scrap of IP and legal protection all filed under her maiden name. It's hers again. Always was, really.

"There's a pen by your elbow," I say.

She picks it up and signs. One quick loop of her name, and it's done.