“Understood.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “If I do this, I have conditions.”
“Name them.”
No hesitation. No bargaining. That should have made this easier. It didn’t.
“Limited hours,” I said. “I won’t neglect my existing clients. I’ll handle the design and placement personally, but I’m not on-call twenty-four seven.”
“Agreed.”
I blinked. “Full creative control.”
“Yours.”
“No interference,” I continued. “From you or anyone else. If something doesn’t work, that’s on me. But I won’t be micromanaged.”
There was a pause. Just long enough for my chest to tighten. Then, “That’s fair.”
I swallowed. “And payment up front.”
A low exhale. “Done.”
I stared at the wall, unease curling through me. “You didn’t even push back.”
“I told you,” he said. “I’m not negotiating.”
“That’s not how most people operate.”
“I’m not most people.”
No kidding.
Silence stretched between us, not awkward, just weighted.
“This doesn’t mean anything else,” I said finally. “This is business.”
“Sure,” he replied.
And somehow, the certainty in his voice made me feel like he knew it wouldn’t stay that way.
“Then yes,” I said, before I could second-guess myself. “I’ll do it.”
Another pause. Then, “Sounds good.”
“That’s it?” I asked.
“That’s it. I’ll be over tomorrow.”
I hung up feeling more unsettled than if he’d celebrated.
Because men who pushed made sense to me.
Men who accepted terms without question? Those were dangerous in a completely different way.
I locked the shop and walked to my car, the night cool against my skin. The decision sat heavy and electric in my chest.
I’d chosen this.