Page 50 of His Reckoning

Kayla is already there, stacking plates like she lives here.

“You don’t have to do that,” I say.

She glances over her shoulder. “Relax. I helped make the mess.”

“You didn’t.”

“I absolutely did. I’m responsible for the game.”

“That’s true.”

She rinses a glass and sets it in the sink. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For saving your party.”

I lean against the counter. “My party was fine.”

She turns and raises an eyebrow. “Sawyer.”

“Yes?”

“If I hadn’t brought out that game, you and your billionaire friends would still be standing around, discussing investment strategies.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true.”

She reaches for another glass. “You’re just mad because the girls destroyed you.”

“We did not get destroyed.”

“You drew a potato for a dog.”

“That was a structural interpretation.”

She laughs, and the sound fills the kitchen. For some reason, that irritates me.

Not because she’s wrong, but because she’s entirely too comfortable teasing me.

She dries her hands on a towel and leans against the island. “You know what your problem is?”

“What.”

“You take yourself way too seriously.”

I push away from the counter. “Do I?”

“Yes.”

She gestures toward the living room. “You were hosting a perfectly respectable, mildly boring, gathering of wealthy men.”

“That’s called adulthood.”

“And then I introduced an alternative not so dull.”

“You introduced markers.”