Page 7 of His Reckoning

I push away from the wall and walk toward the kitchen, because now I’m curious what she’s doing

A couple of weeks ago, I told Colton letting Melissa’s friend stay here wouldn’t be an issue.

Melissa trusts her. That was enough for me.

But now I’m second guessing my decision. Her confidence is throwing me off. It’s not the polished kind people practice around someone with money.

Therealkind.

The kind that lets someone insult a stranger’s personality and not immediately apologize for it.

I didn’t react much at the time.

Mostly because laughing in her face seemed unwise. But it was entertaining, more entertaining than I let on.

I step into the kitchen.

Kayla is sitting at the island with her laptop open in front of her.

The city lights spills through the windows behind her, reflecting softly across the marble countertops.

Her long brown hair is pulled into a loose knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing an oversize gray sweatshirt that looks like it came from a completely different life than this penthouse.

A strand of hair has fallen loose from the knot on top of her head, brushing her cheek every time she frowns at the screen.

She’s staring at her computer with the same intensity someone might use while trying to solve a complicated math equation.

A soft sigh pulls me from my thoughts. She deletes something.

“You know,” I say from behind her, “most people wait until I leave the room before insulting my personality.”

Kayla jumps slightly and turns toward me. Her eyes widen for a second before narrowing. “You really need to work on announcing yourself.”

“I did earlier.”

“You scared ten years off my life.”

“That seems dramatic.”

Her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to smile. “You weren’t supposed to be home yet.”

“So I’ve been told.”

She leans back slightly in the chair. “Late meeting?”

“Yes.”

She studies me again with that same analytical look. The one she had earlier. “You don’t seem like someone who has meetings at night.”

“That’s an oddly specific assumption.”

“Just an observation.”

“From your research?”

She blinks. Then crosses her arms. “I never said I was researching you. Once again with the arrogance.”

“Arrogance,” I repeat.