Page 67 of Blacklist

“We’ll be out there.” Poppy takes the hint and disappears outside with Kai.

My thoughts linger on Sterling’s face when he looked at the toiletry kit. Something had flashed in his eyes, but he’d covered it with his usual cruel sarcasm. All I know about him is that he grew up in New York. I know he’s read Jane Austen enough to quote it. I know that he doesn’t like to talk about his life. I know that he’s never been to a hotel that gives you a toiletry kit. I know that I offend him every time we talk. It’s like I’m programmed to do it. But most of all, I know how little I know him—and how much I’m beginning to want to change that.

When he appears, his hair is damp like he ran water over it. It falls in dark slashes over his forehead, covering his eyes, and I resist the urge to brush them away. He looks surprised when I hand him the plate of toast and eggs.

“I thought you might be hungry,” I admit.

He shrugs like he could care less and stalks to a stool at the kitchen island. “I could have made something for myself.”

Somehow, I don’t think he spent his time in the bathroom wondering about me. He’s just as determined to be obstinate as ever. “Well, you deserve to have someone cook you breakfast after last night. I’m pretty sure we all owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he says as he shovels eggs onto his fork. His face lightens when he takes a bite. “This is actually pretty good.”

I might be offended if I had cooked it. “You sound surprised.”

“I didn’t think people like you knew how to cook.”

“I didn’t cook it,” I admit. “Kai did.”

“That explains it,” he says.

“What does that mean?”

“Just that if you live in a house like this you probably have someone to cook your meals.” He’s actually not being combative but his words sting anyway. The truth usually does.

“I’m not completely helpless.”

“I never said you were, Lucky.”

“That again?” Him calling me that is one memory I still have of last night.

“Look around you,” he says. “Not everyone is this fortunate.”

“My family worked for this.” The flush on my cheeks isn’t the product of pride though. It’s something else entirely. I have no reason to be ashamed of my family. I can’t change who I am.

Sterling seems to be thinking along the same lines. “And you were lucky enough to be born to them.”

“Stop,” I say, holding up a hand in surrender. We’re not going to get anywhere if we keep up with this feud. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“But we’re so good at it.” He bites off a corner of toast and grins.

I take a deep breath. I’m feeling light-headed again, and I don’t think it has anything to do with last night. “I just wanted to say…thank you.”

“Wow, that looked challenging.”

“It was,” I confess. “I don’t like feeling out of control. I know I was last night. Thank you for making sure I got home safely, especially after I’ve been such a bitch to you.”

“No one deserves to have someone do that to them,” he says quietly.

“I have no clue who did it.”

“If I ever find out who did, they’ll be sorry.” He looks like he means it. It’s oddly touching, given that we don’t exactly have a blossoming friendship. So maybe Sterling is rough around the edges, but it’s obvious that he’s not the dickhead I thought he was.

“Let’s start over,” I blurt out.

“Start over?”

“We didn’t exactly hit it off the first time we met.”