“Don't thank me. Just stop trying to kill yourself with spreadsheets.”
I make scrambled eggs because that's become our thing. The kitchen is intimidating, all marble counters and professional-grade appliances, but eggs are eggs. I fold them the way my mom taught me. Golden on the outside, soft on the inside.
Kai hobbles in on his crutches while I'm plating. I point to the stool at the island.
“Sit.”
“I can?—“
“Sit.”
He sits. Watches me move through his kitchen like I belong there. I fake it well.
“Still the best eggs I've ever had,” he says when I slide the plate in front of him.
“Still the only home-cooked meal you've had,” I counter.
“That's why it's the best.”
I take the stool beside him with my own plate. We eat in comfortable silence. The city wakes up beyond the windows, traffic sounds rising from far below.
“My mother called yesterday,” he says. “While you were at work.”
I glance at him. He's pushing eggs around his plate, not meeting my eyes.
“Everything okay?”
“She wanted to check on me. Make sure I was recovering.” His jaw tightens. “She also wanted to discuss the family business.”
“Did you?”
“No.” He sets down his fork. “I don't trust her motives. She says she wants to protect me from my father, but I think she just wants leverage against him. I'm a chess piece to both of them.”
I reach over, touch his arm. “You're not a chess piece, Kai. You're a person who gets to make his own choices.”
He looks at me then. “Sometimes it doesn't feel that way.”
“I know.” I squeeze his arm. “But you built your own thing. That took guts.”
“Or stupidity.”
“Sometimes they're the same thing.”
He laughs. A real sound. I’m glad I caused it.
George is waiting at the curb when I come down. The car is obscenely nice, all leather and tinted windows. He opens the door for me like I'm someone who deserves doors opened.
“GVM headquarters, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Yes. But could you drop me at the corner of Fifth and Harbor? I'll walk the last block.”
He doesn't react. Doesn't ask why. Just nods.
“Of course, ma'am.”
The drive is smooth and silent. I watch the city slide past, neighborhoods shifting from gleaming high-rises to the modest commercial district where GVM has its offices. When we stop at the corner, George is out and opening my door before I can reach the handle.
“Thank you, George.”
