Page 104 of His Reckoning

“I’m relaxing.”

“This is your fault.”

“That’s a strong endorsement.”

Kayla stares at me for a long moment, then points toward the hallway. “You should go to your room.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re making this worse.”

“Worse for you?”

“Yes.”

“Your word count disagrees.”

Her jaw tightens. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet”—I gesture toward the laptop— “you’re still typing.”

Kayla closes the laptop with a sharp snap. “Okay. We’re done here.” She stands, glaring at me. “You do not get to sit there like some kind of billionaire muse.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said.”

She grabs the laptop and walks toward the hallway. Halfway there, she stops and turns back.

“And for the record,” she says, pointing at me, “I’m still mad about that ridiculous proposition.”

“I can live with that.”

“I can’t.”

She disappears down the hall. Her bedroom door closes a second later.

The apartment goes quiet again.

I lean back in the chair and take another drink of water.

Despite her protests … the anger … the insults … Kayla wrote while I sat across the room.

She can deny it all she wants.

Her word count is starting to disagree with her.

Chapter Nineteen

Kayla

By Friday afternoon, I’ve had enough. Enough of Sawyer watching me write, his ridiculous theory, and the deeply inconvenient possibility that he might actually be right.

If Sawyer Maccini thinks he’s the only man capable of inspiring my creativity, he’s about to be very disappointed.

This is how I end up agreeing to drinks with Theo.

Theo is an artist I met at a gallery event earlier in the week. He paints abstract landscapes. Or emotional interpretations of landscapes … something along those lines.