I straighten my shoulders. “No.”
Her pink lips turn down. “That’s disappointing.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She edges closer on the island. “Because mysterious billionaires are very inconvenient to live with.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly would make me more convenient?”
She considers my question for a beat. “Basic information would be a start.”
“Such as?”
“What you actually do.”
“I already told you.”
“You said you run a company.”
“That’s accurate.”
“That’s vague.”
“That’s intentional.”
She sighs dramatically. “You’re impossible.”
“Yet here you are,” I say. “Living in my apartment.”
Kayla doesn’t look away. “Temporarily,” she says.
“Of course.”
She pins me with a measured look, like she’s deciding something, then says, “Why aren’t you married?”
That’s not the question I expected.
I raise an eyebrow. “That escalated quickly.”
“You said I could ask questions.”
“I did.”
“I’m asking one.”
“That’s less of a question and more of a life audit.”
She shrugs. “You’re a billionaire.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme tonight.”
“You’re successful. You’re clearly not terrible-looking.”
“High praise.”