Page 12 of His Reckoning

“And yet,” she continues, gesturing vaguely toward the enormous apartment around us, “you live alone in a penthouse that could comfortably house a small royal family.”

“You’re assuming I live alone.”

Her eyes narrow, turning into sharp, calculating lines. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“See? Progress already.”

“That hardly answers your original question.”

She waits patiently, like she’s fully expecting me to answer, not backing off at all.

“Because I haven’t wanted to be,” I say finally.

She tips her head to the side. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“That’s a very unromantic answer.”

“Life tends to be less romantic than books.”

She watches me carefully when she says the next part. “You say that like you’re very sure of it.”

Something about the way she says it makes me realize she’s not just asking questions.

She’s evaluating the answers. And suddenly, I understand something.

Kayla isn’t just curious; she’s trying to figure me out.

Which is slightly amusing because she’s not nearly as subtle as she thinks she is.

“My turn,” I say.

Kayla’s eyebrows lift. “I don’t remember agreeing to that.”

I kick one leg over the other. “You started the interview.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s reciprocal.”

“It does if you want more answers.”

She weighs whether the trade is worth it, and then she sighs. “One question.”

“That seems restrictive.”

“Take it or leave it,” she says as she crosses her arms across her chest.

I glance at the laptop sitting closed in front of her. “How long have you been staring at that thing tonight?”

Her expression tightens. “That’s not a fair question.”

“You offered terms. Now I’m the one not being fair.”

“That’s a trick question.”

“Seems like you’re avoiding it.”