Page 122 of His Reckoning

I narrow my eyes. “What exactly did she tell him?”

Sawyer takes another drink of water before answering, “Nothing.” Pause. “Yet.”

I glare at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Possibly.”

My jaw tightens. “Well, don’t.”

His mouth twitches slightly, like he’s fighting off a smile.

I slam the laptop closed.

“Just so we’re clear,” I say, standing up, “last night doesn’t prove anything.”

Sawyer tilts his head slightly. “Oh?”

“You running your ridiculous little experiment does not mean you were right.”

His eyes flick briefly to the laptop still in my hands, then back to me. “Of course not.”

Something about the way he says it makes my stomach twist. He sounds completely unconcerned, like he already knows the answer.

Sawyer pushes off the counter and walks toward the living room slowly and unbothered, which is extremely irritating.

He stops a few feet away. His gaze drops briefly to the laptop again, then back to my face.

“But,” he adds mildly, “it was interesting data.”

I stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he says coolly, “you’re still writing.”

My grip tightens around the laptop. “I’m writing because I’m a professional. It’s what I do.”

“Of course.” His tone says he doesn’t believe that for a second.

“None of this has anything to do with you.”

Sawyer studies me for another moment, then nods once. “Good.”

The answer catches me off guard. “Good?”

“Yes.”

He gestures toward the laptop. “Then you shouldn’t have any problem proving it.”

My stomach drops slightly because I know exactly what he’s suggesting, and I hate that a small part of me is already thinking about it.

Sawyer turns toward the kitchen again, like the conversation is over.

“Dinner?” he asks casually, like we weren’t just arguing about the most humiliating thing that’s happened to me in months.

I stare at his back, then shake my head. “You are insufferable.”

He opens the fridge. “That’s been established.”

I grab my laptop and storm toward the hallway.