Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Kayla
Iwake up angry, which is impressive, considering I barely slept.
The first thing I feel when I open my eyes is the lingering heat still curled low in my stomach. The second thing I feel is fury buzzing under my skin hard enough to keep me awake.
Sawyer Maccini.
Arrogant, manipulative, and completely infuriating.
Unfortunately … he’s also capable of doing things to my body that should probably be illegal.
I groan and drag a pillow over my face.
“This is humiliating,” I mumble into the fabric.
The worst part isn’t what happened last night. It’s that I keep replaying it.
Every second of it keeps replaying whether I want it to or not.
“Nope,” I say out loud, tossing the pillow across the bed.
I am not doing this today.
I swing my legs over the side of the mattress and march into the kitchen like I’m going into battle.
The penthouse is quiet. That hopefully means Sawyer is already gone.
Of course he is.
Probably woke up early, went to work, reorganized an entire corporation before breakfast, and didn’t give last night a second thought.
Meanwhile, I’m standing here, glaring at a coffee machine. I pour a cup and take a sip. I lean against the counter and stare out the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.
New York moves below like nothing in the world has changed. But something definitely has because my brain should be focused on writing. Instead, it keeps drifting back to the way Sawyer looked at me last night, like he enjoyed every second of watching me lose control.
Heat flares through me again instantly.
“Oh, he absolutely knew,” I mutter.
That’s exactly why I’m furious. Because Sawyer didn’t just prove a point last night.
He proved several … and I hate every single one of them.
* * *
The doorbell rings just as I’m halfway through aggressively reorganizing my thoughts in circles around the living room.
I swing the door open.
Melissa stands there, holding two iced coffees and a bag from the bakery down the street.
Her eyebrows lift immediately.
“Well,” she says slowly, stepping inside, “you look like someone who either didn’t sleep … or committed a crime.”
“Neither,” I say.
Then I pause. “Actually, both.”
She laughs and hands me one of the coffees.
“I had the morning off,” she says, kicking off her shoes. “Coltons at the hospital, so I figured I’d come check on you.”
I grab the iced coffee from her hand and take a long sip, like caffeine might somehow undo the last twelve hours.
Melissa watches me carefully as we walk farther into Sawyer’s apartment. When we get to the kitchen, she leans against the counter and folds her arms.
“Okay,” she says.
“What?”
“What happened?”
“What are you talking about?”
She raises one eyebrow. “That was the least convincing sentence I’ve ever heard.”
I turn away and start pacing the kitchen. “Nothing happened,” I tell her.
“Right,” she says calmly. “Because people who had perfectly normal evenings definitely pace their kitchens like they’re about to go to trial.”
“I am not pacing.”
“You’re pacing.”
I stop walking. “Fine. I’m pacing.”
She watches me for another moment, then casually asks, “Did you see Sawyer this morning?”
My head snaps up. “No.”
Too fast.
Melissa’s eyes narrow slightly. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?”
“The way you answered that.”
“I answered a question.”
“You answered it like someone who just got caught doing something.”
I roll my eyes and grab one of the pastries from the bag. “You’re being dramatic.”
She studies me while I aggressively unwrap the paper.
“So, how’s living with Sawyer going?”
My entire body tenses. “He’s insufferable.”
Melissa smiles slowly. “Oh, this just got good.”
“He’s arrogant,” I continue, pointing the pastry at her. “Completely convinced he’s right about everything.”
“And?”
“And he thinks he’s somehow responsible for my writing again.”
Melissa tilts her head. “That sounds like something Sawyer would think.”
“He genuinely believes he’s become some kind of creative necessity.”
Melissa laughs. “I mean … you do argue with him constantly. Maybe that inspires you.”
“It does not.”
She studies me carefully again, and then her smile starts creeping back. “You’re flustered.”
“I am not.”
“You’re extremely rattled.”
I glare at her. “I am annoyed. Those are different things.”
Melissa leans forward slightly. “Okay,” she says. “What went down? Give me the details.”
“Nothing happened.”
Her eyes flick down briefly before they move back up to my face.
She snorts. “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You slept with Sawyer.”
I nearly choke on my coffee. “What?! No!”
Melissa’s grin widens. “Okay, now I know something happened.”
I open my mouth to argue, but close it immediately after because, apparently, my face has decided to betray me today.
Melissa laughs harder. “Oh, this is incredible.”
“What’s incredible?”
“You’ve finally met your match.”
I groan and drag a hand over my face. “He’s impossible to deal with.”
“Sure,” Melissa says calmly. “But he threw you completely off-balance.”
She takes another sip of her coffee. “And honestly?” She smiles at me. “It was only a matter of time.”
I stare at her. “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” she says easily. “But I’ve also watched you for ten years.” She gestures toward me with her pastry. ““You never lose composure.”
“I’m not losing composure.”
“You’re pacing. You’re defensive. And every time I say Sawyer’s name, your eye twitches.”
“My eye does not twitch.”
She smiles. “It did.”
I sink down onto one of the stools at the kitchen island and rest my forehead against the cool marble. “This is a nightmare.”
Melissa pulls out the stool next to me and sits. “So, tell me what happened.”
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. “You’re not going to laugh?”
She pauses. “I’m going to try not to.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Kayla.”
I exhale slowly as I prepare to tell her. Not every detail—absolutely not every detail—but enough.
About Sawyer insisting he was the reason my writing came back and him refusing to drop it. The ridiculous “experiment” that I am now calling it.
I tell her about it all. Melissa listens quietly, which is suspicious because, usually, by now, she would have interrupted me at least three times.
When I finish, she leans back slightly and studies me.
“Well,” she says finally, “that explains a lot.”
“Explains what?”
“Why you look like someone who just ran a marathon.”
I groan. “You’re enjoying this.”
“A little,” she admits. Her expression softens. “But mostly, I think this is good for you.”
I blink at her. “Good for me?”
“Yes.”
“How is this good for me?”
She shrugs lightly. “You’ve always been the one in control.”
“That’s not true.”
“It absolutely is.”
She ticks points off on her fingers. “You run your own career. You argue with everyone who tries to tell you what to do. You never let people see you rattled.”
I open my mouth to argue but realize … she’s not entirely wrong.
Melissa smiles slightly. “And then along comes Sawyer.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s arrogant, manipulative, and way too confident for a man who enjoys annoying me this much.”
She laughs. “I didn’t say it was better. I said it explains why the two of you drive each other insane.”
I stare down at my coffee. The penthouse is quiet for a moment.
Melissa nudges my arm lightly.
“So …” she says.
“So, what?”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“I’m going to ignore him.”
Melissa raises an eyebrow. “Good luck with that.”
“I’m serious.”
“You live with him,” she points out.
“Temporarily.”
“And you’re writing again.”
I hesitate, and she notices immediately.
“Oh,” she says slowly. “That part is still happening, isn’t it?”
I sigh. “Yes.”
Her grin returns. “This just keeps getting better.”
“It is not better.”
“It kind of is.”
I shake my head and push away from the counter. “I hate that he’s right.”
“You don’t hate that.”
“I absolutely do.”
Melissa stands and grabs her bag.
“No,” she says, walking toward the door. “You hate that you might actually like him.”
“I do not like him.”
She opens the door and turns back with a knowing smile.
“You keep telling yourself that.” Then she pauses. “Oh, and, Kayla?”
“What?”
Her smile widens. “You’ve definitely met your match.”
Before I can throw something at her, she slips out into the hallway and pulls the door shut behind her.
I stand in the middle of the kitchen for a long moment before I look down at the laptop still sitting on the island.
My fingers itch, which is extremely annoying.
Apparently, Melissa isn’t the only one who’s right today.
* * *
The apartment door opens just after seven. My entire body goes rigid.
Great. He’s home.
I stare very hard at my laptop screen like the words on it are suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.
The sound of Sawyer setting his keys on the counter carries through the apartment.
“Evening,” he says too calmly.
I don’t look up. “Hi.”
Silence stretches across the room.
I hear the refrigerator open and a bottle of water twisting loose.
A quiet sip … like last night didn’t happen. That’s somehow worse than what I expected.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. The cursor blinks impatiently.
Waiting.
I refuse to look at him.
“Melissa stopped by today,” he finally says.
My head snaps up immediately.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, watching me like he’s been waiting for that reaction.
“You knew that?” I ask.
“She texted Colton.”
Of course she did.
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.
“You’re eating alone,” I shout over my shoulder.
“Noted.”
I don’t look back. If I do, I might throw something at his head.
My bedroom door slams shut behind me. The quiet that follows is immediate; it’s suffocating.
I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, breathing hard, trying to push down the frustration still buzzing through my chest.
He thinks he’s so clever.
I drop the laptop onto the bed and start pacing back and forth across the carpet. The same way he was pacing last night.
“He is not getting away with that,” I mutter.
The memory of his face when he read that chapter flashes in my mind. How he choked on his snack. The way his ears turned red and he looked like he couldn’t decide whether he was scandalized or intrigued.
My pacing slows.
A new idea slowly begins to form. If Sawyer wants to play games … fine. Two can play that game.
My lips curl slightly. Suddenly, the irritation in my chest is turning into something else entirely. It’s a lot more interesting.
Sawyer spent the last week pushing my buttons, testing me. Trying to prove he knows exactly how I work.
Well … maybe it’s time he learns a few things about me too.
I glance down at the laptop sitting on the bed, then toward the bedroom door.
My pulse picks up slightly. Not from nerves, but from anticipation. Because I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I grab the laptop and tuck it under my arm. Then I march toward the door with purpose. If Sawyer thinks he’s the only one capable of running experiments in this apartment …
He’s about to be very surprised. My hand closes around the doorknob.
I take one steadying breath, then twist it open.
Time for a little payback.