Kimberly
The next morning, I woke with a renewed sense of purpose. Kendrick had not dismissed my suggestion outright. That meant I had a chance—a small one, but a chance nonetheless—to push things further.
I needed to be smart. Careful. I couldn’t show any eagerness. Kendrick wasn’t stupid. He would see through desperation, and that would make him suspicious.
So I would wait.
Wait for the right moment.
By the time I made my way downstairs, breakfast was already set. Kendrick was seated at the head of the table, dressed in his usual dark attire, his sharp gaze sweeping over me as I took my seat.
“Slept well?” he asked, sipping his coffee.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured, reaching for a croissant.
Silence settled between us as we ate. I didn’t rush to bring up our conversation from last night.
