Page 99 of Kentrell

The click of heels.

Deliberate. Confident. Slow.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Coming down the stairs.

Then down the hall.

Then—

“Oh, and you cook too?” she beamed, stepping into the kitchen looking like a damn dream. She’d silked her hair back, outfit hugged tight in all the right places. She walked straight over to me and grabbed a sausage link right off the plate, biting into it with a grin.

I watched her chew, licking her lips.

“Damn right I cook,” I muttered, trying not to smirk.

And right then, I knew?—

She was gon’ be spoiled.

By me.

Whether she was ready or not.

We sat at the island eating like we’d done it a thousand times before.

Her plate halfway gone, mine already cleaned.

Zoe took a sip of orange juice, licking a bit off her bottom lip like it was nothing—and I had to look away just to keep from making her lateagain.

“I gotta make a stop before we do anything else,” I said casually between bites. “Need to change into some fresh clothes.”

She nodded without hesitation, still chewing. “That’s fine. As long as I can get some coffee.”

“Starbucks?”

“You know me well,” she said, all light and unbothered.

But my chest tightened at her words.

You know me well.

She ain’t mean it like that. But it hit harder than she knew.

Because she was right.

Ididknow her.

Some of it I picked up from being around her—watching how she moved, how she spoke, how she ordered her coffee down to the extra drizzle and almond milk.

The rest?

That shit came from the file Malcolm handed me when I took the contract.

Birth records. School transcripts. Social media habits. Favorite restaurants. Men she curved. Places she lived.

I chewed slow, trying to swallow more than food.

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