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“It’s easy to be confident when you know you’re that good.”
“That’s not true for everyone,” I disagree, moving my pencil up as I begin to trace the outline of his left ear, careful not to meet his gaze. It’s easier to pretend he’s not who he is. “There are tons of people out there with incredible talent that no one ever sees because they lack the confidence you seem to have in buckets.”
“I know. I’m looking at one right now.”
My hand stops mid-motion.
“You don’t know anything about me.” I quickly refocus, continuing with the outline of his head.
“Don’t I? For as much as you try to hide, I think I see you perfectly.”
“Is that so?” My irritation flares slightly, though it’s more out of fear than actual anger. Fear that maybe he’s telling the truth and that I’m more transparent than I realized.
“It is.” He nods slowly.
“Enlighten me then.” I stop sketching and look up to find his eyes instantly locked on mine.
“You work harder than anyone else I’ve ever seen, besides myself, of course.”
I’m briefly reminded of Tuesday night at the bar. Of learning that after he left our session he spent hours on the field practicing. And I, well, I spent hours working on my design sketches before Alina dragged me out of our room kicking and screaming. Maybe we are more alike than I would like to let myself admit.
“And you know that how?”
“Because I see you. Even when you try to hide, I see you. I see your drive. Your dedication. Your talent. It’s why I requested to work with you on this project. Because I knew you didn’t give a shit about me and your only focus would be the work.”
“Well, at least you have one thing correct,” I mutter under my breath but have zero doubts if he heard me or not.
“You may not be as boisterous as I am, but make no mistake, you and I are the same in a lot of ways. Because you, like me, know that you’re not just good. No, you’re so far from that, that good might as well be a kindergarten drawing. And you know, like me, that youwillachieve what you set out to do because failure simply isn’t an option.”
“I think maybe you give me too much credit.”
“You’d like me to think so, wouldn’t you?” The way he looks at me makes my heart suddenly feel like it’s about to pound a hole straight through my chest.
“I don’t know what you’re saying.” I silently curse the slight shake to my voice.
“It’s easier to let people believe you’re not as good as you are because if you do, then there are expectations. If no one expects anything of you, then there’s no one to let down if you happen to fail.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I force my focus back to the easel, unable to hold his gaze any longer.
On one hand, it pisses me off that he thinks he knows me. On the other, it terrifies me that maybe he really does see me that well. And not just him, but everyone.
“I think you know I do.”
I don’t look back up at him, no matter how badly I want to.
Instead, I focus on the task at hand. On framing his face. On perfecting the line of his brow. I curse myself for not turning the music on earlier, but I refuse to stop to do it now. The sooner I get this done, the better. Then I can get back to what really matters—building my portfolio for Laboe. And then Archer Copeland can go back to... Well, whatever it is he was doing in his free time before this.
Archer keeps quiet, not saying anything for the next several minutes, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole time, heating every inch of my skin his gaze touches. I try not to squirm beneath the sensation, but I find myself adjusting and readjusting several times due to the growing pit of nerves in my belly.
By the time the last pencil mark is made, I feel both mentally and physically exhausted, the tension in my shoulders causing my back to ache.
“Finished,” I announce after a long moment, blowing out a slow breath.
“Can I see?” Archer stands, stretching his arms up over his head, causing his shirt to ride up just enough that I catch a small glimpse of the ripple of his stomach.
What that man must do to keep his body in such shape. I make a point to walk as much as possible, but I’d be hard-pressed to find time to spend in the gym, let alone the time it would take to sculpt such perfect muscles.
“Since when do you ask permission?” I bite, though it lacks the irritation I was going for.
