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“You have a very low opinion of me.” He grins, moving toward me.
“And here I thought you didn’t know anything.” I return his smile with one of my own, though it lacks any real humor.
“Should I prepare myself for actual devil horns this time, then?” he asks as he steps around the easel, his eyes landing on the sketch.
I watch his expression shift from humor and ease to completely unreadable.
Suddenly self-conscious, I turn back to the drawing.
It’s not dissimilar to the one I drew Tuesday, though some of the red smudges have lessened in intensity, and there’s a white sheen over one side of his face. I don’t know what compelled me to do it, only that it felt right. Now, looking at it, I can’t honestly say I knew what I was thinking in that moment.
“Wow,” Archer finally speaks after too long.
“Wow?” I’m surprised by his reaction.
“This is good, Rory. Like really good. The way you did this, here...” He traces his hand along the shading of gray that fills the backdrop of the page.
“It’s a shadow,” I feel the need to explain.
“It feels almost like two parts of me. The one you see, and the one everyone else does.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit. I mean, I thought we had established I don’t much care for him, so of course I don’t see him the way everyone else does, but even still, I don’t fully understand the comment.
He stares at the drawing for what feels like ten minutes but is likely less than a few seconds, blinking hard once, then twice before taking a full step back.
“Yeah, it’s good.” He nods, his normal ease slipping back into place. “I mean, I still look kind of evil.” He gestures to the red smudges. “But at least now it’s not so one-note.”
“The last one wasn’t one-note,” I disagree. “You just didn’t look closely enough.”
“And what would I have seen if I did?” His gaze finds mine, instantly putting me off-kilter.
“If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you.” I’m not sure why that’s what I choose to say. In truth, he’s right, the last sketch was one-note. I did that on purpose because that’s how I see him. I don’t know why this one turned out so much different.
Then again, that’s not entirely true. It’s different because no matter how hard I fight it, I’m starting to realize that maybe there’s more to Archer Copeland than I was originally willing to entertain. Don’t get me wrong, I still think he’s a conceited manwhore, but I find myself wondering if maybe that’s notallhe is.
“It bothers you that I see you so clearly, doesn’t it?” His question seems genuine and not at all snarky, but it still irritates me just the same.
“It should bother you that you think you know more than you actually do.” I push to a stand, removing the picture from the easel before turning to the open portfolio folder on the desk.
I feel him watching my movements, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
“I can finish up here. You’re welcome to go,” I say, sliding the picture into a clear protector, keeping my back to him.
“I don’t mind staying to clean up,” he offers.
“No need. It’smyproject. I can clean up.” I don’t mean to be so curt, but it’s the only way I know how to conduct myself around him. As soon as I even think about letting my guard down, I can feel him trying to wedge his way in.
I don’t know what game he’s trying to play here but make no mistake, it’s a game. At least to him.
“Rory—”
“I’ll see you Sunday,” I cut him off before he can say whatever he was about to say.
“See you Sunday.”
I listen to the sound of his footsteps as he crosses the room, blowing out a heavy sigh of relief when I hear the door open and close, followed by complete silence.
“Stop it. He’s not thatbad.” Alina shoves a sweet potato fry into her mouth.
