The Unwanted Pact With My Enemy

The studio emptied out quickly. Vesper was halfway down the hallway when a heavy hand grabbed the strap of her canvas bag, yanking her backward.

She stumbled, her back hitting a solid chest.

"Move," Vesper spat, spinning around to glare at Slade.

Slade dropped his hand. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at her. The arrogant smirk was gone, replaced by a rare look of discomfort.

"Look," he muttered, his voice rough. "I'm sorry. It was a locker room joke. I didn't think everyone would stare at you like that."

"I don't care about your sense of humor," Vesper said, her voice like ice. "I only care about the deal. Do you want the woodcarving or not?"

Slade's jaw tightened. "Yeah. I do."

"Then we need to finalize the design," she said, clutching her bag to her chest.

"Fine. Let's get lunch," Slade said, gesturing down the hall. "My treat."

Vesper opened her mouth to refuse, but her stomach let out a loud, aggressive growl. She hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon.

Slade bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. He stepped aside and gestured toward the exit.

They walked across the sunlit campus plaza. Every ten feet, a girl would wave or call out Slade's name. He offered tight nods in return. Vesper deliberately walked two steps behind him, desperate to avoid the collateral damage of his popularity.

They entered the crowded main dining hall. Slade bypassed the long lines and led her to a secluded corner booth in the back.

He dumped his bag, walked to the counter, and returned three minutes later with two massive turkey sandwiches and two black coffees.

Vesper didn't touch the food. She pulled her sketchbook out and pushed it across the table.

Slade looked down.

The breath caught in his throat. The sketch wasn't just a drawing; it was a blueprint of raw emotion. The way the Little Prince knelt, the delicate, fragile curve of the rose petals-it was breathtaking.

"I'm going to use redwood for the petals," Vesper explained, her voice losing its icy edge as she slipped into her element. "The natural color variation in the grain will give it a gradient effect without needing artificial stain."

Slade looked up from the paper. Vesper was leaning over the table, pointing at the joints with her pencil. Her eyes were bright, completely consumed by her craft.

He stared at her profile. He noticed the faint dusting of freckles across her nose. He noticed the way her lips parted slightly when she concentrated.

"Do you have a problem with redwood?" Vesper asked, turning her head to look at him.

Slade blinked hard, snapping out of his trance. He grabbed his coffee cup and took a huge gulp. The scalding liquid burned his tongue, but he welcomed the pain.

"No," he coughed, setting the cup down. "It's perfect. The design is perfect."

Vesper nodded. She slid a piece of notebook paper toward him. "This is the material cost. I need a deposit before I buy the wood."

Slade pulled out his phone. He opened his banking app, typed in her number, and hit send.

Vesper's phone buzzed. She looked at the screen and her eyes went wide. "You transferred triple the amount. I don't take tips."

Slade leaned back against the vinyl booth, crossing his arms. "It's not a tip. It's to buy out all your free time. I want it done fast."

Vesper opened her mouth to argue, but a loud voice cut through the noise of the dining hall.

"Slade! There you are."

Vesper froze. She recognized that voice.

She slowly turned her head. Julian Hayes, wearing his signature navy sweater, was walking straight toward their booth, followed by two other basketball players.