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quiet for a few moments, her fingers rubbing at a dusting of flour on her sleeve. “It doesn’t matter what I say,” she mutters, almost to herself. “You’ll still come back tomorrow.”
    Actually, I’m not sure. If she went all out today, she might get her way. I’m brittle enough at the moment that I might say fuck it all and leave. And … she’s smart enough to know that. I know she is. She’s this close to winning. But—
    “Truce,” she says. “Just for today. I’m tired anyway.”
    She sinks further into her chair, all crumpled up, her boney ankles and bare feet sticking out of the frayed legs of her pants. I open my sketchpad and grab my pencil from the table. Usually, at this moment, she turns away. She knows what I’m doing, and she hates it, and she tries to hide. But today, she stares right at me. She’s still got her legs bent in front of her like a shield. She’s hugging them to her chest like she’s terrified to show her soft underbelly… but she’s watching me while I watch her.
    My breath quickens, my heart thumping a little harder. I didn’t expect her scrutiny to have this effect, but as I sketch, my muscles wind a bit tighter. I feel her gaze in the pit of my stomach. My eyes stroke across her cheeks, the slope of her jaw, her hairline, and it feels like she’s surrendering something to me, whether she’s doing it intentionally or not. She’s letting me have the sight of her, and it’s exactly what I need to settle me down.
    When my phone chirps that it’s eleven, both of us flinch. We’ve been locked in this little private … I have no idea what … for an hour, and it felt like a minute. I look down at my sketchpad. Her face looks up at me from the page. She doesn’t look afraid. In fact, she looks bold. The Stella of the past hour is nakedly curious. She’s unapologetic. She’s …
    Beautiful. Shit.
    I let out a shaky breath and get to my feet. With unsteady hands, I rip the page from the sketchpad. The real, flesh-and-blood Stella has turned back to the window, knowing what I’m about to do. I wish I could see her reaction, but I don’t stick around after I do this, and I won’t let today be different. It’s only a drawing, after all.
    I set it on the end of the chaise, glancing over in time to see her blink. She knows I’m right here. “See you tomorrow. And thanks.” I turn on my heel and head for the door.
    Just before I reach it, she whispers, “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Four: Stella
    As soon as he’s gone, I look toward the sketch, my heart thudding. He was different today. Will his sketch be different, or will I look as hunted and vicious as I usually do? Will I look worse?
    My fingers tremble as I turn it so I can see. I lean forward, putting my face over the one in the sketch. Dark hair frames a streamlined face. The eyes of this girl are ebony and bottomless, almost liquid. She’s ferocious-looking, but not in a cruel way. She simply looks powerful. Like she can get what she wants. Like she’s about to stand up, walk across the room, and take whatever pleases her.
    God, I wish I was this girl.
    It’s the most inaccurate sketch Daniel’s ever done, which tells me he was really off today.
    I should crumple this up and toss it in the fireplace, like I have with all the others, but I … can’t make myself do it. Pinching either edge and holding it out in front of me, I get up and head back to my room. His request to me today still hovers in my thoughts. Something was bothering him, and he just came out and asked for mercy. It was my moment, the one I had been waiting for. I saw it in his eyes—if I pushed at the right place, it would flip his switch, and he’d be gone. He’d decide that the money wasn’t worth all my bitchiness. I could have had my way.
    But when that moment arrived, I hesitated. I wish I knew why.
    I lay the sketch on my desk and grab Anna Karenina . I flop onto my bed, needing to get Daniel and his irritatingly handsome face