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.

"Mind if we join you?" Julian asked, his warm smile directed at Slade.

Slade's jaw instantly clenched. He let out a heavy sigh and slid over, making room on his side of the booth.

Julian sat down directly across from Vesper.

Vesper's lungs seized. Her heart started beating so fast it physically hurt her chest. She panicked, slamming her sketchbook shut and shoving it awkwardly under her arm so Julian wouldn't see it.

Julian noticed the sudden movement. His smile softened. "Sorry, did we interrupt a study session?"

"N-no," Vesper stuttered, her voice barely a whisper. "Just... talking."

She stared down at the table, her face burning. She could feel Julian's eyes on her, and it made her skin prickle with nervous sweat.

Slade sat perfectly still. His dark eyes flicked from Vesper's flushed cheeks to Julian's polite smile.

One of the teammates sitting next to Julian took a massive bite of a burger and grinned, leaning across the table. "Forrester, didn't peg you for a fan of the fine arts. What's the project? You finally expanding those horizons?"

Slade's head snapped toward the teammate. "Mind your own business, Miller," he muttered, his voice tight and carrying a warning edge that instantly killed the teammate's smile.

The table went dead silent. Miller swallowed hard and looked away.

Julian cleared his throat, trying to ease the tension. He looked at Vesper. "I know you, don't I? Freshman year. Outside the library in the rain. I gave you my umbrella."

Vesper's head snapped up. Her eyes went wide with pure, unfiltered joy. "You remember?"

In her excitement, her elbow jerked outward. It slammed into her full glass of ice water.

The glass tipped over. Freezing water flooded across the table, soaking into the napkins and dripping onto Vesper's lap.

"Oh my god!" Vesper gasped, jumping up from the booth. She grabbed a handful of dry napkins and started frantically wiping the table, her hands shaking violently.

"Hey, it's okay. Let me help," Julian said. He reached across the table with his own napkins.

His fingers accidentally brushed against the back of Vesper's hand.

Vesper gasped like she had been burned. She yanked her hand back, clutching it to her chest. Her face turned a violent shade of crimson, the blush spreading all the way down her neck.

Slade watched the entire exchange.

A sudden, violent surge of heat erupted in his chest. It wasn't annoyance. It was pure, blinding jealousy. He hated the way she looked at Julian. He hated the way she trembled when Julian touched her.

Without thinking, Slade reached across the table and violently yanked the sketchbook out from under Vesper's arm.

"Hey!" Vesper cried out.

Slade held the book up high, out of her reach. He plastered a cruel, mocking smirk on his face. "Since we're just 'talking,' Vesper, why don't you show Julian what you've been drawing? I'm sure he'd love to see it."

Vesper's face drained of all color. She looked at Slade, her eyes wide and filled with absolute terror and pleading. If Julian saw the confession gift she was making for Slade, he would ask questions. Her secret deal, her humiliation, everything would be exposed.

Slade looked into her terrified eyes. The anger in his chest suddenly vanished, replaced by a sharp, painful twist of guilt.

He lowered his arm. He tossed the sketchbook back onto the table in front of her.

"You know what?" Slade said, his voice tight. He stood up abruptly, grabbing his jacket. "I lost my appetite."

He didn't wait for a response. He turned and stormed out of the dining hall, his heavy boots hitting the floor with aggressive force.

Julian watched him go, shaking his head. "Don't mind him, Vesper. He's always been moody."

Vesper clutched her sketchbook to her chest. She couldn't look at Julian anymore. The guilt of what had just happened made her stomach churn.

She mumbled an apology, grabbed her bag, and practically ran out the opposite door.

The freezing night air hit Vesper's face like a physical blow. She wrapped her arms around herself, desperate to get back to the safety of her dorm room.

"Vesper."

The low, raspy voice came from the shadows.

Vesper froze. She turned her head. Slade was leaning against the brick wall of the dining hall, half-hidden in the dark. The glowing cherry of a cigarette illuminated his sharp jawline as he exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke.

Vesper wanted to run, but her legs refused to move. She slowly walked toward him, stopping a few feet away.

Slade dropped the cigarette onto the concrete and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. He looked up, his eyes locking onto hers.

"You like Julian," Slade said. It wasn't a question. It was a brutal statement of fact. "You look at him like a dying idiot looking at a cure."

The words hit Vesper like a physical punch to the gut. Her breath hitched. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."

"Stop lying," Slade snapped, taking a step toward her. "The stuttering. The spilled water. The way you practically had a seizure when his finger touched yours. It's pathetic."

Vesper's defensive walls completely shattered. Her shoulders slumped, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The humiliation was absolute.

"Please," Vesper whispered, her voice cracking. She opened her eyes, looking at him with raw desperation. "Please don't tell him. Don't tell anyone."

Slade frowned, the harshness leaving his face. "Why? If you like him so much, why act like a terrified mouse?"

Vesper let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. She gestured to her paint-stained flannel and her dusty boots. "Look at me, Slade. Look at him. He's the Student Body President. He wears cashmere. I smell like sawdust and cheap acrylics. We aren't in the same universe. If he knew, I'd just be a joke to him and his friends."

Slade stared at her. Hearing her tear herself down sent a hot spike of anger straight into his brain.

He closed the distance between them in one stride. He didn't touch her, but he took a step closer, blocking her path entirely. He loomed over her, his presence suffocating and absolute, his voice dropping to a low, intense murmur that demanded her full attention.

Vesper gasped, her eyes flying wide open as she looked up at him, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs at the sudden proximity.

"You are not a joke," Slade said, his voice a fierce, low growl. His dark eyes locked onto hers, refusing to let her look away. "You're ten times smarter than anyone at that table. You don't bow your head to anyone, you understand me?"

Vesper stopped breathing. The sheer intensity radiating from him was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders even without physical contact. The raw sincerity in his dark eyes was overwhelming, stripping away the biting autumn chill.

Slade suddenly realized what he was doing. He realized how close he was, how he had unconsciously leaned in so far that he could smell the faint scent of sawdust and vanilla clinging to her hair.

He jerked back as if he had been electrocuted. He took a massive step back, shoving his hands deep into his jacket pockets to hide the sudden, inexplicable urge to actually reach out and touch her.

He cleared his throat, instantly throwing up his walls of arrogance.

"I have a proposition," Slade said, his voice flat and controlled.

Vesper hugged herself, still feeling the ghost of his touch. "What kind of proposition?"

"I keep your secret," Slade said. "And I'll even help you. I live with the guy. I know his schedule. I can set you up."

Vesper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "In exchange for what?"

"You finish the woodcarving," Slade said. "And you help me get the girl I'm making it for."

Vesper scoffed, the absurdity of the situation hitting her. "You need my help? You literally have girls screaming your name in the gym."

"This one is different," Slade muttered, looking away. "She hates my guts. She thinks I'm an arrogant prick. I need someone on the inside to tell me what she actually likes."

Vesper weighed her options. The thought of her secret being exposed made her physically sick. But the thought of having Slade-Julian's roommate-as a wingman? It was the opportunity of a lifetime.

She took a deep breath, the cold air burning her lungs.

She nodded once. "Fine. We have a deal."