James key turned in the lock at precisely 6:57 PM—nearly two hours earlier than his typical Friday. The mechanical click echoed in the hallway of his apartment building, a sound so rare at this hour that it caused the door across the hall to crack open before he could even step inside.
"James? Is that you?"
He turned to find Sophia peering through her partially opened door, her dark curls tumbling over one shoulder, paintbrush still in hand. A smear of cobalt blue adorned her right cheekbone, giving her an endearingly disheveled appearance.
"Hey, Sophia," he replied, summoning a polite smile despite the bone-deep exhaustion that had settled into his body. Three consecutive fourteen-hour days had left him desperate for nothing more than silence and sleep.
Sophia's door swung open fully, revealing her paint-splattered overalls and bare feet. "You're home early! I thought I was hallucinating when I heard your door."
James shrugged, his suit jacket pulling slightly across his shoulders—a detail Sophia's artist's eye didn't miss. "Got lucky with a quiet Friday afternoon. Thought I'd escape while I could."
"Taking advantage of the weekend? I'm impressed," Sophia grinned. "I was beginning to think you lived at that office."
Despite his fatigue, James felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. Sophia had a way of drawing those out of him—genuine ones, not the careful, measured expressions he wore at work.
"Come in for a drink?" she offered, gesturing toward her apartment. "I just opened a bottle of Cabernet that's begging to be shared. Unless you have plans?"
James hesitated, his apartment door half-open, the promise of solitude just steps away. The sensible choice would be to decline politely. He needed rest, not conversation. And yet—
"Sure," he heard himself say. "Just one, though. I have an early morning tomorrow."
Sophia's smile brightened her entire face. "Excellent! I could use a break anyway. This commission is kicking my ass."
James followed her into her apartment, struck as always by how different it was from his own sterile space across the hall. Where his was minimalist to the point of austerity—a deliberate choice that made maintenance simple during his limited free time—Sophia's was an explosion of color and texture. Canvases leaned against walls, some complete, others works in progress. Plants thrived on every available surface, and the furniture was an eclectic mix of vintage finds, all somehow cohesive despite their disparate origins.
"Make yourself comfortable," Sophia called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the kitchen. "Just move anything that's in your way."
James carefully shifted a sketchbook from the couch and sat down, loosening his tie with a grateful sigh. From her kitchen, he could hear the clink of glasses and the soft humming of a tune he didn't recognize.
Sophia returned with two generously filled wine glasses, handing one to him before curling up at the opposite end of the couch, tucking her bare feet beneath her. "So, rare Friday freedom. Any big weekend plans to celebrate?"
James took a sip of wine, appreciating the rich notes of blackberry and vanilla. "Nothing special. Mostly catching up on sleep and hitting the gym. What about you?"
"Just finished a major commission yesterday," Sophia said, gesturing toward a wrapped canvas propped by the door. "So tonight is wine and relaxation, followed by a weekend of creative freedom."
"Creative freedom?" James asked, the wine already working to dissolve the knot of tension between his shoulder blades.
"When I paint what I want instead of what pays the bills," Sophia explained with a grin. "It keeps me sane between the corporate commissions."
Sophia studied him over the rim of her glass, taking in the perfect Windsor knot of his tie, now slightly loosened, the crisp lines of his custom shirt, the way his dark hair remained impeccably styled even after a long day. Most men looked rumpled and defeated by this hour, but James Mitchell somehow managed to appear both perfectly put together and approachably human at the same time.
God, he's beautiful, Sophia thought, not for the first time. With his strong jawline and those deep-set eyes that seemed to hold more thoughts than he ever voiced, James could easily have graced magazine covers. Instead, he spent his days in corporate boardrooms, his movie-star looks largely wasted on spreadsheets and schedules.
What Sophia wouldn't give to paint him—to capture that particular blend of strength and gentleness in his features, the way his mouth curved just slightly when he was amused but trying not to show it.
"How's the commission going?" James asked, nodding toward the large canvas dominating her work area. "Looks impressive."
Sophia groaned dramatically. "It's for this hedge fund guy who wants something 'provocative but not offensive' for his office. Those were his exact words. I'm still trying to figure out what that means."
"Sounds like corporate art," James observed. "Designed to suggest depth without actually containing any."
Sophia laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Exactly! You have no idea how refreshing it is to talk to someone who gets it."
"I spend my days in corporate America," James said dryly. "I'm intimately familiar with the aesthetics of meaningful meaninglessness."
As he spoke, Sophia couldn't help noticing the way his voice resonated—deep without being booming, assured without being arrogant. Did he have any idea how sensual that voice was? How it seemed to vibrate at a frequency specifically designed to send shivers down a woman's spine?
Probably not. That was the maddening thing about James Mitchell. He seemed completely unaware of his effect on women. For a man who noticed everything—who anticipated needs before they were voiced, who remembered preferences without being reminded—he was astonishingly blind to the way women responded to him.
"I actually just finished a series of landscapes," Sophia said, gesturing toward several smaller canvases leaning against the far wall. "Nothing commercial, just passion projects I've been working on during my free time."
"May I?" James asked, setting down his wine glass and moving toward the paintings.
Sophia nodded, suddenly nervous as James approached her personal work. These weren't commissioned pieces designed to match someone's couch—these were expressions of her artistic vision, glimpses into how she saw the world.
"These are incredible," James said softly, studying a textured seascape with genuine appreciation. "You capture light beautifully."
"That's from a trip to Maine last year," Sophia explained, joining him. "There's something about northern coastal light that's impossible to replicate anywhere else."
"I can see that," James nodded. "It feels... honest."
Sophia felt a flush of pleasure at his simple but perceptive comment. "That's exactly what I was going for. How did you know?"
"Just an observation," James said with a small smile. "I don't know much about art, but I know what moves me."
"Any exciting weekend plans?" Sophia asked, trying to keep her tone casual as they moved back to the couch.