James's face emerged on the canvas—not the perfectly composed professional she usually saw, but the man she'd glimpsed tonight. Raw. Intense. Burning with a passion she'd only ever imagined him capable of feeling.
As she worked, Sophia's resolve crystallized. If tonight had changed something between James and Victoria—whether it was the beginning of something or the end of it—Sophia needed to act quickly. She needed to show James that Victoria Sharp wasn't the only woman who saw his worth, who wanted the man beneath the perfect exterior.
The realization should have made her uncomfortable—taking advantage of someone's emotional turmoil wasn't exactly noble—but Sophia reasoned that she'd waited long enough. A year of careful friendship, of gentle invitations, of creating opportunities for James to see her as more than just a neighbor. If Victoria Sharp had accelerated the timeline somehow, well, that was just how the game was played.
As midnight approached, Sophia set aside her brushes, surveying the rough sketch of James that had emerged on her canvas. It wasn't complete—barely more than an outline—but it captured something essential about him that her previous mental images had missed. Beneath the perfect exterior was a man of depth and passion, someone who felt things intensely but rarely allowed those feelings expression.
A man worth pursuing. Aggressively, if necessary.
She could hear James still moving around his apartment—softer now, but still restless. What was he thinking about? What exactly had happened in that town car? Had Victoria kissed him? Had he kissed her? Had it gone further than that? The possibilities made Sophia's stomach twist with jealousy and her skin flush with unwanted heat.
Whatever had happened, it had affected James deeply. And tomorrow, Sophia would make her move. No more casual invitations, no more friendly conversations that led nowhere. Tomorrow, she would invite him to the gallery opening with clear intent. She would dress to emphasize every advantage she had. She would make James Mitchell see her—really see her—as a woman, not just a friendly neighbor.
With that resolution firmly in mind, Sophia prepared for bed, her thoughts racing with plans for tomorrow. The perfect outfit—something that highlighted her curves without seeming like she was trying too hard. The right moment to extend the invitation—casual but with just enough warmth to suggest possibilities. The gallery itself was perfect—sophisticated enough to appeal to James's refined tastes, but with an energy entirely different from his corporate world.
As she slipped between her sheets, Sophia found her thoughts straying back to the way James had looked in that hallway. Flushed. Intense. Barely contained. What would it take to make him look that way again—but for her this time? What would it feel like to be the object of that raw, focused desire?
Sleep came slowly, her dreams filled with fragmented images—James's flushed face, Victoria Sharp's town car disappearing into the night, a canvas she couldn't quite finish.
Morning arrived with soft golden light filtering through Sophia's curtains. She'd slept fitfully, but woke with renewed determination. Today was the day she would change the dynamic between her and James.
She took extra care with her appearance—a casual outfit that nonetheless highlighted her best features, makeup that enhanced without looking obvious, her dark curls arranged in what seemed like artless perfection but actually took twenty minutes to achieve.
By ten o'clock, she was ready. James would be back from his Saturday morning gym session soon—he kept to his schedule with religious devotion, regardless of what else was happening in his life.
As if on cue, she heard the elevator chime open and close across the hall. Perfect timing. Sophia gave herself one final glance in the mirror, then casually opened her door, a bag of trash in hand as if she were just heading to the chute at the end of the hallway.
James was unlocking his door, gym bag slung over one shoulder, when she emerged. Despite the emotional turmoil of the previous night, he looked as perfect as ever in his workout clothes—hair slightly damp from a shower at the gym, t-shirt clinging to shoulders that would make a Greek statue envious.
"Morning, James," she called, keeping her tone light. "How was the workout?"
He turned, and Sophia saw a flicker of something—discomfort? Embarrassment?—cross his face before his usual polite mask slipped into place.
"Good morning," he replied, his voice once again smooth and controlled—nothing like the rough edge she'd heard through his door last night. "It was fine, thanks. How are you?"
"Can't complain," Sophia said, approaching him rather than continuing to the trash chute. "Hey, I was actually hoping to run into you. Remember that gallery opening I mentioned? It's tonight. I thought maybe you'd like to join me? The artist is brilliant, and they always have decent wine."
She watched his face carefully, noting the brief hesitation, the almost imperceptible tightening around his eyes. Whatever had happened last night was still very much with him.
"That's really kind of you to offer," James began, and Sophia knew immediately what was coming. "But I can't tonight. I have some work to catch up on."
The rejection stung, despite her mental preparation for this possibility. A year of similar responses should have immunized her, but something about today—about the state she'd seen him in last night—made this refusal more painful than the others.
"All work and no play," she teased, keeping her disappointment carefully concealed. "You sure? It might be good to get out, clear your head a bit."
James's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sure. Another time, maybe. I really need to focus on some presentations for Monday."
Ms. Sharp's work, Sophia knew without asking. Always Ms. Sharp's demands, Ms. Sharp's deadlines, Ms. Sharp's priorities.
"No problem," she said lightly. "The invitation stands if you change your mind. I'm heading over around seven."
James nodded, already turning back to his door. "Thanks, Sophia. Have a good time."
She watched him disappear into his apartment, the door closing with a soft click that somehow felt more final than last night's angry slam.
So much for her carefully curated outfit and artfully tousled curls. So much for her plans to show James Mitchell that Victoria Sharp wasn't the only woman who could appreciate him. Work, he'd said. But Sophia wondered if it was really work that kept him isolated in his apartment, or if it was thoughts of what had happened in that town car—memories he wanted to revisit in private.
As she dropped her trash down the chute with perhaps more force than necessary, Sophia felt her competitive spirit flare. This wasn't over—not by a long shot. James Mitchell might be obsessed with Victoria Sharp now, but Sophia had something Victoria probably didn't: proximity. Patience. And the willingness to play a longer game if necessary.
James had turned her down today, but there would be other opportunities. And next time, she would be better prepared. She would find a way past his defenses, a way to make him see her as more than just the artist across the hall.
Victoria Sharp might have wealth, power, and position on her side. But Sophia had determination and creativity on hers. And she wasn't about to let James Mitchell slip away without at least trying to show him what he was missing.
Returning to her apartment, Sophia went straight to the canvas where she'd sketched James the night before. She studied it critically, seeing both what was there and what was missing. Then, with decisive strokes, she began to refine the image, drawing out the intensity she'd glimpsed in that brief moment in the hallway.
If she couldn't have the real James Mitchell's attention today, she would at least capture his essence on canvas. And in doing so, perhaps find the key to winning him away from Victoria Sharp's influence once and for all.