The Billionaire's Regret
she says, very serious for someone whose ponytail is halfway to falling off.
“Really?” I lean forward and catch the watercolor box before it drops. “Tell me all about it.”
She sits up, shifting again: legs tucked under, one knee up, sketchbook on her lap. She flips to the middle.
The page is full of doodles. There’s a drawing of a round table, four little stick figures with names floating over their heads: ME, CLARA, LEO, ANAÏS. In the middle of the table, a small box labeled in big letters: “CRAYON (NO EAT!)”