We were so behind that it was Thursday afternoon and I still hadn’t eaten anything. I found myself making stupid mistakes and knew I needed to take a break, but at the same time there were only two hours left until I headed out.
Jack had dictated that I wasn’t to stay past six for the next week or he would escort me out personally. Any attempts to tell him I was fine fell on deaf ears. He was the boss after all.
Edward hadn’t really spoken to me since I had returned but today he felt the need to address that I existed.
“Isabella, go eat something,” Edward spoke when I was midway through the Hansen file. I could see in my peripheral that his head had not turned in my direction, he was still staring at the screen.
“No,” I responded, my eyes still on the screen, my fingers typing away on the Hansen file.
“Go,” he commanded.
“I’m not hungry,” I responded. Didn’t he know he couldn’t tell me what to do anymore?
He slammed his hands down on his desk, startling me. My head snapped up to look at him and I watched him walk briskly out of the door. He returned a moment later and slammed something onto my desk.
“Eat it,” he demanded.
“Eat the fucking granola bar before I shove it down your throat.”
I picked up the granola bar and threw it against the wall. It hit with a crack and fell to the floor.
“Oh, I’ve heard that threat before,” I spat up at him.
His eyes grew wide as he stared down at me. His mask slipped and I could see, just for a split second, the pain that lay beneath.
I had to admit it hurt to see that pain in his eyes, because if he was in pain I couldn’t help to wonder why he had separated us then. All that brought was a tightening pain in my chest and hope. I had to
squash the hope.
Nothing good came with hope.