Special thanks to SR and Lucette212 for their help with this chapter.
Just a quick explanation for those who missed it: July 4th is a national holiday in the U.S., and when it falls on a weekend, as it did in 2010, most employees are given a weekday off to make up for it. Monday the 5th, in this case. Which is why Bella isn't at work, but Edward is: a CFO's work is never done.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
From: Edward Masen: EMasen (at) culleninc (dot) com
To: Bella: VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com
Date: Monday, July 5, 2010 at 12:59 PM
Subject: It's Hip To Be A Square (or not...)
Dear Bella,
I hope you are well this afternoon. I'm taking an hour lunch break and I thought I'd email you before my assistant comes back from fetching us some lunch. I'm a little worried that he wasn't bluffing when he said he was going to Wendy's to buy us all burgers. Such fast food is not my typical lunch fare, as you know. I sure hope he was kidding, because I hear their meat patties are shaped into squares. Why I would want a meat patty that's the same shape as my napkin, I don't know. Anyway, Seth is actually a very diligent and sensible assistant, so he was surely joking. Then again, it is a holiday...I'm not sure which restaurants are open.
I told Whitlock we'd buy lunch for him too, since I don't want him wandering around Midtown when most places are closed. He'd probably take it as a sign of the apocalypse, or a zombie takeover, perhaps. I don't have the time to explain what's going on – I have to call Carlisle at 2:00 sharp, and then I'll actually be working with Whitlock to adjust Marketing's budget.
(Oh! Crowley just looked it up and there's a Wendy's on the Avenue of the Americas! Please excuse his unauthorized Internet usage. We've had a busy weekend and he's tired of looking at numbers. He now seems mesmerized by the Flash animation on the chain's website. The fries are dancing! This Wendy woman also has the same color hair as Victoria. I wonder if she yells obscenities at board meetings too.)
I won't bore you with the details of these reports I'm in the middle of redoing. But if you want to hear something that will send you to sleep, you know where to reach me.
Edward Masen
Hungry Man
Cullen, Inc.
From: Bella: VanillaIsabella (at) gmail (dot) com
To: Edward Masen: EMasen (at) culleninc (dot) com
Date: Monday, July 5, 2010 at 4:50 PM
Subject: RE: It's Hip To Be A Square (or not...)
Dear Mr. Masen,
I hope you had an enjoyable lunch, even though the shape of the food is distressing to you.
Isabella Swan
By the time Seth finally arrived this morning, I'd already worked myself into a frenzy. I had somehow managed to misplace a particular manila folder, one that contained important paperwork for the Marketing department to sign off on. The more I looked for it, the more irritated I became, and it was this frustration that compelled me to snap at my assistant for his uncharacteristic tardiness.
"Seth, do you have any idea what time it is?" I asked, pointing at the clock on the far wall in disapproval.
He looked at me in puzzlement. "It's eight thirty-two, Mr. Masen," he answered dutifully. "And for the record, you're pointing at a poster of a clock. Remember? You asked the Art department to design a set of motivational posters to enhance productivity? The minute hand is pointing to 'efficiency,' while the hour hand is pointing to 'quality.'"
"Oh, right," I replied, still confused. I threw an irritated look at the poster. "Someone must've snuck in earlier this morning to hang that up there."
"Mr. Whitlock actually affixed that to the wall last night, sir. I guess you were too busy to notice?"
"I suppose so..."
I quickly shook my head. Clearly I was frazzled. I had noticed no such thing. In an attempt to regain some credibility, I straightened my tie and sat up in my chair.
"Nevertheless, you were supposed to be here at least thirty minutes ago," I pointed out, getting back on message. "I have no idea where I put the Marshall file and I've been waiting for you to come help me find it."
Seth was now looking at me with even more concern. "Um, sir, you said it was okay for me to visit the dentist this morning. For a check-up. And the file..." He glanced down toward my desk. "You seem to be using it as a mouse pad. And a coaster at the same time."
On closer inspection, I found that Seth was indeed correct. Right there, under the mouse and my mug of coffee, was the very manila folder I'd been searching for. What was even more worrisome was that I didn't usually use a mouse pad. Nor did I ever use a coaster. I really was on another planet, it seemed, one where I was more concerned about preventing both coffee rings and cursor lag.
"Are you feeling alright?" Seth asked.
Chagrined, I shook my head to indicate that no, I wasn't alright. "I'm all over the place this morning. I apologize. I do remember you telling me about your dentist appointment."
After moving my mug of coffee aside, I picked up the manila folder and checked that the papers inside were still in good condition. Luckily, they were. I looked up again when Seth cleared his throat.
"Do you want me to rearrange this morning's schedule?" he broached, stepping forward to straighten the photo frame on my desk. "Push back your first few meetings? Or cancel one of them? Give you a bit more time to, er, wake up..."
I sighed in resignation. "I'm awake. I'm just...very distracted."
I sat quietly in my chair as Seth returned to his own desk and settled in. I didn't miss the fact that he hadn't closed the door between us – this way we could see each other from afar. He could step in if I started doing something strange, like attempting to reset the time on the clock poster.
Stupid poster. Why did I even come up with such an idea? Now I had a large piece of paper judging me for my lack of productivity. Come to think of it, the photo sitting on my desk – a shot of all us executives with Carlisle – also seemed to be judging me. I strongly doubted any of the other executives were having efficiency problems this morning.
And why was my red pen out of its holder this morning? Was it trying to tell me that I needed to grade my own performance?
"Seth!" I called out. "I'm personifying the objects around me. Could you please get me a snack of some sort? I'm feeling a bit light-headed."
"Yes, Mr. Masen. Right away."
At least one of us was on the ball. If I didn't know any better, I'd say the ball was judging me too.
What is wrong with me today?
Interestingly, Seth's absence from his desk only served to remind me of another absence. The real reason why I probably felt so off-kilter this morning.
Something had been missing from Bella's email reply.
Though I possessed the ability to interpret finance regulations and complicated pieces of tax legislation, I was not as skilled when it came to "reading between the lines." The problem with more modern methods of correspondence, such as email or text message, was that tone could often be misconstrued. A terse email – commonly sent when one is busy – could accidentally be read as indicating indifference, for example. It was this possibility that came to mind when I received Bella's short reply.
But other factors had to be taken into consideration. She hadn't shared anything about her day. Nor had she expressed any disgust on the subject of me possibly having a fast food lunch, a far cry from the culinary delights we were used to sharing. She'd also signed off with her full name and without a witty line to follow.
I wasn't someone particularly familiar with personal correspondence, so it was no wonder I was having trouble construing her intended tone. I'd been worried last night too, but at least I'd been drowning in work then. Since I didn't know why she'd replied in this particular manner, I hadn't yet written my own reply. Now we weren't emailing at all!
This was quickly turning into a disaster. I had no idea what to do.
Seth soon returned with a packet of Cheetos and an apple – apparently there was some sort of muffin shortage today. After dismissing the fact that I was likely to get cheese dust on my documents, I started eating the Cheetos, all the while staring blankly at my computer screen. Emails were appearing in my inbox every half minute. It was hypnotizing in a way. I wasn't sure why I was staring at the screen like this – it was like I expected Bella to suddenly send me a clarification email, something I knew was unlikely to happen. It was only when Seth reminded me that Jasper Whitlock was due at any minute for his meeting with me that I snapped out of it and told myself that inactivity was only making things worse for both my work and my friendship with Bella.
"Uh, send him right in when he arrives," I said, looking around for a napkin to wipe my hands on.
I ended up finding a spare piece of paper in the top drawer of my desk. Of course, it was only after I'd gotten cheese dust all over it that I realized it was actually a check.
"Why would I put a check in here?" I asked out loud, looking down at the contents of the drawer.
"I don't know."
Startled, I jumped in my seat and looked up to find Whitlock smiling happily and approaching my desk. After sitting himself down, he took it upon himself to take the check from me.
"Oh, it's a blank check," he commented with a sigh. He tossed it back to me. "Worthless."
Only Jasper Whitlock would call a blank check from Cullen, Inc. worthless. I merely stared at him as he picked lint off his tie. It was his "Tuesday tie." Either he had a maximum of seven ties – one for each day – or it was his way of telling Monday from Tuesday. For all I knew, the back of his tie carried other information like the lunar calendar or the numbers for 411, 911 and 1-800-ANSWERS.
"Er, yes, worthless," I said awkwardly.
There was no point in correcting him. I didn't want to give him any ideas.
"Did you not comb your hair this morning?" he asked in curiosity as I opened up the manila folder in front of me.
I touched my hair self-consciously. "That's not important."
"Are you suuuuure?"
The amused manner in which he asked these questions often made him seem like a child, eager to know anything and everything, no matter how irrelevant. He'd once asked me why the sky was blue. My explanation of the earth's atmosphere and the scattering of light rays from the sun seemed to scare him, as if I was suggesting the sun was shooting laser beams at the earth. I think I put him off laser-tag for life, because he reacted very badly when Carlisle suggested we try it as a team-building exercise.
I patted down my hair and proceeded with the conversation.
"Yes, I'm sure," I answered politely, trying not to get too exasperated. "Now, onto the adjustments for this budget –"
"My wife is flying to Mongolia today," he interjected.
"That's not really relevant to this – "
"Alice is really excited. I'm so happy for her!"
"Just be careful with your pushpins this time," I advised. "Now, back to the budget – "
"Oh, she doesn't have to worry about money. She has a sponsor!"
I frowned at his fist-pump. Such displays were supposed to be reserved for actual achievements.
"Well, that's nice," I replied, speaking slowly for his benefit. "But we have to talk about Marketing's budget. Otherwise Victoria will not be happy."
He looked at me in confusion. I wasn't sure which sentence had befuddled him.
This was going to be tiring. Carlisle owed me big time; the only reason I was even letting Whitlock go over this budget – as opposed to calling in Victoria – was because Carlisle always wanted me to help the guy out.
Now he was looking at me with concern.
"You don't look happy today, Mase."
"It's Masen."
"I know, man. I'm trying to give you a nickname," he explained. "You can call me Whit!"
"That would be ironic."
"What would be ironic?"
"Nothing."
"I-ron-nothing?" He chuckled. "You're such a crack up. I'm glad we're friends."
He thinks we're friends?
As soon as I asked myself the question, I thought of Bella, who I definitely considered a friend. I was stuck in a meeting with someone who didn't understand me, when all I really wanted to do was sort out my real friendship problems.
Noticing my frown, Jasper leaned forward and looked at me sympathetically.
"Come on, dude. Spill. Tell me about her."
"Excuse me?"
My heart skipped a beat. How did he know I was thinking about a woman?
"Tell me about her," he repeated.
"Who?"
"Her."
I tried to connect with his thought process. "Victoria?" I guessed, thinking we might now be talking about the budget.
"Victoria?" He gaped at me. "You're worried about Victoria?"
"What are you talking about?" I asked, confused.
"What are you talking about? I didn't know you had a crush on her."
I almost gagged, and not from the remnants of cheese dust at the back my mouth.
"I do not have a crush on her," I said emphatically. "I'm thirty-five years old – I don't get 'crushes' anymore."
"But you seem upset over a lay-dee," Whitlock contended. "I can tell."
I regarded him suspiciously. "How can you tell?"
"I'm pretty good at judging how people feel," he answered with a shrug. "You look like you miss someone. You're worried. Like me when I think about Alice sometimes. She's far away, and her work can sometimes be dangerous."
Stunned by his perceptiveness, I sat back in my chair and regarded him carefully. Whitlock was a simpleton. He didn't have the faintest clue how to do his job properly. Yet here he was, picking up on my anxiety like he was some sort of empath. Was it possible that he wasn't completely useless? Would he have any wisdom to share? After all, he'd managed to land Alice Cullen. Not that I was trying to woo Bella...I just wanted to keep our friendship alive. I liked her.
"There is this, uh, friend of mine," I began, all the while questioning myself. I was talking to Whitlock about this. I usually had more luck talking to the water cooler.
"Go on."
"Well, we're just friends. But I really like her company. I want to continue being her friend."
"Uh-huh."
"But, you know, I've always been a busy guy. I don't really know how to maintain relationships..."
It occurred to me that I sounded like a rookie. What would the people in IT call me? A n00b?
Suddenly, Whitlock was the informed one.
"Go on, Mase," he urged. "What's the problem?"
"Uh, well, I sent her an email yesterday at lunch. She didn't reply until hours later. And it was such a short reply. She seemed...disinterested."
I frowned. I was sure I sounded pathetic.
"Do you always email each other?"
"Yes," I replied, nodding. "It's what we do. I mean, we also see each other in person..."
"When was the last time you saw her?" he asked, looking at me with concern.
"I was supposed to meet up with her on Sunday night. Fourth of July and all that. But I had to work – you were here, remember?"
"So...you bailed?"
"I canceled. I called her. That's what you're supposed to do in those situations, isn't it? Call?"
Whitlock pulled a face. "Did you cancel on her like you cancel your meetings?"
"How do you mean?"
"You're a businessman."
"Yes...I'm aware of that."
What was he getting at?
"Did you talk to her in the same way you talk to Victoria?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. "Like...not that friendly. Did you say sorry? Did you tell her you were sad you couldn't come?"
"Um..."
The more I tried to recall the phone conversation, the more I realized how awfully quick it had been. I could have come across as unapologetic...Heck, I'd been distracted by everything going on around me.
"But she knows I'm a busy man. I didn't have the time to talk about it," I said in my defense. "There were things to do. It was chaos in here."
Whitlock looked over at the poster he'd affixed to my wall.
"Maybe you should talk her, man," he suggested, looking back at me. "I don't think you're going to get much work done."
I sighed heavily. "Maybe you're right. I'll get Seth to call you back when I've sorted myself out."
"You gotta talk to her. Communication is key," he added. "That's what one of the other posters said."
"Yeah."
He pushed his chair back and stood up. I was still kind of dumbstruck. He'd offered me advice – advice that was probably right. I'd written him off a long time ago, believing him to be completely dense.
"Er, thanks," I finally said.
"It's cool, bro. Anyway, I gotta go fix my map. Don't worry, I won't take my shoes off this time!"
"Good idea."
I watched him walk out of my office.
Jasper Whitlock. My own personal Dr. Phil.
It was a very, very strange feeling.
But he was right. I needed to talk to Bella.
"Seth!" I called out.
He came bounding in from his desk. "Yes, Mr. Masen?"
"My computer is freezing. As in the screen is freezing. It's not actually cold. In fact, I think it's overheating, and I need someone from IT to come up here and look at it."
"Yes, right away."
"Call Isabella Swan. She comes highly recommended," I added, trying to sound casual.
Seth nodded. "Will do. As soon as possible, sir?"
"Yes, as soon as possible."
Waiting for Bella was actually quite nerve-wracking. I found myself wondering how I should greet her. Since my friendship with her wasn't common knowledge, Seth would find it strange if I waited at my office door with an anxious look on my face. However, if I happened to be sitting behind my desk when Bella arrived, I risked looking unfriendly. I'd be the evil executive, summoning IT workers at will, while also oiling my hair and stroking my evil cat.
In the end, I decided to get up and pretend to be adjusting the clock poster. On hearing Bella and Seth talking outside, I made sure I looked thoughtful for when they entered my office.
Seth knocked, opened the door and smiled at me. I saw Bella behind him – she was fidgeting and looking anywhere but in my direction.
"Mr. Masen, Ms. Swan from IT is here."
"Thank you," I answered as Seth stepped out of Bella's way and went back to his desk.
With no choice now but to enter my office, Bella finally looked at me.
Her eyes seemed so sad.
I had made her feel this way.
Upset with myself for hurting my friend, I clenched my fists. Unfortunately, I was still holding the poster in one hand, so I ended up with a fist full of paper.
"Um, please close the door behind you," I said awkwardly, gesturing with my other hand. "Thanks for coming up."
She nodded and complied with my request. However, she stayed near the door, though she did glance in the direction of my computer.
"I don't actually have a computer problem," I admitted, stepping forward to be closer to her. "I just really needed to talk to you. I'm sorry about the other day."
"Oh, that's okay," she mumbled. "It's not a big deal."
"No, it is."
Bella averted her gaze, which made me feel even worse. Then I realized I hadn't even asked her to sit down or anything. She was hugging the wall, seemingly eager to leave.
"Please have a seat," I urged, walking over to my desk so that she'd follow.
After a moment, she stepped forward and reluctantly sat down opposite me.
What was the best way to ask for forgiveness? I wasn't used to apologies of this sort. This wasn't an incorrect forecast or a poor estimate I was apologizing for.
Nervously, I cleared my throat. "I should probably recycle this," I said, showing her the paper I'd ripped. "The company is supposed to be more environmentally conscious."
"Right," she replied, still looking down.
I tossed the ball of paper into the wastepaper basket beside my desk. Except it didn't go in. Of course it didn't. Not only was I a bad friend, I was also a litter bug.
"I'm really not having any luck today," I bemoaned, getting up.
It was when I bent down to pick up the paper ball that I realized I needed to make more of an effort here. Show her I was really sincere. Sitting at my desk – in my executive office – was not a level playing field. This wasn't about me being a CFO and her being someone from the IT department. This was about friendship and I was supposed to be groveling.
Before I could stop myself, I got down on one knee beside Bella's chair and took her hand.
Surprised, she looked at me and then looked down at her hand. Then back at me. And then at her hand.
Our hands, rather.
"Um..." she began, shifting in her seat, her eyes settling on the floor between us.
"Listen – "
"Your shoes are shiny!" she blurted out.
"Yes, they are," I responded, still holding her hand and biting back my laughter. I loved it when she blurted out her random thoughts. There was something so incredibly endearing about it. "It would be remiss of me to wear a well-tailored suit with a scuffed pair of shoes. It would cheapen the entire outfit. Or so I hear."
Bella blushed a little and nodded her head. "That sounds right."
I squeezed her hand. "Listen, Bella, I really am very sorry for how I treated you the other day. We had plans, and I should've been more sensitive when I canceled on you. I was so caught up in my work that I didn't stop to think about how you would feel."
She nodded her head slightly and bit her lip. "Okay," she said softly, looking up at me shyly.
I looked pleadingly at her, willing her to understand what my life was like. She looked so vulnerable and pretty and I had a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to kiss the frown away from her mouth. Instead, I took a deep breath and shook my head to regain my composure. Not sure I was getting through to her and not wanting her to question my sincerity, I squeezed her hand again and tried to maintain eye contact. "I need you to understand that my work here is my first priority. It has been for a long while and it will continue to be for the foreseeable future. But that doesn't mean you aren't a priority also."
"I'm sorry I was so upset," she whispered. "You just surprised me by canceling and I was really looking forward to having you over."
"I was looking forward to it too, believe me. I would have much rather been with you than here working," I assured her. "But this is really important to me."
"I know. I remember what you told me about why you work so hard. I just...it's fine," she said, smiling at me and shaking her head.
"I promise if I ever have to cancel on you again I won't treat you like a business associate. The way I went about things was wrong," I said, remembering Jasper's advice. "I'll be a more dependable friend. And if you so wish, you can impose a cancellation policy – a penalty if I don't give you twenty-four hours notice."
Bella lifted her gaze and the mirth dancing in her eyes gave me some hope.
"Hm, what kind of penalty are we talking about?" she asked lightly.
"I suggest a monetary form of compensation. We can call it Friend Insurance," I said, reluctantly releasing her hand and standing before taking a seat in the chair next to her. "We could use a sliding scale based on what our plans are. And even if I don't disappoint you, I'm sure the policy can offer a No Claim Bonus."
She laughed and straightened her posture. "Oh, Mr. Masen. Women don't like cash, it's too impersonal. Don't you know that?"
"Um, no," I replied, embarrassed. "Doesn't everyone like money? I mean, I know there are proponents for a barter-and-exchange type society, but this is the United States."
"Sure everyone likes money, but have you ever given a woman in your life money as a gift?"
"I usually outsource the buying of gifts for my mother..." I said, shrugging my shoulders. "Assistants are very good at those sorts of things."
"How about for girlfriends?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Um..." I said, running my hand through my hair. "What exactly constitutes a girlfriend?"
She looked at me with an exasperated expression on her face. "Someone you would take out on dates, maybe home to meet your parents, and eventually buy a gift for, I would imagine."
"Then…no."
"No, what?"
"No, I've never given money, or any gift, to a girlfriend." Why did I feel so embarrassed by this admission? As she sat there silently regarding me, I wondered if this made me a loser of some sort. I'd been with my share of women – I was far from a monk – but I'd never been with any woman long enough to consider her a girlfriend. A hefty trust fund and superficial relationships that I knew were based on what I could offer as opposed to who I was kept me from getting too involved with anyone when I was younger, and my work had been keeping me so busy for the last few years that I hadn't even really bothered to date too much. I wanted a wife and family, someone to share my life with and come home to every night – very much – but that aspect of my life was always relegated to "someday," or at least until after my professional goals were met.
"Well," Bella finally said, "I can assure you, as a friend who also happens to be a woman, that we don't appreciate cash as much as a well thought out gift from the heart."
"How about a gift certificate?" I joked. "To a store where women can find something nice for themselves. So, you know, not Home Depot or Baby Gap. Or Home Gap or Baby Depot for that matter."
"Edward."
"Don't worry. The lesson has been duly noted."
"Good," she replied.
"So am I forgiven?" I asked.
She quickly nodded. "Yes, Edward. You're forgiven."
I breathed a sigh of relief and felt better than I had since receiving her email yesterday.
"You look tired," she remarked, her hand coming to rest on my arm. It felt warm even through the material of my shirt and jacket.
I shook my head and smiled. "I guess I didn't sleep too well last night. I had a lot on my mind," I said sheepishly. The truth was that Bella, and her terse email, was what had kept me awake tossing and turning last night.
"I didn't –"
Just then, Seth knocked on the door and opened it, his head poking through. "Mr. Masen, your ten o'clock is here."
Seth's face went from pleasant and professional to confused as he took in the scene before him. His boss and the girl from IT were sitting next to each other on the wrong side of the desk. And there was inappropriate-for-the-workplace touching.
"They can wait, Seth," I said shortly, irrationally pissed off that he had come in without waiting for me to answer his knock on the door. The thing was, I had no right to be angry since he did that all the time. I normally had nothing to hide and as far as he knew, I was in here waiting for this random woman from the IT department to fix my computer.
"Of course, Mr. Masen," Seth replied, closing the door firmly behind him.
This was going to be awkward, but I just fixed my relationship with Bella and I wasn't prepared to deal with any other drama quite yet. Seth was loyal and it would wait.
"Your assistant seems nice," Bella remarked.
"Seth's great. He's the real gentleman here, actually. He shines all my shoes. Even my gym shoes and flip-flops."
She laughed. "You don't seem like the type to own flip-flops."
"Sometimes I surprise people," I replied, laughing too. "You know what also surprises people? Foot fungus. People should wear flip-flops when showering at the gym."
What I continued to find surprising was my bond with Bella. I tried to think of any other person who I'd deign to kneel for, bar the Queen of England if she were knighting me. Though it was unlikely American citizens were eligible for such an honor.
"I made you a chicken pot pie on Sunday."
"Damn," I muttered. Now my cancellation, and the way I did it, seemed so much worse than it had before. I wondered if this was what friends did for each other on a regular basis and if I should have expected it. "I –"
"Wait," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "I didn't tell you that to make you feel bad. I just wanted to know if I should bring it in for you."
The thought of Bella's chicken pot pie for dinner made me ridiculously happy. But as I pictured myself opening a bottle of wine and eating a solitary dinner, I didn't feel quite as happy. I would much rather have someone, namely Bella, share my dinner. Wanting someone's company this much was a foreign, but not wholly unpleasant feeling.
"You don't need to do that. You spent the time cooking it for me, I can't expect you to hand deliver it also."
"You could...if you're not too busy...I mean, later, if you wanted..." She closed her eyes and shook her head, a slight blush appearing on her cheeks.
As if I didn't already feel bad enough, I realized she was now hesitant to ask me to do something with her for fear that I might say no. Maybe this wasn't as easily fixed as I thought.
"Have dinner with me tonight," I offered. "I probably won't have to stay much past six and I can make up for Sunday. Please? I can order take out like nobody's business and I open a mean bottle of wine. I'll send a car for you."
"Edward..."
"It's more for me than for you. I'm selfish and I don't want to spend my evening worrying about you getting around safely. Please. I'd drive you myself but I'm not sure the attendant at the garage where I keep my cars even knows who I am anymore."
"Cars? As in more than one?"
"Um..."
"You know what? Forget it. I don't want to know," she said, getting up and smiling at me. "I'll be waiting, and I'll bring your chicken pot pie."
"Thanks, Bella," I said sincerely, getting up, walking her to the door and opening it for her. "Not just for the food. But for understanding. I really will try to do better."
"So will I," she said, walking out of my office.
As Seth ushered in my ten o'clock, I wondered how long it would be before I disappointed her again, and how understanding she would really be.
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