After Elizabeth had left, Edward had taken up running. He had been fully grown, appropriately jaded by Harvard and cynical enough to not take his mother's leaving to heart. It didn't surprise anyone. The marriage between Carlisle Cullen and Elizabeth Masen had disintegrated long before their children had taken the first chance at escape via the Ivy League. For as long as I could remember, Carlisle and Esme Cullen were at the forefront of the household. They hadn't married until shortly before Carlisle's death, and Carlisle and Elizabeth had not set in legal doctrine their decades-long separation until then. In the eyes of the law, Elizabeth was still very much Elizabeth Cullen, despite the fact that by the time I was lucid enough to remember hours upon hours spent at the Cullen home, she wasn't in the picture. Esme always was- Kind hearted, gentle, soft Esme, without a trace of the harshness of Elizabeth. From what Edward had told me of his mother, she was as hard as Esme was soft.

Elizabeth had been glacially beautiful, a beauty matched only by her ruthless determination to make a name for herself, to set herself apart from Carlisle. It could never be done, of course. Once you married a Cullen, your surname would always be first. It would be the first thing people noticed about you and the last thing they remembered you for. Despite it all, Elizabeth's ferocity had landed her that treasured title of "Dr." instead of "Mrs.", and her aggressive desire to break free from the Cullen name ensured that there would be no way that her marriage could survive. Her coldness, her dead-eyed quiet burn, had been lost in the twisting and gnashing of the chromosomes that had formed her eldest son: Emmett was a man of Esme's fabric, soft and gentle and lacking any of the bite of his fierce mother. In Edward, her genes had exerted their rightful dominance. There was more of everything that made Elizabeth Elizabeth in Edward than there was in her.

Sometimes, as I caught myself staring at Edward as he sat expressionless in the board room, I allowed myself to wonder what he would have been had Elizabeth not been his mother. If Esme, the woman who was meant to be with Carlisle from the beginning, had brought him into this world, would he be the way he was? Lately, it was harder to tell if there remained any trace of the boy that I had fallen so deeply in love with before.

I was neither terrified of Edward's fury as I prepared myself to head to Cullen Tower that night, nor was I terrified of the consequences. He wouldn't fire me. He wouldn't dare cross me. For as many times as he lost his control with me, I knew the anger that was a by-product of that loss of control was more directed at himself than me. He hated that he still had emotions that he couldn't reign in. He hated that he couldn't control every nuance of his environment. He hated that he couldn't control me, and hated himself for letting it show so clearly. As long as I kept that truth, I could handle whatever blow up of rage he directed at me.

Walking across the polished marble floors of Cullen Tower in flat shoes was a strange experience for me. Instead of gripping the polished stainless steel bars of the elevator, trying to keep my balance in 5-inch death traps, I was lounging against the mirrored interior, my flat leather black ankle boots squeaking against the elevator's immaculately polished floor. I was dressed casually, something that would annoy Edward to no end. An oversized, comically shaggy Burberry aviator jacket, a paper-thin grey t-shirt, and shredded black skinny jeans were more on key with the way I usually dressed, instead of the ridiculous sheath dresses and layers upon layers of Spanx. I balanced an enormous sheaf of files under one arm and clutched my black leather Rebecca Minkoff bag under the other.

Any other employee would have been terrified. Being called into weekends at Cullen Industries- Soon to be renamed to Cullen International- was a sign of doom. The entire Tower was devoid of activity, except for the interns, the overeager guys in Finance, and the occasional cleaning member. It was devoid of the hum of energy, the pulse of productivity, that overtook it 24 hours a day on the weekdays. I wasn't whistling to myself as I got off at the top floor and crossed the office floor- I wasn't insane, after all- but I didn't feel too horrible either. I rapped smartly on Edward's office door and let myself in, not bothering to wait for his affirmative.

"Edward," I gave a nod in his direction. His office was a mess. Files, papers, laptops- they were everywhere, far from his usual OCD tendencies. Edward was in pressed Armani slacks and a crisp white Saint Laurent button-down that he had pushed the sleeves up on. As usual, he didn't look happy. "The EnCor files are all here, and I've updated the itinerary for next week. So unless you've got something so desperately urgent to confront me with, I have to-"

"You're not seeing Jasper Hale again," Edward's voice was flat. He didn't bother to look up from his sheaf of papers, but I could see his face plainly. Every harsh angle set in stone, his face expressionless and his eyes dead.

"You don't get to decide that."

"Isabella-"

"You're my boss," I hissed, keeping my voice pleasant. "What I do on my time off, or who I spend that time with, is none of your business-"

"I won't have you fucking a business associate," Edward's voice was very tight, and I laughed venomously, a flare of resentment bursting from my chest as I strode across his office.

"But it's fine to lead them on into thinking that, as long as it benefits you, right?" I spat. "Oh, it's fine for them to imagine fucking me so long as it gets their signature on your goddamned contract, but if another human being lays a hand on me-"

"Yes, that's exactly what it is," Edward looked up, and I was surprised to see that I had misjudged his expression. Every inch of his face was perfectly controlled, but his eyes burned a with a fiery, burning intensity that made me take a step back. He stood, pushing his black leather chair back as he stalked around his desk and stood in front of me. "Don't you ever misunderstand me on this, Isabella. No one touches you."

"You're a bit late on that one," I snapped, but his expression didn't change. "Guess what, Edward. You don't scare me. You may have everyone else here terrified of you and fearful of some terrible force you unleash on them- You think I give a fuck? Fire me. I dare you. Fire me."

"We both know that's the last thing I intend on doing," We were standing so close it was obscene. I could feel the energy pulsing off of him in waves. His next words were a low whisper. "Don't test me on this, Isabella."

"Let me reiterate- I'm an employee," My voice came out far less steady than I wanted as I felt his hand close around my wrists. He was so close to me I thought I could feel his stubble against the top of my forehead, could feel his slightly labored breathing against my hair. The cold gold of his Rolex brushed against the inside of wrist as his free arm latched around my waist and pulled me imperceptibly closer. I couldn't breathe as I felt the proud, straight ridge of his nose brush against my ear as he bent his head closer to mine.

"I was so close to strangling Hale with my bare hands last night," Edward's cool voice murmured. I shivered. To anyone else, it would have looked as though he were whispering the sweetest of romantic nothings into my ear. "The way he looked at you-"

I tilted my head up and freed one hand to pull his ear closer to my lips.

"He did more than look," I whispered, and the effect was instantaneous, as it always was.

This game we played.

Push.

And pull.

"That will never happen again."

"Why don't you make sure it doesn't?"

He let go of me instantly, and backed away from me like I was painful to touch. He turned away, and began aimlessly shuffling the papers on his desk. We were done.

I left without a word, crossing the expanse of his office and stomping out into the waiting area outside. On Angela's desk was the Tassimo coffeemaker we kept, because Edward had an inexplicable sweet tooth that didn't go with the rest of him at all. I paused, tearing open a packet of vanilla caramel and placing his mug, a sterling silver-rimmed contraption that had cost $390 from Barneys, beneath the stream of fragrant liquid that the machine spurted out. I stirred aimlessly, adding a pump of caramel syrup and a quick squirt of whipped cream on top.

I cradled the mug between my hands as I silently padded into his office. I didn't like fighting with him, and I never liked how our exchanges ended. A while ago, I would have believed that he wanted us to work, to bloom into something more. Now, the belief that we never could was becoming more solidified by the day. Without a word, I put the gleaming mug on his desk, careful to place it on a coaster.

Please recognize this peace offering.

He took it silently, but he didn't try to stop me either as I walked calmly across his office and showed myself the door.

There were a thousand things I wanted to say.

I love you.

I hate you.

I miss you.

Who are you?

"I'll see you on Monday, Edward."