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“Stubborn woman,” he muttered under his breath.
I stopped chewing, making an attempt to stand up and stomp out of that
office. He stopped me with oddly gentle hands on my shoulders.
“Do not test me right now.” That damn scowl was back with a vengeance.
I gave up under the soft vise of his large palms and let my body fall back.
“Eat the bar, Catalina. It’s not nearly enough, but it’ll do for now.”
Feeling the ghost of his hands on the skin covering my shoulders, I
shivered. “I’m eating. No need to boss me around.” I averted my eyes and
resumed chewing, trying not to think of how much I wanted those palms back
on my skin. Or those long and big arms around me. I needed the comfort. My
body felt stretched too long, my skin chilled, my muscles overworked.
“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I nodded, not looking up. I simply limited myself to chowing down the
snack.
Only a few moments later, Aaron was back. All determined strides and
stiff back. “Water,” he announced, dropping a bottle on my lap. He placed
my phone beside me too.
“Thanks.” I unscrewed the lid, chugging down a quarter of the bottle.
When I was done, I looked up again. Aaron was standing in front of me
now. Still looking all angry and bunched up. I let my gaze fall off his face,
feeling extra tiny, sitting there while he towered over me.
“So, I guess this will be your office soon. I hope they let you redecorate.”
I eyed the horrible painting behind him.
“Catalina.” The way he said my name held a warning.
Ugh. I was not down for a lecture.
“That was so stupid. Not eating, risking hypoglycemia when the whole
building is deserted. What if you had lost consciousness and no one was
around to find you?”
“You were here, weren’t you?” I answered, still not looking at him. “You
are always here anyway.”
A noise came out of his throat. Another warning. Don’t give me that shit,
it told me.
“Why are you not eating?” His question felt like a punch, right in my
stomach. “You always, always used to have something in your hand. Jesus,
you used to pull pastries out of your pockets at the oddest and most
inappropriate times.”
That had me looking up, meeting ice-cold eyes. I had; I was a snacker.