Page 25 of Objection
“Please eat,” he stated, his eyes not moving from his computer screen once.
“I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Wellington, but I’m just not a breakfast person,” I explained as kindly as I could. It was a kind gesture, truly. I just hadn’t had a breakfast that didn’t consist of straight caffeine for I don’t know how long.
“Everyone is a breakfast person. It’s crucial to a balanced diet.” Still, his eyes stayed glued to his work.
“I understand that, but I’ve done just fine thus far. Please don’t waste your breakfast food on me.” I watched as his hands closed into clenched fists for a single moment before relaxing again.
“Eat. Please. You have been through a lot and the sustenance would do you good.” He was being incredibly abstinent with this issue. For the third day in a row.
“With all due respect, you can’t make me,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood just a little. His eyes popped up from his screen, meeting mine with a flash of something I didn’t recognize. It made my mouth go dry and made my back straighten.
His eyes stayed on mine, longer than I expected, and I didn’t dare look away.
The silence ticked on for seconds that felt like minutes.
“Eat.” He finally spoke, firmly, and I don’t know why, but I knew not to question him. Letting my gaze fall away from him, I moved the plate back in front of me. The food was delicious, just as it had been for the last few days.
I heard the tiniest of whispers fall from his lips, almost imperceptibly, just as I wrapped my lips around a strawberry.
“Good girl.”
I was sure I hadn’t heard him correctly. It was so quiet; I must have imagined it. I definitely would ignore it. Just like I would ignore the way it sent butterflies swarming inside of my stomach.
I finished my breakfast quietly, giving myself only the time it took me to finish my food to think about what I thought I had heard. After that, I focused on my work and put it far from my mind.
* * *
It should have beenthat simple — to put it from my mind. Yet, as the days passed on into weeks, nothing could have been further from the truth. I had paid more attention. I noticed little things I would have normally missed. The way his eyes would follow me as I walked around the office, even now with the renovation complete. While I was picking up on little nuances here and there, somehow, he simultaneously frustrated me more.
Breakfast appeared on the table every morning. I had taken to coming down early in order to eat with him, purely out of curiosity. Each time I did, his lips would turn into a smile that only lasted a second. That small reaction set off butterflies in my stomach
However, he would almost always open his mouth and ruin that lovely little moment with some remark on politics, work, or really any other comment. He wasn’t rude; not really. Just arrogant and occasionally unthinking of those around him.
“It amazes me that so many people just expect handouts,” he commented, drawing my attention from the omelet in front of me. He really was an incredible cook. I wiped my mouth, setting my napkin back down on my lap, smoothing down the skirt to my favorite blue dress. Sandra had said it was a lucky dress, but so far it had been anything but. Perhaps today would be the day.
“Huh?” I murmured unintelligibly.
“This news article on the need to dole out charity acts.”
I sat there with my jaw hanging open. Was he serious?
“Well, I think that it’s our duty to help others by giving the gifts we each have.” I tried to keep my tone cool, but really, the audacity.
“I worked hard to get where I’m at. If others wish to achieve greater goals, they need to work hard.” His answer brushed me off, just as his words seemed to push me down.
“Well, glad to know just what you think of me,” I spat back, picking up my dishes and doing everything I could not to stomp my way to the dishwasher.
“Excuse me?”
“No, excuse me. For being such a burden by not, what was it? Oh yes, not working hard enough,” I laughed sarcastically.
“Ms. Adams, I think you know I wasn’t—”
“Why do you do that?” I wasn’t sure where all my frustration was coming from, but I seemed to have lost my verbal filter for the day.
“Why do I do what?” he asked, that exasperation back in his voice.
“Call me Ms. Adams, constantly.”
