“When was the last time you ate, Catalina?” His scowl deepened, and he shifted on his knees, straightening his back. I watched him pull something out of his pocket.

I grimaced. “Lunch? I think. Maybe more like brunch because I didn’t have time to get breakfast, so I just had something at around eleven.”

His hand froze midair in front of me, allowing me to see that something he was holding. It was wrapped in white wax paper. “Jesus, Catalina.” He shot me a look that would make anyone else cower. One that would definitely help with his soon-to-be new position.

But even if my tank was literally empty, I wasn’t anyone else.

“I’m fine, Mr. Robot.”

“No, you are not,” he shot back. Then, he very carefully placed on my lap what I already knew was a delicious Aaron Blackford homemade granola bar. “You fainted, Catalina. That’s really far from being fine. Eat this.”

“Thanks. But I’m okay now.” I looked down, my gaze getting acquainted with the gifted snack one more time. With shaky hands, I snatched it. Unwrapped it with clumsy fingers. “Do you always carry these on you?” I hesitated, my stomach complaining for some reason.

“Eat, please.”

So odd, how he could say please and make it sound like a threat.

“Jeez.” I took a bite. Then, I spoke with a mouthful—because who cared? He had literally just picked me off the floor, white-lipped, sweaty, and on my way to dramatically passing out—“I said I’m okay.”

“No,” he thundered. Pinning me down with a warning. “What you are is a dumbass.”

I frowned, wanting to be upset but agreeing with him. He didn’t need to know I was on his side.

“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. That was part of the problem, wasn’t it?

“Why are you not doing that now? Why haven’t you done that for the last month? Why are you not eating like you usually do?”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I clasped my hands together. “Are you calling me a—”

“Don’t,” he hissed. “Don’t even try it.”

“Fine.”

“Tell me,” he insisted, his gaze hardening like stone. “Why are you not eating?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” My breathing quickened, every word costing me more and more effort to spit. To admit the truth. “Because I want to lose weight, all right? For the wedding.”

He reared back. Appalled. “Why?”

Most of the blood that had left my head earlier rushed back. Awful timing. Just like everything else about my life. “Because,” I breathed out. “Because that’s what people do before an important event like that. Because I want to look my best, as much as you won’t believe it. Because I’d like to look as amazing as I possibly can. Because, apparently, I have been going around, stuffing my face with pastries twenty-four/seven, and my body has definitely been storing it. Because I just … did it, okay? What does it matter?”

“Catalina,” he said, and I could hear in his voice how disconcerted he was. “That’s … ridiculous. You’ve never been like that.”

Did he think I couldn’t possibly want to … look beautiful?

“What, Aaron?” I whispered, not finding my voice. “What is so ridiculous exactly? Is it so hard to believe that from me? That I’m like that? Like I care about how I look?”

His throat worked. “You don’t need any of that goddamn shit. You are smarter than that.”

I blinked.

Then, I blinked some more. “Did you just say goddamn shit? At work?” I lowered my voice. “In Jeff’s office?”

Now that I thought of it, he had dropped a few bad words earlier, hadn’t he?

Looking down, he shook his head, his shoulders falling with something that looked a lot like defeat. “Jesus,” he breathed out. “Fuck, Catalina.”

Wow. “All this swearing,” I said while I tried to search his face for whatever was going on with him. “I don’t think my ears will ever recover, Blackford.”

One of his hands went to the back of his neck. His head fell back, reminding me a lot of that moment I hadn’t been able to forget. When he had followed that with wonderful laughter. When he had smiled freely. As brightly as one could smile. But he didn’t do any of that now. He just gave me a tug of his lips, tiny little wrinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“You are cute,” he said matter-of-factly. “But don’t think you can play that card now. I’m still mad.”

Cute? Cute as in cute or cute as in small and funny and something you smiled at with fondness? Or perhaps cute as in—

I stopped myself. Closed my eyes for an instant, so I would just stop thinking.

“Are you feeling better? Think you can stand?”

Opening my eyes, I nodded my head. “Yeah. No need to carry me around again.” Although the lurch in my chest at the thought reminded me how comfy I had been up there. “Thanks.”

“I can if I—”

“I know you can, Blackford,” I interrupted him. If he offered again, I might take him up on it. “Thank you for doing it earlier, but I got it under control.”

He nodded, stretching out his hand in front of me. “Come on. Let’s go. We’ll grab your things and get you home.”

I didn’t reach out for it with mine. “I can—”

“Cut it out, will you?” He stopped me. God, we both were so freaking stubborn. “Now, you can let me walk you out and drive you home”—he paused, like a total drama queen—“or I can carry you out of this building and into my car myself.”

Holding his gaze, I lifted my hand and held it in the air, just a few inches away from his. I measured his words. Assessed my thoughts. Vaguely ignoring the way I’d love nothing more than to see him trying option number two. And what was far more disturbing than that was, I didn’t think it was for the pleasure it would bring me to fight him on something like that.