Hillary
I bite down on my lip, hesitant to speak because of how cold Ben has been, and I don’t blame him. It’s for the best that we stay away from each other. I tap the button on the intercom from downstairs.
“Ben, please come down for dinner.” I release the button. No response. “Bentley,” I try again, still no response.
I sigh and think of taking the food up to him. What’s wrong with me? If I don’t want him, then I should at least let him be. Let me try one more time. I press the button again.
“Director Brown, would you please come down for dinner?” I release the button.
“Sure.” He responds, and I shake my head. That’s what he wanted—he wanted me to say "Director," asshole.
I don’t wait for him before I start eating, and a few minutes later, he joins me and quietly eats his food.
