Edward Harper came back with the water, closed the door as she had asked, and placed the cup on the table with a soft clink.
Clara seemed absorbed in her work, the pencil in her hand scratching across the paper, completely ignoring him.
She appeared calm on the outside, but internally she was a mess; she hardly had an idea of what she was drawing.
Edward pulled a chair over and sat across from her, noticing her head down and unmoving, and nudged the glass a little closer,
"It'll get cold soon, do you want to take a sip before continuing?"
Clara finally couldn't hold back any longer,
"Director Harper, please don't come anymore. You're a married man, and it's not appropriate for you to keep coming to me. It won't sound good if people talk. Doing things like serving tea and bringing water doesn't suit your status."
Edward was silent for a moment; she was speaking, which was good. He feared her cold silence the most, as he would have no way to deal with it.
"Clara..."