He sits.
I pull over the second chair, the one meant for visitors, and position myself directly in front of him. Our knees almost touch. The first aid kit opens with a soft click.
This close, I can smell him. That woody, spicy cologne with the faint metallic notes from whatever he does in the R&D labs. The same scent that was all over my sheets that morning...
Focus, Bree.
I grab the antiseptic wipe.
“This is going to sting,” I warn.
“I’ve had worse.”
Yeah. I know. I’ve traced those scars on your face with my fingertips.
Stop.
I clean the cut as gently as I can. He doesn’t flinch, but I see his free hand grip the armrest. The leather creaks under his fingers.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“Don’t be.”
I spot a fragment of the mug embedded in his wound. “What did you do? Crush the cup in your grip?”
“Something like that,” he replies.
I tweeze out the ceramic fragment.
“What were you arguing about?” I askdistractedly.
“Board politics.” His voice is tight. “Martin Hale has opinions about how I spend company money.”
“Martin Hale sounds like he has opinions about everything.”
He frowns. “You’ve met him?”
“No. But Elspeth mentioned him last week. She didn’t sound... overly impressed with him.” I apply another antiseptic wipe. The blood is slowing. Good.
“He wants to restructure the grant program,” Nico says quietly. “Make it more ‘financially efficient.’ Which is code for ‘let’s cut the parts that actually help people.’”
I glance up. His dark eyes are watching my hands work. Watching me clean his blood away.
“And you told him to fuck off.”
He nods. “Yeah. You heard it, right?”
I grab the gauze and start wrapping. My fingers are shaking slightly. Adrenaline probably. Or the fact that these are the same hands that touched me and...
This is absolutely not the time for that particular mental detour.
His thumb brushes my wrist as I tie off the gauze.
I don’t move.
Neither does he.
We just stay there, touching, and the air between us crackles.
