"I don't do clinical with women... they matter." He said it simply, like it was obvious truth rather than revelation that made her chest tight.
"I matter?" The question came out smaller than she intended, vulnerable in way she hadn't allowed herself to be in decades.
"You matter," he confirmed, and something in his voice carried conviction that made her believe him despite every instinct suggesting this was manipulation.
He reached over, picking up what remained of his shirt—completely unsalvageable, buttons scattered across office like evidence. He studied it with mild amusement. "Well. This is problem."
Catherine felt laugh bubble up—slightly hysterical but genuine. "I destroyed your shirt."
"We destroyed my shirt," he corrected. "Team effort. But yeah, walking out of here like this is going to raise questions."
