"She treats me like a child. They all do. Ignore her," Sam mumbled to Winn.
"What are you even doing here?" she demanded at Winn, trying to keep her balance in her heels. The room tilted just a little, and Winn's eyes flickered to her unsteadiness—subtle concern tightening his jaw.
"I've been trying to get a hold of you for three days now."
Sam pushed himself to his feet with the help of his cane. "I'll leave you two to talk," he muttered, wobbling toward the hallway.
"You don't pick my calls anymore?" Winn asked.
"I was busy with something."
Winn took two slow steps toward her, his gaze dipping down her figure—her jacket awkwardly draped over her sling, her hair still scented with club smoke and champagne.
"Busy," he echoed with a knowing smirk. "Right."
Her cheeks heated.
"I came to say thank you."
"For what?"
"For what you did," he said quietly, sincerity threading through his tone. "The business with Sharona is done with—and it's all thanks to you."
