It hurts more than I expected it to.
I want to argue with him. I want to make him acknowledge what happened. I want him to admit that it meant something.
But I can't.
Because what if it didn't?
What if it really was just the adrenaline? What if I’m the only one who can’t stop thinking about it?
What if I’m just a client who had a trauma response, and he’s the professional who handled it?
A horrible thought occurs. What if he's reacting like this because it's not the first time it's happened to him?
My stomach roils.
I can't think about that.
I can't.
“I came to talk to you about the briefing,” I say, my voice tight and clipped. I am Caterina Conti, damn it. I can do this. "Teresa said you were refusing to rest."
His eyes narrow slightly, as if he’s surprised by the sudden shift in topic. He recovers quickly. “Teresa talks too much.”
“She’s worried about you,” I say.
“She shouldn’t be.”
“Well, she is. And so am I.”
“Caterina—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice a little sharper than I intended. “Don’t ‘Caterina’ me. You were shot last night. You need to be resting. Not running an operation from Luca’s guest room.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“It is when it’s happening in my family’s house. And when it involves my security.”
“You hired me to make those decisions.”
“And I’m un-hiring you from that decision for the next twenty-four hours,” I say, the words coming out with more force than I knew I had. “You are off duty. You are a patient. You will rest. And you will take the pain medication.”
I’m standing here, in this room, with this man, and I am giving him orders.
I am challenging him.
And I have no idea how he’s going to react.
A slow, dangerous smile touches his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“And how, exactly, do you plan on enforcing that?”
My mind races.
I have no idea.
But I’m not backing down.
