Isla had never heard anyone say her name in a way that made bad news feel this imminent.
"Sorry, sorry!" She grabbed the suit jacket draped over her and started wiping frantically at his face.
Grayson sat rigid, jaw locked, eyes fixed dead ahead without blinking. The stillness alone screamed severe germaphobia in action.
Feeling the damp fabric drag across his skin, he stayed frozen and said, low and controlled, "Your clothes are wet. Take them off."
"Wet? Oh right, I was using it to wipe my tears and everything earlier." Isla flipped to the other sleeve.
Grayson looked like his composure might genuinely shatter at that.
"ISLA! I am one wrong move away from strangling you!"
"Sorry, sorry, I swear it wasn't intentional. My nose just gets weird sometimes and I couldn't hold the sneeze
