Micah had always found public apologies uncomfortable. He didn’t know if it was that or that the “hormonal” excuse Jason used rubbed him the wrong way – it smacked of masculine condescension – but he cut the man off before he could say more. “It’s fine,” he assured. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jason gave him a tight-lipped smile before turning to Damon and offering him a weird sort of bow. Then he hurried after his wife. Not a moment later, the distant chime of the elevator doors sounded.

Despite Caprice and Jason’s exit – or maybe because of it – the air was filled with a thick sort of tension, and Micah could feel the weight of everyone’s stare on him. He cleared his throat and turned to Damon, but kept his gaze trained just above the man’s shoulder instead of meeting his eyes. “I think I need some air.”

He didn’t wait for Damon to rebuke him or grant permission, Micah merely stood from his chair and walked in a brisk, but controlled pace to where he knew the balcony was located. (He didn’t want to look like he was running away, even though he definitely was.)

A burst of cold air hit him as soon as he opened the glass balcony door, but Micah didn’t care. He sucked in the crisp air greedily. Ignoring the hot tub and wicker furniture, Micah grasped the railing of the balcony and rested his head against it, closing his eyes and willing himself to just not think for a while.

Dissociating is unhealthy, a voice in the back of his head couldn’t help but point out, but Micah ignored it, forcing himself to breathe and feel the cold metal against his forehead and that’s it.

An indeterminable amount of time later – it could have been five minutes, or it could have been twenty – the sound of the door opening behind him finally broke Micah from his stupor. He turned, unsurprised to see Damon.

“Everyone’s left.”

Micah nodded, leaning back against the railing. He didn’t blame them for not wanting to stick around after that clusterfuck. He bit his lip. “I’m really sorry-”

“I apologize-”

Micah stopped mid-sentence. He and Damon had spoken at the same time.

Damon frowned. “Why are you sorry?”

Micah pulled his shoulder up to his ear in a shrug. “I shouldn’t have egged your sister on like that. I mean, her concerns about me are valid. You are paying me. Not for sex, like she thinks, but still. She doesn’t want me taking advantage of you.”

Damon snorted. “Caprice knows how unlikely it is that anyone would ever be able to pull the wool over my eyes enough to take advantage of me.”

“Perhaps,” Micah allowed, “but it’s natural for her to have questions and be protective, especially considering my job…”