The phone slipped from his hand and struck the tiled floor with a dull clack, landing face down.
Samantha startled, instinctively looking toward it. "Oh!" She half rose from her chair. "Your phone—"
"It's fine."
The answer came automatically.
Fitzgerald didn't even spare it a glance. For one brief moment, he acknowledged the possibility that the email had already been sent.
If it had... Then it had.
Whether he picked it up now or thirty seconds later would change nothing. He could deal with the consequences afterward.
Right now, there was someone in front of him still trying not to cry.
He reached into the tissue box instead, quietly pulled out another tissue, and held it out to her. "You'll dehydrate if you keep crying," he said matter-of-factly.
Samantha stared at him for a second before a watery laugh escaped her. "That's... probably the least comforting thing anyone has ever said to me."
Fitzgerald frowned slightly. "It is scientifically true."
"I know."
