He actually gets up, and that's what starts the little bundle of nerves in her stomach turning somersaults like a child at recess. Her eyes are riveted on his face for his entire approach, wondering partly if he really means to make good on his threat. The other part wonders, briefly, if he means to hurt her. But she's quick to push it from her mind.

She switches her gaze to the glass of scotch, feeling her face heat. She sips at it immediately, hoping she can blame the pink in her cheeks on the medicine or the alcohol or the lingering feeling of fever.

"Only if you insist."

Her voice is quieter; nearly shy.