Nick didn't hesitate. The moment he saw the tears shimmer in Georgia's eyes, he cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing the dampness away as panic flared in his chest.
"Hey—hey," he murmured, voice thick with concern. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Did I… did I hurt you?" His grip faltered for a second as guilt crashed into him. "If I did—I'm so sorry, Georgia. That was never my intention."
She leaned into his touch for a heartbeat, then whispered, "That's not what this is about."
Nick's brows furrowed. He eased back, just enough to see her face clearly. "It's not?" he asked, his voice low and uncertain. "Then what is it? Please… talk to me."
Her eyes searched his, cold resolve flickering in her trembling voice.
"Will you still help me now that you've had what you wanted?" she asked, sharp and direct—like a knife to his chest.
His jaw clenched. "What?"
Nick's expression shifted from confusion to wounded disbelief.
