He sighed and scrubbed his hand over his hair. "I'm going to do us both a favor and not lie to you," he said finally. "Not always, but it happens. People don't like men who do well for themselves. Some of those people are too chickenshit to solve their own problems." He risked a sideways glance at her. Well, at least she didn't look pissed.
"Listen, this wasn't my first choice of plan for the evening, either." Understatement of the year. "I'm guessing asking you to pretend like it never happened isn't going to get me far, so what do you want me to say?" He shrugged irritably. "It happens. I handled it. She's not coming back." Tonight, anyway.
"You don't have to say anything," the blonde next to him confessed just before dropped her weight behind her, elbows coming to prop her up. She tilted her head to one side, eyeing him now, hair slipping over a shoulder. Though Damia looked comfortable, still the uneasiness stirred in her stomach, making way for incoming nausea. With any luck, Cian would be able to say something to dispel it, but at this rate, she was going to need to curl into a tight ball and pray to Faram that for one night, just one fucking night, she could forget about Castor's blood on her hands.
Her eyes fogged over with thought, but only for some moments. "But for the record, 'it happens' is not exactly the best way to convince the woman on your bed to stay after that fucking mess." If she could stay without Cian's presence and touch triggering something awful.