If tripping in front of your boss wasn't embarrassing enough, you also cut your finger on a piece of glass once the bag ripped. Vincent looked down at you from the corner he constantly stood in, observing. He raised his brows, listening to your frantic apologies.

He looked at the gushing blood from the deep wound on your index finger, his lips twitching into a harsh scowl. He slapped your cheek, shutting you up as he crouched down to your kneeled position. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward so he could examine the blood oozing slit on your finger. Still grasping your wrist, he reached up and grabbed a roll of gauze, leaning back down and beginning to wrap it around your finger.

"It's fine." He uttered, looking at your hand.