“I can't believe,” hiccuping a laugh, her hair fanned out on the bedding underneath them, one knee still bent around his waist, “that you are the head healer of an organisation where nearly everyone has fucked at least one of their colleagues and you've not at least asked Derrica,”

who surely, surely must know, and it's actually a toss up whether Derrica or Stephen might be preferable to someone who needed to ask if it's meant to look like that, but—

“I'm not telling you,” she says to the ceiling, “you have to go have that conversation. It's your professional responsibility.”