He squeezes a generous amount into his palm and slowly works it into the skin of my finger. I try—really try—to swallow back my panic, but I have absolutely zero faith in this unofficial, unapproved numbing cream, no matter who swears by it. This is going to hurt like hell.
"Do you still want to know what design I came up with?" Michael asks as he caps the ointment and returns it back to the tray, then places my hand palm-down on the armrest, spreading my fingers apart.
"I thought you wanted it to be a surprise?" My voice is thready from my nervousness.
"I did, I do, but you're getting it right now anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter anymore." He stands and heads to his desk where he retrieves a drawing pad, flipping through it as he walks back. When he reaches the last page, he hands it to me. My breath catches in my throat. It's a stunning design—a ring with tiny
