by Chloe Cox
Part of her wanted to laugh. She wondered if it was this obvious when she kept stuff from him, and if so, how they’d both managed to avoid being main characters in a comedy of manners so far. It was ridiculous. She could see it in his eyes.
What a terrible liar. Call that a quality, though.
And, bonus: This gave her something else to think about. She wasn’t panicking about how making love with Ford had been the most honest experience of her life, or about how the rules she’d so carefully insisted upon had pretty much gone out the window, or about anything else.
She was thinking about what had really happened with Ford’s marriage.
And while part of her wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they both were, another part of her managed to be both simultaneously hurt and relieved for the exact same reasons. Namely: here he was being all distant again, and that sucked, but wasn’t it safer? If she was never pressed, if he didn’t push her into admitting what she really felt, maybe she really could do this best friends thing. Right?
Best friends who had amazing, perception-altering sex. She could totally do that, right?
What was it they said—‘fake it ’til you make it?’
“You don’t have to tell me about what happened,” Adra finally said, and still couldn’t tell if she was hoping he would or if she was hoping he wouldn’t. “Boundaries are good.”
On the plus side, she was getting pretty used to feeling like a total nutcase, so she had that going for her.
“Adra…” Ford said, and she let herself savor that deep, low rumble, because she looked at him and knew he was far away.
She didn’t have to suffer that long, though. When Ford’s phone rang at the side of the bed, Adra practically leaped for it.
“It’s for you,” she said, smiling up at him as she handed him the receiver. She’d actually sprawled across his hard, muscled body to get at the phone. She didn’t plan to move.
Ford grinned, took the phone, and then pulled away her sheet.
She was naked from the waist up again, and he was going to take full advantage of it. Adra sighed as his hands played lightly with her breasts. What was it about being fondled by a man who was otherwise occupied? She didn’t know, but whatever it was, it was magic.
So she noticed when it stopped.
Adra looked up. Ford’s expression had changed. It had gone dark. Medieval. Like the expression he’d had that first day of shooting, when he’d gone after Derrick…
“You’ve confirmed this?” Ford said into the phone. “I’ll need to meet you at the club in an hour. Bring whatever materials you have.”
Adra watched him carefully as he cradled her in one arm, and leaned over to hang up the phone with the other. She’d almost never seen him so upset.
“Ford, what happened?” she asked.
“That was the private investigator I hired,” Ford said, gently covering her with the sheet, bringing her closer before tucking her into the bed as he got out. He quickly pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt, his face serious.
“Private investigator?” Adra asked. What the hell was he talking about?
Ford looked at her like she was a very precious, very breakable thing.
“He knows who’s responsible for all the security leaks,” he said.
chapter 20
Ford was on a fucking tear.
Adra was at home. Adra was safe at home, and yes it was a goddamn home, it was their home now, whatever anybody called it, and that was where she was staying, because it was safe.
He had put his foot down on that one. And then he’d still had to remind her that if he didn’t know she was safe, under the circumstances, no one else would be safe, either, and that was a very bad idea.
She’d relented.
“But only because I don’t really want to see him,” she’d said. She’d laughed a little. “I’m not even surprised.”
Ford had said nothing.
“What are you going to do?” she’d asked.
“Fix it,” he said.
“Ford, you can’t fix it,” she’d said.
“I can damn well try.”
Which was bullshit, obviously, and they both knew that what was done was already done. But fuck, did Ford want to make just one thing in her life better. He’d only realized once he was halfway out the door that there might be more than one way to do that.
He’d stopped dead in his tracks, turned around, and looked her in the eye.
“Tell me you need me to stay and I won’t go anywhere,” he’d said.
Adra, still wrapped up in his sheets like a present—good God, that woman, with her hair all messed up and curling around her shoulders—reached up, and rubbed her thumb along his chin.
“Will you think less of me if I say that I might actually enjoy it a little bit if you scared the crap out of him?” she’d asked.
“No.”
“I’m pretty tired of the filming anyway.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ll come back soon?” she’d said, biting her lip.
He could practically feel the heat of her body. He’d gripped the doorframe with punishing force.
“God, yes,” he’d said.
He’d come back. He’d figure out what to do next, he’d figure out how to deal with what had changed between them, he’d blow off steam. He’d make sure this movie never had the power to hurt her again. And then he’d come back and show her everything he felt.
Which was why he was speeding. Or had been, until he’d hit Venice, and now he was stuck in traffic. It was that damn broken stoplight again, the one on Abbot Kinney right by Volare. Looked like there was another accident.
Ford did not have the patience for this.
He turned his truck down a side street, locked it, and ran the rest of the way.
When he got to Volare he was sweating slightly, his blood was pumping, and he could feel the adrenaline start to surge. Normally this would be where he’d take a step back, tell himself to watch it. Normally.
Ford stopped a startled production assistant in his tracks and loomed over him.
“Tell me where Derrick Duvall is,” Ford said.
It wasn’t the kind of question a PA was supposed to answer, necessarily, even if he knew the answer. This one stammered it out immediately.
“Upstairs in his dressing room,” the PA said. “He doesn’t have a call for another hour.”
“It’s not his goddamn dressing room,” Ford growled. “It’s a playroom. He was borrowing it.”
He took the stairs two at a time.
The door was unlocked, which was good, because Ford would have hated to break it. And Derrick, not the quickest on the uptake, was sprawled out on the couch, one foot on the ground, only half-awake.
“What the hell, man?” he said. “I was taking a nap.”
Ford closed the door behind him.
“Get up,” he said, walking toward the lazy movie star.
“Dude, what is with—”
“I said get up,” Ford said, and hurled Derrick off the couch. “You’re going to stand up so I can knock you back down again, as many goddamn times as I feel like. Stand up.”
Derrick jumped to his feet, doing his best to posture with his shoulders back, his chest out, like he was a big man. He looked ridiculous.
“What the hell is your problem, man?”
“I know,” Ford said. “I know it was you, Derrick.”
There was a silence.
Derrick chewed on his lip, watched Ford. Ford waited. He wanted an explanation before he dealt with Derrick. He wanted something to bring back to Adra.
“Well, so the fuck what?” Derrick finally said.
Ford clenched his fists and took another step forward. “You leak the location of the shoot, you spread false rumors about your relationship with Adra, you make her home unsafe, you put her in actual danger, and you still don’t understand why I’m going to beat the shit out of you?”
“You don’t have the balls,” Derr
ick sneered.
Ford just smiled.
“You touch me, and my lawyers will have a field day,” Derrick said.
Ford smiled again. He fucking loved his law degree. “Lawyers don’t scare me. I know too many of them.”
Derrick ran a hand through his hair and laughed.
“You know how much publicity this got for the movie? For your stupid club?”
“For you,” Ford said. “It got a lot of publicity for you.”
“Yeah, that’s right. That’s my job. I play the goddamn game. Jesus, how naive can you be?”
“You better start talking,” Ford said. Now there was just an end table between them. Ford kicked it aside. “The only way I get to fix the damage you’ve done is if I know what you’ve done, so fucking talk, you piece of shit.”
“I already told you,” Derrick said.
“I’m not just talking about the leaks,” Ford said.
The look on Derrick’s face really deserved to be punched. Ford opened and closed his fists, and kept it steady.
“Tell me what happened between you and Adra,” Ford said.
“You want to know?” Derrick said. “You kinky son of a bitch.”
That was it.
Ford grabbed Derrick by his two hundred-dollar shirt and threw him against the wall like a rag doll. Derrick worked out, but he did it for appearance; Ford lifted for performance. It was almost embarrassingly easy.
It was embarrassing in general, if Ford were being honest. He knew Adra would be horrified if he lost control. With immense effort, he reined himself in again.
Of course, Derrick didn’t need to know about that.
“Derrick, I know I give off an impression of cold reserve,” Ford said, cracking his knuckles. “And normally I am a consummate white collar professional. But I didn’t grow up that way. And where I’m from, we have very specific ways of dealing with people who hurt family. You wouldn’t believe the shit I’d get from my brothers if they knew you still had all your teeth,” Ford said, shaking his head. “I haven’t beaten down anybody who deserved it in a long time. But don’t for a fucking second think that means I’ve forgotten how.”
Derrick slumped his shoulders and began a long, slow slide down the wall.
“Jesus Christ, you’re serious?” he said.
Ford was silent.
“Nothing happened, man,” Derrick said. “I don’t know what she told you, but—”
“Before that, Derrick.”
“What?”
Ford crossed his arms. “Start with what you did to her before, when you were together.”
Derrick looked up at him, mouth open. “Dude.”
“She trusted you?” Ford asked.
The very idea made him itch to hit things.
“What the fuck kind of question is that?” Derrick said, running his hand through his hair again. This time his palms were sweaty.
“You knew about her family, about her father, her brother,” Ford said, his voice dangerously calm. “She trusted you.”
“We lived together. Kinda hard not to—”
“And then you left her, the exact same way? Disappeared?”
Maybe it was something in the way Ford said it. Maybe it was something in his eyes. But whatever it was, all the color drained out of Derrick Duvall’s face.
It wasn’t just fear, either. It was anger, too.
That was interesting.
At this point, Ford had Derrick Duvall down to rights. He knew the little worm, knew what made him tick, and he was in no way gratified to know he’d seen through the other man from the beginning. Derrick was powered by a raging insecurity that drove him to treat people like fuel for his constantly starved ego. He was a fucking narcissist. That was why he needed to be a Dom, that was why he leaked damaging info to the press, that was why he’d harassed Adra until Ford scared him into stopping.
And Ford could just see it. He could just see Derrick worming his way into Adra’s heart, getting her to trust him, not because he cared, but because it was a challenge. Because if someone who was already damaged could bring herself to open up to him, it was a big win for that monster ego.
And then he’d be done with her.
“You’ve only heard her side,” Derrick finally said. He sounded bitter.
Two things: Ford didn’t expect the bitterness. That was also interesting. And he hadn’t heard Adra’s side at all; he’d only guessed. And this asshole had just confirmed everything.
Ford took a very deep breath and rolled his neck.
“Tell me your side,” he said.
“You think she really trusted me? She never went all in, man,” Derrick said. “She always had one foot out the door. She was always waiting for me to run, or fuck up, or whatever. You know how much that sucks? If you care about someone, and you fucking try, and you know they’re not buying it?”
Ford blinked.
He took a step back.
Did he know how much that sucked? Yeah, he did.
But he wasn’t thinking about his ex-wife, or even Adra and all the times she kept things from him. He was thinking of Adra’s face, just that morning, when she’d asked him about his divorce and she’d known, she’d known, there was something that Ford wasn’t telling her.
He was thinking of how hurt she’d looked.
He was a fucking idiot.
Ford had spent all this time convincing himself that he’d moved on from his marriage, that he was over what Claudia and Jesse had done. And he was, in the sense that he no longer wanted anything from them, that he was over being angry. But that didn’t mean he’d moved on. He’d just killed the part of him that they’d hurt, cauterized that wound, and called that getting over it.
Only Adra had made him come alive again. And that had hurt, for a while, and made him cautious, because maybe he didn’t trust people like he used to. He hadn’t trusted Adra because of one screw up early on. And then this morning he hadn’t trusted her to learn the truth about the divorce and stick around. He hadn’t trusted her not to freak out. To be the kind, caring person that she always had been.
And she’d known. And that had hurt her.
“Christ, I’m an idiot,” Ford muttered.
Derrick laughed, like now they were friends. “Yeah—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ford barked.
“Jesus, what is your deal?”
“You rationalize your behavior because you’re a coward,” Ford snarled and shoved Derrick back against the wall. “You did the thing that would hurt her the most, and you did it knowingly. And she was right never to fully you trust you, because you’re a piece of shit.”
“If I was so bad, why does she still trust me?” Derrick said, standing up a little straighter. “You saw us yourself, the other day. Didn’t you want to know what we were doing?”
“Watch your mouth,” Ford growled.
Derrick straightened his shirt and laughed, covering up his injured pride. Then he pretended to dust some dirt off of Ford’s shoulders and said, “Hey, relax. I’m not even really into her anymore. It’s just a nostalgia thing. Plus, she’s hot.”
Ford closed his eyes, slowly shook his head, and thought, Fuck it. She’ll let me have this.
“You’re going to want to brace yourself for this, Derrick,” he said softly. “So you won’t suffer any internal bleeding.”
Ford looked the other man in the eye. Waited.
And then he punched him in the stomach.
“Now get the fuck out of my club,” Ford said. “Your goddamned movie can figure it out, or not, I don’t care. But you are out on your ass.”
Adra would be pissed he got violent, but at least he could tell her he pulled his punch. And then he would tell her that she had her club back, because Ford was done with this nonsense.
Now he just had to figure out what to do about Adra.
chapter 21
A lot of things happened then, all at once.
Adra found herself thinking seriously about her feelings
for Ford, and, most importantly, somehow not having an anxiety attack about the whole thing. He let her skirt around it, so they were spending time together, sleeping in the same bed, but not saying the words. The words were still too much.
But they were getting closer, those words. They were definitely getting closer.
And she didn’t even have too much time to freak out about that, because the movie was in the final, whirlwind stages of production. And that was because Ford had laid down the freaking law. He’d banned Derrick from Volare and told Santos the director to just figure it out, and that if he had any complaints he could bitch about it in his deposition for the lawsuit Volare would file for multiple breaches of contract.
The end result was that the film crews were leaving. They’d frantically gotten in all the shots they could in the meantime, but today was the last day, and the relief from everyone was palpable. Adra would miss Olivia, and much of the crew, but she was happy to have her club back.
Everyone was happy to have their club back.
So happy, in fact, that they were going to throw a giant, informal wrap party just to show there were no hard feelings—with the one obvious exception—and to welcome all the members back to the club they loved. Adra figured this was also an excuse to introduce some new people to the real Volare life, but hey, that was a good thing. She liked Olivia. It would be good to see her stick around and figure out what submission meant to her.
The world was mostly right again.
She sighed.
So why did she feel so ill at ease?
“Adra, honey, where’s your head?”
Adra looked at Lola, who was busy going over a caterer’s menu. The wrap party would be last minute, by their standards, but Lola wasn’t about to scrimp on the food.
“Never mind,” Lola said lightly. “I’m pretty sure I know where your head was.”
“You’re wrong, for once,” Adra said. “My thoughts were perfectly innocent.”
“Then Ford’s not doing his job.”
Adra threw a napkin at her.
“Ford is excellent at his job,” she said, which only made Lola burst out laughing.
“Oh, please, tell me you’ve figured it out,” Lola said. “Does he actually have a job title yet?”
