The Value of Vulnerability (15 page)

She leaned back on the pillows
, firm breasts pointing at him. “Aren’t you going to ask for my number?” The tone was now amused, with an undernote of seriousness.

His smile widened to calculated indulgence. Stepping briefly into the next room,
he shrugged into his overcoat before returning with her handbag, crossing to the bed to hand it to her. “You may turn on your phone again,” he said. “Perhaps your earlier companion is still available.”

Her mouth tightened
. “You think I’d have sex with two men in one day?”

“Why not?”
He scanned her naked body, and though he felt nothing, he again adjusted his expression to let her think he did. “You are an incredibly sensual woman. I would hate to think it was all going to waste.”

That line was getting tired.

Ashley
giggled, though, rising to her knees to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing a damp, open-mouth kiss to his mouth. Quelling the urge to recoil (she was spoiling the purpose of showering off her scent), he responded while checking his watch through half-closed eyes.

“I had a great time,” she said at last.

He disentangled himself. “Is there anything you need?”

“Such as?”

“Everyone needs something.”

S
he made a short, shocked sound. “Do you have anything to give that matters?”

“Depends on the individual.”
He waited several beats—hadn’t she told him earlier (during the
de rigueur
post-coital monologue to which she had subjected him) about how her uncle’s business still hadn’t recovered from the crash? The subtext being: Ford Howard could assist.

And he could. It was nothing.

She retreated, wrapping the sheet protectively around herself. “No. I don’t need anything.”

There were always iterated hints about handouts.
Mildly surprised, he hesitated.

She opened her purse. “
You need to be somewhere,” she said, withdrawing her phone. “Goodbye, Ford. Thanks again.”

He had reached the bedroom door when she spoke again.

“Actually, Ford,” she said, and the tension that held him dissipated.

“Turn off the phone,” he instructed, and turned back to her.

It was another few minutes before he was able to leave, but as expected, her request was an easy one, and he was already making a call on her behalf as he waited for an elevator. It was eminently practical of her to take advantage of their brief association.

People always want something from you
.

Erin
’s face flashed through his thoughts, and tension returned.

She hadn’t asked him for anything. Hadn’t wanted anything. Hadn’t fallen for his shtick.

Erin’s different.

T
hat panicky feeling struck again.

Elevator doors slid open and he stepped
on, pressing the Lobby button. With an effort, he got a grip on rational thought.

As the full complement of temptations had not yet been offered Erin, there was no
evidence that she was different. More likely, she was a liar and a fake, all to get something else: a meal ticket, a story to sell, or marriage with a generous divorce settlement. Most women wanted such things from him. Or simple and easily given things, as Ashley had. It never surprised him.

Cynicism and suspicion
at full steam, he felt far more comfortable having his brain in proper working condition. He followed the thread.

Had he not met thousands of consummate actors and actresses? Those sorts who could convince the wisest sage that the wolf inside the sheepskin was really a sweet-tempered creature to whom the sheep had volunteered its skin?

Yes, there were many like that.

He contemplated with fascination what her reaction would be
when he informed her that her career was of no import—his mistress would not be pursuing a career. She might fight it for appearance sake, but she would accept it.

Oh,
she was clever. There was no doubt about that. Perhaps a little too clever. The brazen looks followed by amused annoyance. The declarations of independence and making it on her own. How she admired Spencer Ward and feared Ward’s bad opinion, and how that was all on a purely professional level. The denial of Internet research on Ford himself.

Discover you on my own.

Yes. A nice touch. A brilliant performance. She was clever.

Damned clever of her to have a soft mouth and lavish-tasting skin.

The cynicism faltered.

The scent of her arousal, the darkening of those clear hazel eyes, the pounding of her heart—physiologically, those things were impossible to fake, and there was innate honesty in her sighs and groans . . .

It was a good thing, he mused as he stepped off the elevator into the busy hotel lobby, that he had already handled Ashley’s request. Thoughts of Erin had mostly eradicated the memory of the afternoon’s activities.

He couldn’t
even remember what Ashley looked like.

“Your car is here, Mr. Howard,” the doorman told him as he approached.

Wordlessly, he tipped the man, and stepped out into the drizzly cold where the limo idled under the porte-cochère, blocking access as cabs and other vehicles fought to squeeze around it. But it was not his driver’s fault that the driveway and the space allotted for drop-offs and pickups was inadequate.

The breeze caught his carelessly donned scarf, and
he tucked and smoothed it between the lapels of his overcoat.

Just call her. See where it goes.
What’s the harm?

But why did the thought of doing so engender another rush of panic?

Because he had no strategy. No endgame
—aside from that mistress scenario. But then what?

His driver held the
rear door open in readiness, and Ford forced himself to step forward and climb inside. Settling against the leather, he thrust his hands through his hair. Working without a strategy was alien to him—he equated it to stepping off a cliff.

But step he did
. He dug out his phone and dialled her work line.

“What are you doing
Saturday?” he demanded when she answered.

“You could start with ‘hello,’ Ford,” she scolded with a laugh. “I have plans.”

Was she going out with—what was the name? Joe Woods? There was something there . . . it left him with a bad taste, something in the way the man looked at her. Of course, most men would look at her like that. Ford was certain he himself did, though hopefully not quite so sleazily.

And the inappropriate way Erin dressed for the office—! Regardless, Woods was married and should have more sense.

“Hey,” she prompted gently as silence dragged.

“How are you?” he asked, and rolled his eyes at the question.

“Good. Busy. You?”

“
I—” He stopped. There was little point in giving her details of his day, and many of them would not be well received. “What are your plans?”

“A latke-eating contest
.” She gave a groaning sigh that stirred his body. “My friend Steph—the receptionist? I’ve been invited to her family’s Hanukkah party.”

“I see.”

Neither spoke again for several moments. He listened to her soft and shallow breathing.

She was excited just to talk to him. The reaction was subtle
, but real.

He concentrated on his knees.

“Would you like to come with me?” she said at last. “Mrs. Spielmann would love another mouth to feed. She’s the sort who enjoys stuffing people full of food.”

“I would not want to intrude on a family gathering.”
That sounded like the perfect excuse.

“It would be no intrusion
. And it isn’t just family. Other friends of Steph’s. One of my sisters. I know it isn’t really in your line,” she chuckled, “but it’ll be fun. I promise.”

It was a bad idea—but he said nothing.

He heard her sigh, resigned.

“What about Sunday instead then?” Her voice was cheerful,
no hint of the expected reproach.

“I’ll call
.” He disconnected without signoff, debating.

He thumbed the speed dial for Cameron.

“Joe Woods of Xcess,” he said.

“What about him?”

“Everything.” He had a feeling, and his instincts were superb.

“Got it.”

Snapping the phone closed, Ford eyed the people on the street as the limo moved at a snail’s pace through construction. People on the sidewalks held his attention. Shoppers, buskers, workers escaping early from offices, and chuggers taking advantage of holiday guilt all thronged, weaving around each other as if in some arcane dance to which only they knew the steps.

He did not understand the appeal of
outside
. But he could imagine Erin in that multitude.

He
checked the time, and dialled his EA. “Everything set?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is a possibility I will be a few minutes late.”

“Yes, sir.”

The press would wait, regardless. But he heard the hint of surprise in Ms. Leung’s voice, as if she, like he, wondered that he had called to say so.

What is wrong with you?

And the fury he had sought to lend rationale to his dark mood struck.

He felt instantly better.

Calmly, he said to Ms. Leung:

“
Email Spencer Ward at Xcess. He needs to review the office dress code.”

Erin sighed as she set the phone back in the cradle.

“Who was that?” Joe asked, leaning
over the cubicle wall that separated their stations. “Trying to get a date?”

“
Uh huh.”

“Who’s the lucky guy?”

“He’s not lucky, as he pretty much turned me down.”

Joe laughed. “You mean he’s not
getting
lucky!”

“Either way,” she retorted.

“Dumb ass. Him, not you.”

“Exactly my thought
.” She grinned, though it was slightly forced.

“So? Who’s the guy?”

“No one you know. Mind your own business.” She put her tongue out at him, then shooed him away. “I’m very busy sulking.”

At the end of the day, s
he went home, ignoring the baseline idiocy of embarking on any kind of relationship with Ford, focusing instead on evaluating the wisdom of bringing him into her real life once that relationship started in earnest. The obstinate blindness came mostly from her conviction that she would never hear from him again. No harm in contemplating the details of a relationship that would never happen. It was all fantasy. Definitely, she was not his type.

But what
if
he called? What
if
they dated?

She stared blankly at the fresh food filling her fridge. Salad and grilled fish wasn’t going to cut it tonight.

Opening the freezer, she removed a frozen pizza to toss in the oven, and poured the heel of a bottle of shiraz into her best crystal.
’Tis the season for overindulgence
, she decided—but put her gym bag at the front door to provide a visual reminder of repentance.

Half the pizza was scarfed down
and wine glass emptied before she allowed herself to seriously consider the logistics of
If Ford calls and we date, what’s that going to look like?

Bringing him into her circle of family and friends
would make it harder when it ended. She knew from experience—Anthony had been very much a part of her day-to-day life. His presence in all-things-Erin meant that his eventual absence ruined many memories and photo albums.

That, she knew, was part of her intermittent and temporary withdrawal from her social circle.

But she and Anthony had been serious. She had invested every bit of herself in the belief that they had a future. No, not mere belief. It was de facto. Discussed and planned and mapped out. It was a blow when it all crumbled.

At least with Ford, there was no need for that sort of emotional investment.

Is that why I want him?

She attempted a sip from the empty wine glass for the umpteenth time, and surrendered, fetching another bottle from the kitchen.
She peeled congealed toppings from the remaining pizza, stuffing little bites into her mouth to savour the salty goodness, chasing them with wine.

There was safety in dating Ford, for there could be no future
with such a man. And in all honesty, it was one of the main attractions of the man.

Ford had many more attractions than
being an emotional cripple.