The Value of Vulnerability (39 page)

“Does it matter who metes out justice?” he retorted.

“Yeah, I think it does. Because if you hadn’t made this personal, it never would have touched me. I don’t care how selfish that sounds. Seeing those pictures of us—” She swallowed. “It ruined those moments. My exciting relationship with an endlessly interesting man has been in a fishbowl, and the only reason he’s with me is that I’m ordinary and scandal free.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. Hadn’t realised she’d even thought that.

Ford came around the corner of the table to crouch next to her chair, grasping her hands firmly. “That is not the reason I’m with you, Erin. You are not ordinary in the least. The scandal-free part is a bonus,” he attempted to tease, “but I’m with you because
you
are endlessly interesting. I’m sorry this has happened. But it will go away.”

“Until next time,” she said.

His grip on her hands tightened. “I am who I am, Erin. Would you have me change?”

“I’m trying to tell you there’s a better way of dealing with people who thwart you.”

“You would have me change by rule of argument,” he smiled.

But she was not amused. “People don’t change.” She looked away. “Unless they want to.”

A rap on the door stopped the conversation and Manny, and then Cameron, returned. Plans were made, instructions given, and Ford repeatedly underscored how Erin’s safety was the most important thing.

That this concern was delivered in an unconcerned voice did not appear to strike him as ironic, and Erin marvelled that such an intelligent man could be so obtuse.

***

With his thoughts in the bullpen where Erin was chatting with Manny about things IT people chatted about, Ford idly watched as Cameron packed up to leave.

“It will be over soon,” he said absently.

“Until the next time,” Cameron retorted with a wry grin. “Or are you talking about Erin?”

Ford’s chin jerked up. “What do you mean by that?”

The answer was oblique. “We’ve had a profitable business relationship, Ford. Little more than kids—twenty-somethings taking over their daddies’ companies
.” He chuckled, shoving papers into his briefcase. “I know you’re a son of a bitch. The whole world knows it, even if they’re only guessing. Despite that, I like you. Don’t know why. You’re not very likeable. You’re rude, cold, and elitist. Completely lacking in trust. Zero sense of guilt or empathy.

“Oh the other hand,”
he went on, “you’re intelligent, organised, and have a wicked-dry sense of humour. You pay your bills on time, and add unsolicited bonuses when you’re really impressed—you’re generous, or can be. You have, er, non-traditional ways of expressing your respect for others. I imagine it’s that elitism getting in the way. Doesn’t allow you to say things like that to minions.”

Ford blinked. “Are you resigning my account?”

Cameron laughed as he donned his coat. “No. At least, not now. Not yet. I’m trying to tell you, Ford, that while you don’t consider me such, I’m your friend. And as your friend, let me give you a bit of advice. That woman out there is the best thing that has ever happened to you, and you’re going to lose her if you don’t pay very close attention.”

Panic swelled. But his voice was cool. “Thank you for the advice.”

Cameron made a face. “Well, there’s improvement. You actually said ‘thanks’ and didn’t offer me money.” With a laugh, he made his way to the door.

Ford spun the chair to track his exit. “She doesn’t know.”

“Doesn’t know what?” he scorned. “The things you’ve done to people? Maybe not the specifics. But she suspects. She’s a smart cookie, Ford.” He adjusted his collar, switching the briefcase hand to hand. “You think your blackened heart is hidden. But it’s crap like this,” his gesture encompassed the recent meeting, “that shows the man you are, even when you keep a bland expression on your face.” He put a hand on the doorknob. “Show her the man you
can
be. Or better—the man you
want
to be.”

Ford had nothing to say to that.

Cameron opened the door. “I’ll stay in touch,” he said, and was gone.

Through the doorway, Ford could see Erin, hip propped on Manny’s station, Manny swaying in his chair. They both looked around as Cameron approached them, and Erin smiled as she bid Cameron goodbye.
She flushed slightly and uttered that infectious laugh in response to something Cameron said, and then returned to her conversation with Manny.

Her features bore the marks of strain, of lost sleep, of worry. And yet she was still polite, friendly, and responsive. Even last night, after the stresses of her night and after sex, when she lay in his arms unable to sleep . . . even then, she had pressed against him, holding his hand, stroking his skin. No distance. No sulking. No recrimination.

He did not want to go back to a life without her. She brought too much to him—sex, laughter, companionship—all without demands. He hadn’t known an association with another person could be so one sided—with him on the wrong side.

There was only one thing he could offer that would even the ledger.

He left the conference room to join her. “Did you drive?” he asked abruptly, interrupting the conversation.

“Excuse me,” she murmured to Manny. To Ford: “No. My car’s at home. I took a cab from the office.” She checked her watch. “Speaking of which.” She slid off the desk.

“Thank you again for your help,” Ford managed to remember to say to Manny. The problem was that he
meant
it, but wasn’t in the habit of saying it.

Perhaps something you can change. Look at how it pleased Erin.

For she smiled indulgently at him and added her thanks to his. She grasped his hand warmly as they left IT, and while he was not fond of the overt display, he did not resist it.

But she released his hand soon enough, giving him a knowing smile. There was still a shadow in her eyes as she said: “I need to get back to work.”

“I will take you. Plans for tonight?”

“Sleep.” She cleared her throat. “You’re welcome to come by, but I want to be home. Okay?”

“Of course. Your health is important to me.”

“Your ardour overwhelms me.”

“It will,” he promised with a wink, and she laughed aloud, as he had meant her to.

***

The entire extortion incident wrapped up in a most anticlimactic fashion, and went very much as Cameron predicted: an anonymous email with a specific list of data wanted, and a link to a cloud server for upload. Ford and Cameron handled the rest.

What would Ford do to the perpetrator? Erin didn’t want to know. The last days had all but exhausted her hopes for a future with him. Such a man could never offer her the things she needed.

But hope remained nonetheless, for though she shouldn’t, she loved him. It was hard to define what love was, but she knew what it meant: forgiveness, giving, and work. That applied to all of her relationships. With Ford, it meant all that, times ten to the nth power. Which was totally fine, if she had any assurance that he viewed it the same way.

Unlikely.

They ‘celebrated’ the resolution of the extortion incident with an intimate and elaborate dinner at Ford’s place, with only Barton in attendance rather than the usual extra staff. Erin enjoyed these dinners—what wasn’t to like? But it still felt a bit like dining in a restaurant, and she preferred times at her place with takeout, or a late snack with Ford in his kitchen. Just the two of them, with no ceremony, when Ford was more relaxed and less formal.

Tonight, however, Ford was being weird, even for him. He was making noises that sounded like laughter, but the stress behind them made for strange utterance. And his amber eyes had a subtly wild and anxious look that Erin couldn’t account for. Certainly, she’d never seen it before.

When they retired to the lounge for after-dinner drinks, Erin watched in fascination as her ultra-controlled lover paced in front of the fireplace.

“Ford, what the hell?” she said at last. She patted the cushion next to her on the settee. “Come sit with me and tell me what crap is going on in that head of yours.”

He stopped pacing. “I’m acting oddly, aren’t I?”

“Little bit.”

He crossed to her and sat. “I have a proposition for you.”

“You cad.” She kissed his cheek. “Sounds great.”

His warm and now-not-insane gaze flicked over her face. “Will you move in with me?”

The sensation of her jaw dropping was not pleasant. “Move in? Here? With you?”

“All of those inferences can be taken from my clearly stated question. Well?”

Yes!
She wanted to scream the word. It wasn’t everything she wanted, but it marked a significant change in his thinking that he made such an offer. Eventually it could lead to more. Not marriage and children, perhaps, but that was not her immediate concern.
More
right now meant merging their lives into common joys, bringing him into her life, sharing her love though he did not yet return it. Would it be enough?

Could he ever love her? Could Ford Howard love anyone?

It was a perfect time to talk. Discuss his avoidance of her loved ones, find out whether he had set up that meeting with Helen, and ask about his dying father.

Would such conversation net anything? Like real emotions and honesty?

And then she did the cowardly thing.

“It’s rather sudden,” she demurred, kissing him. “I’ll think about it.”

That he was surprised was obvious, though he masked it quickly. “Of course you’ll want to think about it. Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you. I’m really surprised, you know.”

He laughed slightly, still stressed, but in his more normal way. “That was clear.”

Hells! He had been freaked out over the offer. Because he didn’t want to make it? Was afraid she’d refuse? Or afraid she’d accept?

“Are you free to come to dinner at the Parents’ on Sunday?” she asked casually, sipping a bit of ice wine.

“I believe I’ve already made plans, Erin, but I’ll see what I can rearrange.”

That was a ‘no.’ She’d heard that line many times. “No problem. Let me know. Oh, girl-gang on Tuesday night. Would you—and Nick and Conor, of course—like to join us?”

Ford relaxed into the cushions, smiling benignly. “I’ll be sure to ask them.”

Another familiar ‘no.’

So, nothing had changed.

“Let’s go to bed,” she suggested huskily, suddenly anxious to show him her love, even though there was little point in saying the words.

“Jordy, look out!” Erin laughed as her six-year-old nephew ran through a giant mud puddle in the backyard of the Parents Russell house. The boy was covered from head to toe in splatters, the cape he wore—being a superhero and all—askew, more over one tiny shoulder than down his back.

“I can fly!” he yelled, leaping and cavorting in the cool March air. “I can fly!”

Her sisters joined her on the steps, Gina grimacing at her son’s dirty, laughing face. “I wish he
could
fly,” she murmured. “It would keep him out of the dirt.”

It had been a couple of weeks since Erin had been home, what with extortionists and an otherwise busy life, and while she always enjoyed being here, there was extra relief in being away from Ford. She was almost glad that some
‘unforeseen’ and totally contrived ‘emergency’ had had him declining yet another invitation.

But still it hurt that Ford refused, through inaction rather than word, to be a part of this. How could she continue with him?
Separate lives did not suit her, but living with him was unlikely to close the gap.

“When do we get to meet Ford?” Gina demanded, tucking a blanket securely around Emmie, sleeping soundly in the carrier.

“I don’t know. He was busy today, with a conference call or something.”

The sun came out, conveniently, and she slid sunglasses onto her nose, hiding the disappointment in her eyes. She could not tell them her worries, which cast Ford in a bad light, and she refused to run him down. There was still hope for them—wasn’t there?—and having her sisters think ill of him would not help in the long run of the relationship.

If the relationship continued.

Holding back, both from Ford and from her family, was taking its toll.

Gina’s husband came around the side of the house, swooping in to kiss his wife before looking at his son. “There’s a mess.” Doug greeted his sisters-in-law affectionately and went to scoop up his muddy son, uncaring that he, too, got plastered in mud.

A tiny sigh passed Erin’s lips, thinking of how this atmosphere would be good for Ford.

Yep. You’re a romantic idiot. Putting Ford in Candyland isn’t going to make him like candy. Or make him a better person.

“Lunch is ready,” Mrs. Russell announced, stepping out on the deck. “Everybody inside! Not you, Erin,”
she said firmly as her youngest moved to join the exodus.