“I’m sorry,” I say softly as I look back up at him. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Ford shakes his head with a smile. “I’m not hurt, Leary. Again, just a bit sad. An end of an era and all that, so to speak. But you are now and always will be my friend.”

His words are sure and true. He means it, and I feel immensely better.

“So, what did you do to fuck up this thing with Reeve?” he asks me out of the blue.

“What makes you think I did something wrong?”

“Because you have that shamed-dog look, and besides that, I know for a fact that Reeve is crazy about you. If you’re sitting here talking to me, you did something to mess up what you two have going.”

“Jeez, Ford,” I whine. “How about give me a little credit? Maybe Reeve did something wrong, too.”

“Probably,” he agrees as he leans back on the couch and swirls his wine. “But I’m a smart guy. Reeve is a relatively calm guy and is the type to reasonably and maturely talk things out. I know you very well, and you are stubborn and have a terrible temper that makes you say things you later regret. I’m going to stick by my original feeling and say you did something to fuck up.”

“I hate you know me so well,” I grumble. And then admit, “I did fuck up. I got mad at him today for something that really wasn’t his fault, wouldn’t give him the time of day to talk about it, and then told him I was going out with you tonight.”

“You’re such a brat,” Ford says. “Why in the hell would you tell Reeve you were going out with me?”

“To make him mad. To hurt him the way I was hurting,” I defend myself. “At least I was honest about it. I told him I was punishing him.”

Ford looks at me disapprovingly, then leans forward for more food. “What did he do?”

“He walked out on me. He said, ‘So be it,’ which in general breakup terms means ‘Fuck you very much, it was nice knowing you.’” My voice cracks and takes on a panicked edge.

“Calm down, babe,” Ford says gently. “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything that happened.”

“Not much to tell,” I say dejectedly. “We had the LaPietra mediation today. The insurance adjuster didn’t show up. Reeve confirmed there’d be no offer. I went ballistic and blamed Reeve.”

“Did he know the adjuster wasn’t coming?” Ford asks.

“No. He was just as surprised as we were.”

“Then why in the world would you be mad at him?”

“Because he works for Lucifer. He works for and makes a salary from these evil, evil men. He continues to defend this case when in good conscience he knows it’s not defendable. He’s nice and sweet and caring, and it hurts me that he’s working in opposition to me.” My chest is heaving from the oxygen it took to get out that angry outburst, but at least I laid out my true feelings. I really don’t need to elucidate further, because Ford knows how I feel about big business. He knows that I view them as soulless corporations out to screw the little guy. He knows this is personal to me, because for much of my life, my family was the little guy.

“This case is more important to me than any case I’ve tried in my entire legal career,” I say softly. “And Reeve wants me to lose it. He’s going to try to make me lose it. How can I want to be with someone who wants bad things for me?”

Ford’s mouth draws down into an empathetic frown. He stands from the couch and sets his wineglass down. He circles the end table and reaches out to take my glass from my hand. I easily let it go.

Kneeling down in front of me, Ford takes my hands and squeezes them. “You’re not being fair to Reeve. You knew who he was and what he was when you started this. You had no problem sleeping with the enemy. Logically, you knew going into this there was going to be a winner and a loser. And I get it—now that feelings are involved, it’s a tougher pill to swallow reconciling Reeve your opponent with Reeve your lover.”

I nod at him, because he’s spot-on.

“But what you’re failing to understand is that Reeve does not want you to be hurt by the outcome, I can guarantee you. Is he very much aware that his efforts can cause you to lose? Yes. But he’s just doing his job. Is he going to be happy if he wins? Maybe, because that means he did his job well. Is he going to hurt that you’re hurt? I guaran-fucking-tee you that is going to be the case. So my question to you is, why can’t it be enough that he doesn’t want to hurt you? In this scenario, when that’s the best you can hope for in this fucked-up relationship you have, why isn’t that good enough for you? If you can’t accept that about him, then you need to let him go.”

My head spins and my jaw drops in guilty realization of everything that Ford just laid out to me. “I can,” I whisper with sudden realization. “I can accept that.”

Ford cocks a skeptical eyebrow at me.

“I can accept that,” I say in a stronger voice. “I guess I just didn’t realize it until now. I think I forgot that this may be hard on him, too.”

Nodding, Ford says with a smirk, “Congratulations, I now proclaim you to be a reasonably mature woman.”

I smack Ford on the shoulder. “Smart-ass.”

Ford goes back to the couch. He takes a few more crackers and cheese. “So what are you going to do to fix this?”

“I’m thinking groveling may be involved,” I say dejectedly.

“No time like the present. Give him a call now.”

“Right now?” I ask hesitantly. Not because it’s an insane idea, but because I’m still fresh off being embarrassed about making an ass of myself.

“Right now,” Ford affirms, grabbing his glass of wine and sinking back into the couch.

“And . . . you’re just going to sit there and listen in on my conversation?” I ask dubiously.

“Pretty much,” he says with a grin. “I’ve earned it.”

I roll my eyes and walk over to my purse, which rests on my foyer table, and pull out my phone. As I walk back into the living room, I dial Reeve’s number. As it rings, I nibble on my fingernail—a nervous habit I’ve had since grade school—and keep my back to Ford, not wanting to acknowledge his penetrating look as I get ready to prostrate myself before Reeve.

His phone rings five times and goes to voice mail. His message is short, businesslike, and professional, slightly intimidating to me in this context. When I hear the beep, I take a deep breath and say, “Hey. It’s me. Listen, I’m sorry for the way I behaved today. I was angry and took it out on you. I’m actually sitting at my house, eating cheese and crackers with Ford. He’s pretty much told me I’m a dumbass for the way I acted, and I’d like the chance to apologize. So . . . um . . . call me. I can come over tonight if you want.”

I pause, wondering if I should say something more, then realize, what more can I say? I apologized. I hope he accepts it. I really hope he wants me to come over tonight.

I tap on my phone to disconnect the call and turn back to Ford. He’s smiling at me and making a thumbs-up sign. I smile back, content that I’ve done all I can.

Feeling a bit hungry, I walk back over to the love seat and grab a handful of grapes. Nothing to do but wait for Reeve to call me back.

It’s midnight and I’m lying awake in my bed.

Reeve never called me back, and I wonder if he just didn’t check his phone, if he’s ignoring me, or if—worst-case scenario—he’s seeking pleasure from someone else.

Like Vanessa.

To punish me the way I attempted to punish him.

Except mine would sort of be deserved.

The thought brings tears to my eyes, and I snag my phone off the small table beside my desk. The display is bright when I turn it on, temporarily blinding and hurting my eyes until I adjust.