Submit and Surrender

chapter 4


“Claudia,” Ford said into the phone.

It felt surreal to even say. They hadn’t talked in over five years. Even now, he half-expected silence.

Would have preferred it, even. He couldn’t think of a legitimate reason for Claudia to contact him that didn’t involve tragedy.

“Hi, Ford,” she said after far too long. “How are you?”

Ford clenched his teeth. Polite conversation took on a whole new meaning with his ex-wife. And she had no business knowing anything about him anymore.

“What’s wrong, Claudia?”

“Nothing is wrong.”

Roman had said it sounded urgent; otherwise Ford would have stayed with Adra. But then again, Roman wasn’t familiar with the Claudia Bane—make that Gifford, now—definition of “urgent.”

Ford took a deep breath, and tried not to think about where he’d left Adra, back in that room, with Derrick's words hanging in the goddamn air.

“Why are you calling me?” he said.

“Ford, don’t you think we can be civil, after all this time?” she said.

“I’m honest,” he said.

She was silent.

“Well,” she finally said, “I thought you should know that Jesse and I are moving out to Los Angeles.”

“That has nothing to do with me.”

“Jesse has done some work for the studio on the Submit and Surrender movie,” she went on. “They asked for him specifically because they’d heard he was in the lifestyle. It didn’t seem relevant to me, considering he just worked on the contracts, but what do I know? Anyway, we’re moving out to L.A.”

“And?”

“And we’ll be applying for membership at Club Volare L.A.,” she said lightly. “I just thought you should know.”

“Are you asking for my recommendation?”

“Of course not,” she said, trying to sound as if she didn’t think she needed it. “I just thought you should know, that’s all.”

And she was counting on this call to make Ford feel too proud to actually block their application. Clever, but he could see right through her. It had taken him a long time and a lot of bullshit to learn that skill, but now that he had it, it was like riding a bike.

Unfortunately, she was also right. Ford was over Claudia; that wasn’t in doubt. But he hadn’t forgiven her—or Jesse. So while he didn’t want them walking around his goddamn club, his integrity wouldn’t allow him to blackball them just because he didn’t like them.

“You’ve told me, Claudia,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“You won’t go all Neanderthal or anything?” she said.

That should not have pissed him off as much as it did. She was trying to joke around, to lighten an awkward conversation; even Claudia wasn’t outright evil. But she had no way of knowing that Ford actually had just gone “all Neanderthal” on Derrick Duvall for daring to make Adra feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Goddammit.

He’d overreacted. He’d seen Adra hurt, and he’d just…

He’d felt guilty about it. And then he’d gone after Derrick.

“Ford?” Claudia said.

“I won’t go all Neanderthal,” Ford said. “Your life isn’t any of my business anymore, Claudia. Good luck with your move.”

And he hung up.

Only then did he realize there was some nervous looking kid with a clipboard hovering about his open office door. It took a moment for Ford to remember that there were a few dozen movie people wandering around the club, and that this poor kid wasn’t actually an intruder.

The kid took a step back anyway.

“Mr. Colson?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, Mr. Corvis said he needs you in the conference room?”

“What?”

“Mr. Corvis? The executive producer?”

Ford tried to make his face as gentle as possible. The kid looked like he might actually be shaking.

“I meant, what conference room?’” Ford said. “We have a conference room now?”

“Um, I can take you to it?”

“Lead the way.”

Ford shook his head as he followed the kid through the club, marveling again at how surreal the whole situation was. Within a week everything had been turned upside down. Within a week, he’d gone from…

What the hell had he been doing? F*cking up, that’s what. As a Dom, he’d f*cked up royally. Both he and Adra had screwed up by giving in and neglecting to talk about what they were doing before they slept together; Ford didn’t realize until later that he’d been so certain that Adra had also wanted what he wanted: a life together. A relationship. All of it. He’d wanted all of it. And he’d been sure she did, too.

And he’d been wrong.

Well, shit happens. But he’d screwed up after that, too. Adra had told him, in her own limited way, what she could handle. She didn’t tell him why she couldn’t be with him, but she wasn’t obligated to, and that didn’t excuse his own lack of communication.

Because after that, he’d pulled away. He’d distanced himself from a friendship that was important to both of them, and he’d done it without explanation. He’d told himself it was because Adra had played games with him, was still playing games with him, and that was true—but it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d also done it out of self-preservation, because he thought he’d been in love with her, or who he’d thought her to be, and he’d needed time to get over that.

And today he’d been confronted with just how much that had hurt Adra.

“Goddammit,” he said under his breath.

“What?” the kid said.

“Nothing. Where are you taking me?”

“Right here, sir,” the kid said, pointing at one of the playrooms. Ford laughed out loud—this was what they were calling a conference room? Well, he supposed that could work, in a way…

“Thanks,” Ford said. The kid was staring at the floor. He still looked like a frightened fawn. “Hey, listen. Try to relax. You’re doing a good job.”

The kid looked up, his eyes bright. “Yeah?”

Ford smiled. “Yeah. Any idea what I’m supposed to be doing in there?”

“It’s a script read,” the kid said, proud to know something useful. “The production is under high security because of all the fan interest, so they don’t let anyone go home with a script. You have to read it in there, and the script can’t leave the room. I’m supposed to stand out here until you’re done.”

Ford shook his head again. Hollywood.

“I’ll try to be quick,” he said.

“Take your time, sir,” the kid said. “The other consulting producer is already in there.”

The other ‘consulting producer’?

But even as he opened the door, Ford knew. It was Adra. Lounging on a divan, long legs spread out in front of her, hair falling over her face, eyes on the script she held in her soft hands, her brow furrowed in that look of concentration that got him every damn time. She was beautiful.

Then she looked up and saw Ford. And the look of confusion and pain that spread across her face was unmistakable.

Sometimes there wasn’t a way to fix things. Ford would respect whatever wishes Adra had, even if he thought she was wrong, even if he’d learned that she wasn’t the woman for him, even if he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. But he’d be damned if he could continue to stand by and watch Adra be hurt because it might be easier on him.


That he could fix.

~ * ~ * ~

Adra had read the same page about a dozen times and she still had no idea what it said. That poor production assistant who was supposed to stand guard outside while she read the Submit and Surrender script was going to be there for a long, long time.

Ford had an ex-wife?

How was she supposed to think about anything else? Literally, anything else in the world? The Big One could turn L.A. into a floating island in the middle Pacific in the next two minutes, and Adra would still be wondering about Ford and his freaking ex-wife.

How could she not have known that? That Ford had been married? Thinking about it now, the man was in his thirties; it was ridiculous to imagine he hadn’t had important relationships. It’s just that Adra didn’t know about any of them. The idea that there’d once been a woman important enough to Ford that he’d declared his love, that he’d promised himself to her forever, that he’d…

Adra’s head was spinning. Which, that she could handle; she was used to her head spinning around Ford. But her heart felt empty, too. There was this huge part of Ford’s life, of his past, that he’d never shared with her. That she wasn’t a part of, even indirectly, even as just a friend who could show support.

She wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. She was used to people confiding in her, and she was used to being able to take care of them when they did. Somehow knowing that Ford hadn’t trusted her with this made the hurt of losing him seem fresh all over again.

Which was stupid, and selfish, because in the end, hadn’t he been right not to confide in her? Would she really have done anything differently if she’d known about the ex-wife? If she’d known about whatever emotional land mines Ford had in his past? Adra had felt them getting too close, and she hadn’t stopped it, and then she’d slept with him anyway, because she couldn’t stop herself. And then she’d had to tell him that she couldn’t be with him.

She didn’t tell him that she couldn’t be with anyone at all. Who’d understand? Hell, Adra herself didn’t always understand. She just knew that when she got too close to needing anybody, that was when she needed to get the hell out, because otherwise it would end in heartbreak in tears.

Well, more heartbreak and tears, anyway.

And so she’d been on the verge of crying all over again when Ford walked in.

And oh God, just the sight of him.

He was still wearing a white button down shirt, but he’d rolled up the sleeves, showing those powerful forearms, those big hands. First button undone, the crispness gone from the material. His hair kind of tussled. His eyes taking in the room in that commanding way he had, like he was surveying his territory.

Jesus. He didn’t even have to look at her to make her wet.

And then she remembered that she’d lost this man entirely, this man who had been her friend and who was even more beautiful inside than he was outside, and it crushed her.

They stared at each other.

Ford closed the door.

And Adra couldn’t take it anymore.

“I know you must hate this,” she blurted out. “I’m so sorry, Ford, I—”

He looked at her. “I don’t hate this.”

“I’ll just…I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”

Ford cocked his head, and almost seemed to smile. “How the hell do you think you’re going to do that?”

Adra had nothing. He was right; it was impossible.

“Adra, look at me,” he said.

Jesus. He could have been a movie star during the Golden Age, with that bone structure, the sheer size of him. If he were all she had to look at for the rest of her life, she’d be fine with that. His eyes held her in place.

“I don’t hate this,” he said. “And I don’t want you to stay out of my way.”

Looking at Ford now, Adra couldn’t help but think about what his face had looked like when she’d told him that she didn’t want to be with him. And she felt absolutely miserable.

“Maybe you should hate this,” she said. “Maybe you should hate me.”

Ford’s Dom voice cracked the air between them.

“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he said. “That’s an order.”

Adra blinked.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think about anything other than Ford. They’d never gotten to do a proper scene during their one night together. There were hints of what he’d be like as Dom, and he’d dominated her without question, but it had been…very animal. Feral. Wild. What would he be like cool and calm and controlled? What would he be like with complete, deliberate control over her?

She could feel his eyes on her skin as sure as she could feel the wetness spreading between her thighs.

Breathe, Adra. You have to breathe.

She tried. It didn’t work. His eyes were on her lips.

Say something!

“You have an ex-wife?” she said.

Ford finally smiled. “You have an ex-Dom who’s a movie star?”

Adra laughed.

She’d been obsessing about how these secrets had revealed the gulf between them, but here, in the room, laughing about it with him, knowing in that moment that he understood what she’d been thinking because he’d been thinking it, too…she felt closer to him than she had since it all happened. Since maybe before that. It was the weirdest thing.

And it was, of course, terrifying. Because no one had ever gotten to her like Ford. No one had ever gotten so close to making her feel like she needed him. And the last time that had happened, she’d tried to quench that rising panic by sleeping with him.

Get it together, Adra.

“Ford, what happened with Derrick…”

Ford crossed the room quickly, looming over her in a way that nearly pushed all thoughts out of her mind.

“He can’t talk to you like that,” Ford said.

“I agree,” Adra said. Derrick really was an a*shole. “But it’s not like we can kick him off the movie. And I don’t want you going to jail.”

“I’m not worried about that.”

“Well, I am,” Adra said. “What was that, Ford? I thought you were going to kill him.”

Ford stood there, silent, looking down at her. She felt like there was something important happening, something churning around them, and she almost didn’t want it to end. She wanted him to look at her like that all the time.

Finally he sat down on the end of her divan, lifting her legs up and putting them on his lap. He was so close. His hand burned into the outside of her thigh.

“That was guilt,” he said.

It took her a while to process that one.

“Wait, what?” she said.

Ford leaned on one arm, an arm Adra knew was strong and hard and felt amazing wrapped around her waist.

“Adra, what happened between us,” Ford said. “We screwed up.”

It was like being punched in the stomach.

Why did it hurt so much to hear something she already knew to be true?

“We should have talked first,” Ford went on. “We were friends, and we both know better. That’s on both of us. But I should have talked to you afterwards. After you told me that you didn’t want to be with me.”

“Ford…” she said softly.

“Quiet,” he said. His voice was soft and strong, and his eyes didn’t leave hers. She had no chance. “I pulled away from you, because I thought that’s what you wanted, because I thought…”

He shook his head, frowning. Adra thought he was going to say more, but he swallowed the words, whatever they were.

“I pulled away from our friendship, but I didn’t explain it,” he said. “And that hurt you. I saw, today, for the first time, how much that hurt you, and Adra, it made me f*cking crazy.”

She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t thought she’d deserved an explanation, since it had made perfect sense to her, but of course it didn’t make perfect sense. Ford was not the kind of man to throw a temper tantrum because he didn’t get what he wanted. He wasn’t the type of man to throw away a friendship because of a bad decision.

So she’d just thought he’d changed his opinion of her. Like, he’d seen through her, he’d gotten close to her, and then the way she’d behaved afterwards had made him…

Adra blinked again. She really didn’t want to cry.

“Adra, it made me crazy with guilt, and then Derrick stepped out of line to hurt you on purpose, and I just snapped. I took it out on him.”

“You took it out on him?”

“I’m not sorry about it, but yeah,” Ford said. “That’s what happened.”

He was so freaking earnest, looking at her like that. She felt terrible.

“Ford, you don’t have anything to feel guilty about,” she said. “I…”

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

She couldn’t say that it was her fault, that this perfect thing between them was just something she knew she couldn’t have because she was screwed up, or because the world was screwed up, or both, and she couldn’t bear to one day see Ford screwed up, too. That things always ended, that they ended badly, that people inevitably walked out. That if that were to happen with him, it would destroy her. That she couldn’t even bring herself to tell him about it, because that would make her need him even more…


And he was the one who felt guilty.

“I let you think I no longer cared about you,” he said bluntly. “I let you think we weren’t friends. That was wrong. Adra, look at me.”

Adra couldn’t make herself look up. He was so freaking good, looking at her with all that concern, that sense that whatever it was, he would take care of it. It was enough to make anyone feel weak.

“I avoided you, too,” she said quietly. “I didn’t know how to—”

“Look at me.”

Shit.

Slowly, she raised her eyes. He was just like she remembered. She almost couldn’t bear it.

“I’ve missed you, Adra,” he said.

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She felt stunned, breathless, incredulous, even.

He was relentless.

“You were the best friend I’ve ever had,” he said. “I don’t want to lose that.”

He leaned forward, his eyes bright and his jaw clenched.

“I won’t lose that,” he said.

The word “friend” kept bouncing around inside Adra’s head, making her feel happy and sad at the same time, but in the end she couldn’t tear herself away from Ford.

When she spoke, her voice was small.

“Ok,” she said.

Neither of them looked at each other like a friend. It didn’t feel like a friend’s hand on her thigh. It didn’t feel like a finished conversation, like there was so much unsaid, so much hidden behind those blue eyes. It made her want to reach out and touch him, to just…

No. That’s what happened last time. That was how they’d gotten into this mess.

“Ok?” he said finally.

“Ok,” she said, nodding. “We should be friends again.”

Ford smiled at her.

“I never wanted to stop.”

Adra smiled back. “Me, neither.”

And as soon as she said it, she knew it was a lie. She didn’t want to be his friend. She wanted to just be his.

Which was the one thing she couldn’t be.