Submit and Surrender (20 page)

Instead this was real life, which meant she got Derrick.

“Shit,” Adra said, and tried to dab at her eyes. Wouldn’t do much good; mascara was a bitch on a day like this.

“I thought I saw you come in here,” Derrick said.

He sounded different. Gentle, almost? Adra had forgotten that he could be gentle, she’d gotten so used to his asshole Dom performance. But they had been together for almost two years all those years ago. He hadn’t been an asshole
all
the time.

Still, she was wary. Especially because Derrick had been taking every opportunity to either hit on her or remind her that they used to have sex since the shoot began.

“I came in here because I wanted a moment alone,” Adra said.

Screw being polite. She didn’t have the reserves.

“Yeah, you do that when you’re hurt,” Derrick said. “You hide like a wounded animal.”

Adra turned away. She didn’t need to be reminded that he knew her so well. “Derrick, I’m not trying to be rude, but I really can’t handle any crude jokes, or inappropriate flirtation, or…I just can’t, right now. So please leave.”

The door didn’t open. Which meant he didn’t leave.

Adra turned around to find Derrick standing there with his hands in his pockets and an absolutely miserable hangdog expression on his face.

“I am probably the world’s biggest asshole,” he said.

“You are at least in the running, yes.”

“I know it won’t help to say I’m sorry,” Derrick said. “But I am.”

“Derrick…” Adra shook her head. She thought she was past being angry at Derrick for his behavior and had just moved into this dismissive, stoic sort of attitude, but it turned out that his admission of asshole-ness actually made her angry all over again.

She glared at him. “
Why?
” she said.

Derrick ran a hand through his artfully messy hair and stared at the ground. “Fuck if I know, Adra,” he said. “It wasn’t even about you, it was just this stupid fucking dominance thing, like territorial, you know, and—”

“I’m trying to decide if you were this bad a Dom when we were together,” Adra said.

Silence.

Derrick stared at the ground, angrily this time.

Mostly, Adra found it sad.

“You don’t treat people like objects in some sort of Dom competition,” Adra said. “What kind of person treats someone they used to love like that?”

And as soon as she said it, Adra found herself wondering:
Well, maybe he never did love me.

That would explain a lot. It would explain how he left, for one thing. It would almost make things easier.

And like he could read her mind—maybe because he could, in that way you get to know someone you’ve lived with—Derrick went from angry to saddened and contrite in about the space of a heart beat.

“Damn, Adra,” he said. “I really am sorry. About all of it. About the way I ended things. I was young and didn’t know how to handle it, but it’s not excuse.”

Adra shook her head. “Ancient history. I’m over it.”

“I really am sorry about being a jerk the past few weeks, too,” he said, taking his cue to come sit beside her. “I guess I’m just not used to being around you and not being…”

Adra looked at him. He was thoughtful. He was the way she remembered him in the beginning, when they first became close. The way he was when she decided to trust him.

“I’m not used to
not
being the most important person in the room to you,” he said, smiling ruefully. “Fucking childish, when I say it out loud.”

She stared at him.

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “Jesus, Derrick.”

He shrugged, not particularly bothered by his admission. He’d always had an ego. It had always been what drove him—you couldn’t become a successful actor without that, honestly. Adra had never understood how Derrick had withstood the countless rejections that came with working his way up, but now she kind of got it: an impenetrably thick skin made of pure ego.

Well, whatever worked, right?

“That’s not even why I’m here,” he said finally.

“You’re not here to be a jerk while I’m crying?” Adra laughed. “I don’t know if congratulations are in order, I’ll be honest.”

Derrick nudged her with his elbow, laughing.

“No, shockingly,” he said. That old charm coming back. “I’m here to see if you’re ok. Obviously, you’re not.”

Adra paused. “Obviously.”

“You going to tell me about it?”

“Derrick…”

The thing was, Derrick knew about Adra’s screwed up family. He knew all about it, because Adra, in her youthful exuberance, had decided to trust him. No, it was more than that: Derrick had known about the walls Adra put up, he’d known about the limits she set on her relationships, and he set out to get around them. And eventually it had worked. And she’d told him everything.

“Is it your dad?” Derrick asked softly.

Adra sighed.

The thing about people you once trusted was that you couldn’t take it back. They’d always have that part of you; they’d always know. And most days that made Adra crazy. But right now, mostly what she kept thinking about was how good it felt to have someone to talk to.

Even if it wasn’t the person she wanted.

“Not exactly,” Adra said, staring at her hands. She didn’t want to look at Derrick, for some reason. “We haven’t heard from Dad in years. It’s my brother, Charlie. He’s just…pulling the same old stuff.”

As soon as she said it, it felt wrong.

It felt wrong to be in this room with Derrick Duvall. It felt wrong to be telling him anything about her life, anything at all, but especially about something she couldn’t bring herself to share with Ford.

“You haven’t told him, have you?” Derrick asked.

Adra snapped her head up. “Who?”

“Ford.” Derrick put his hand on Adra’s shoulder. “C’mon, it’s obvious there’s something going on there. But you haven’t told him about this.”

Red fucking alert
.

Adra stood up suddenly and stepped away from the bench she’d been sitting on.

“I should get back to work,” she said.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Derrick asked. What had sounded sweet before now felt…

Ugh. Manipulative.

Goddammit. She should have seen it. Derrick was exactly narcissistic enough that he could be sympathetic and manipulative all at once.

“I’m fine,” Adra said. She was already reaching for the door. She just needed to get away, be alone. Think about why she was almost ready to talk about the things that hurt her with someone who actually
had
hurt her, rather than the man that she…

Fuck
. She’d almost let herself think it.

“You sure?”

Adra ignored Derrick and stepped out into the hall, eager to put as much distance between herself and everything as she possibly could.

But Derrick grabbed her hand and pulled her short.

“Adra,” he said. “You know I’m always here if you ever need me.”

It was a lie.

She knew at once, in that way she knew him so well, that it was a lie. But it was a lie he might actually believe, right up until it was no longer convenient.

She had been sad and stupid, to give this man credit. She knew him too well for that. She
saw
the goddamn look in his eyes at that very moment. Derrick Duvall was about the chase, the hunt, just as he had been all those years ago. If she sobbed on his shoulder, it would mean Derrick had won whatever little fantasy competition he had going on with Ford in his own head. And then, after that, Derrick would go back to being Derrick.

Adra pulled her hand away. “I’m fine,” she said.

And she turned around to see Ford watching from the other end of the hall.

“Oh, come
on
,” she whispered.

That, at least, would have made the Hollywood version of her life.

Adra made a beeline for Ford.

It was a weird reaction, technically. But she felt gross, having almost allowed herself to be manipulated by Derrick because she was feeling…whatever she was feeling about Ford, and, even weirder still, she felt somehow disloyal for having done so, even though that made zero sense. And now she was presented with a situation in which she was literally in the middle of a hallway with Derrick on one end and Ford on the other.

Nothing else in her life made much sense, but this, at least, was pretty simple. Even if no one else got the metaphor.

She walked toward Ford as quickly as she could.

Ford was staring past her in Derrick’s general direction, a truly frightening look on his face, right up until she got close. And then she had all of his attention.

And, like it always did, the full strength of Ford’s focus nearly bowled her over. Only this time, she couldn’t read everything she saw there.

He looked worried. Concerned. But there was…

It almost stopped her. Somehow not knowing what was going on in Ford’s head as he saw her have a supposed “moment” with Derrick was worse than if she’d seen something disappointing. Which was when she realized she had hopes that could be disappointed.

And she was hoping for jealousy. She was actually
hoping
to see jealousy in his face, since she’d just had a big fat heaping taste of that herself. And that, of course, was horrible and petty and juvenile, especially considering that Adra had been the one to set the limits on their relationship in the first place.

On the other hand, everything else about her behavior was starting to seem pretty nuts—really, crying alone in a storage room?—so what was one more thing to add to the list?

Besides, she might have been the one to initially set limits on their relationship, but everything since then indicated that Ford was now perfectly happy with those limits. He may have wanted her—all of her—at one point in time, but then he saw how flaky she could be, how terrible she was with relationships, and…well, he didn’t seem to want the same things anymore. He seemed content with their current arrangement. Which was a
good
thing, because it would protect them both, but it still kind of made her feel like…

“Crap,” she muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Ford said.

Adra looked up, got hit with those blue eyes, and was momentarily stunned.

There were so many things she wanted to say to him.

But how would she figure out how to say them? There weren’t words for them all, for all those conflicting feelings, for all the context, and so instead they just swirled around inside her head, overwhelming her, drowning her. Until she couldn’t think of a single thing to say at all, because not one thing was the truth, and not one thing told the whole story, and they were all hopelessly inadequate to tell Ford what he meant to her and why she couldn’t be what he deserved.

So instead she said, “Hi.”

She
really
hated feeling like a teenager all over again. Seriously, one ride on that hormonal hell train should have been enough. Adra ran a successful business in a cutthroat industry, she managed a high-profile club, she took care of everyone in her life, but Ford just made her ridiculous. All he had to do was look at her, or…

“Adra, are you ok?”

Or say something like that, like that was his only concern in life at that particular moment.

God. Dammit.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

Ford stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his cologne, close enough that she could see the stubble coming in, close enough to…

“Are you sure?” he said. Then he looked up, past her, where Derrick had been, and his eyes went hard. “What did he do?”

“What?” Adra said. He thought Derrick had hurt her? “Oh, of course I’m ok. I can handle him, Ford.”

In fact, she could handle pretty much everything, except apparently Ford. It kind of irked her that he thought otherwise. Or maybe she was just looking for an excuse to be mad at him so she wouldn’t have to feel…all these other things.

Ford looked down at her again, his eyes searching. “Of course you can,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you always have to, you know. Sometimes I might like to do it for you.”

Then he smiled.

Adra forced a laugh, and hoped that covered up how that had taken her breath away. She was constantly having to remind herself not to take Ford’s protectiveness too personally. He’d always been like that, with everyone he cared about. It was just who he was.

He was also apparently pretty unaffected by seeing her with Derrick. Which was the way it should be. Even if she’d felt like she’d gotten punched in the stomach when she’d seen him with Claudia.

But what weighed on her at that moment, standing so close and yet so far away from Ford Colson, was that what bothered her the most was how much she wanted to share everything with him—and how much she knew she couldn’t, and still keep things as they were: safe. Well, safe-ish.

So close, and yet so far.

But mostly so, so far.