“It’s fine,” she said defiantly, out of habit. “It was a long time ago, it happened, and my mom and I dealt with it. It’s just that there was this moment during the break-in, when I was on the phone with the 9-1-1 dispatcher, that somehow stirred this stuff up all over again. But I don’t want you to think that I’m this person who went through this big tragedy, and that that means—”

He cut her off right there. “What I think is that a lot of people have shit they have to deal with from their childhood. And sometimes, that shit messes you up a little, whether you want it to or not.”

She went quiet as the words fell between them.

He was right. She was messed up. Sure, on the outside, she looked like she completely had her shit together. That was what she wanted people to think, after all—the only side of her she allowed them to see. Yet here she was, the supposedly tough, unflappable, confident Victoria Slade, so afraid of losing control that she’d sent herself into a full-fledged panic attack and had actually blacked out in front of an entire train of people.

Yeah, not exactly “unflappable” there.

She laughed humorlessly, her words dry. “Wow. I could’ve saved myself a ton of money in therapy bills and just talked to you instead.” She slid her hand from Ford’s grasp and stood up. Walking toward the windows, she ran her fingers through her hair and exhaled.

She heard him get up as she looked out the window, and closed her eyes when she felt his strong arms come around her.

“If you and I were alone for an hour in some therapy room, I’m not sure how much actual talking would’ve occurred,” he said.

She felt a bittersweet pang, knowing that he was trying to get a smile out of her. And of course that’s what he would do. As much as it killed her to admit it given their less-than-auspicious start and his quite healthy ego, he was a good guy. A great guy, actually. In addition to all the things she’d told Dr. Metzel, he had a protective streak a mile wide for the people he cared about—and it was that quality, not his eyes or his incredible body or even his wicked, sly charm, that she found most attractive of all.

In an alternate universe, albeit one where a lot more was different than simply the night they’d almost met at The Violet Hour, she could imagine that Ford would be exactly the kind of man she would— Well . . . anyway.

Taking a deep breath, she turned around and met his gaze. “Here’s the thing. After what happened today on the train, I think . . . I probably need to focus right now on this panic stuff and getting my act together.”

“I agree that you should take care of yourself.” He smiled. “But even with the ‘panic stuff,’ you have your act together more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

If you only knew. “No, I mean I need to focus on just these panic attacks. And work, obviously.” She paused. “Meaning, this probably isn’t a good time for me to be involved with anyone.”

For a long moment Ford said nothing, simply studying her with those piercing blue eyes. “You just decided this now?”

She tried to sound nonchalant. “Well, yes.”

“Why?”

“Like I said, after this panic attack, I think I should focus on therapy and—”

“—work,” he finished for her. “Right. The same therapy and work you’ve been doing these past few weeks, the whole time we’ve been involved. But suddenly, now, you need to focus exclusively on that.”

The comment put her on the defensive. “Did you see what just happened to me on the train? Oh, I’m sorry, it must’ve been somebody else who had to carry me off when I was unconscious. I think it’s safe to say that whatever I’ve been doing these past few weeks, it isn’t working.”

She tried walking away, because once again he was too close and she needed to get away from his knowing reporter eyes. But he caught her hand, stopping her.

“Victoria.” He moved closer.

She thought about backing up, but then it really would look like she was running from him. So she held her ground, forcing herself to remain stoic and stifling the urge to lean into his hand when he touched her cheek.

He gazed down at her, his voice husky. “Why are you so afraid of this? Of us?”

She felt an unexpected stinging in her eyes. Instantly, she fought back against her emotions and shoved them down deep. “Ford, I’m so sorry if I led you on in some way.” Her tone was gentle, but firm. “But . . . there is no us.”

He took his hand from her face and backed away a step.

“We agreed this was just a casual thing,” she continued.

“We did,” he said. “And if it is just that, I don’t see why there’s suddenly a problem.”

She tried to play if off. “I’m not saying there’s a problem. But after what happened today, I just . . . want some space.”

“Space.” He ran a hand over his jaw and then nodded. “Okay. Sure. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone right now, but if that’s what you need, I’ll come back later. How about if I check on you in a couple hours?”

She felt a lump in her throat. That was . . . a really sweet thing for him to offer. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “What the fuck is going on, Victoria?”

She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden anger. “I told you what’s going on.”

He stepped closer, his expression a mixture of confusion and something else she couldn’t read. “Everything was fine until tonight. But then you faint, and suddenly you’re shoving me out the door.” He paused. “Did I . . . do something wrong?”

“No,” she said emphatically, feeling terrible he would even ask. “Not at all.”

“Then help me understand what’s happening.” His expression softened. “Victoria, talk to me.”

She looked down at the ground, needing a moment, and then met his gaze. “I don’t want to fight with you, Ford.”

He stepped closer, his lips curved in an affectionate smile. “Shockingly, this time I actually don’t want to fight with you, either.”

“But I do want you to go,” she said softly.

He stopped, hearing that.

She saw a brief flicker of emotion in his eyes, but then his expression turned stony. His voice was cool as he backed away from her.