Page 94 of Final Proposal

It’s impossible.

I don’t do that. I don’t fall. I don’t love.

I don’t let myself love.

This is sex.

This is companionship.

This is loneliness mixed with a forced proximity combined with great sex and a good friendship.

“Nothing is wrong,” I assert forcefully. “I’ve just got work to do.”

His chuckle is low and taunting, oblivious to the internal war I’m simultaneously waging and freaking out over. “That’s not what you said about fifteen minutes ago.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” I emit a nervous chuckle. “But Roddy and his asking me out kind of killed the mood.”

“Love the guy but not in particular right now.”

“Please tell me you didn’t get mad at him for—”

“I didn’t say a word. Acted like I never heard a thing. Didn’t want to embarrass the guy.”

“Good. Great.” I go to walk past Ford, and he grabs my hand.

“What’s going on?”

“I said nothing.”

“C’mon, Sinclair. Lay it on me. What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.”

His face is a foot from mine, and I have nowhere to hide. I try to keep a straight face, but I’m certain there’s panic in my expression. Desperation.

I need space. Time. Distance. Anything to have a few minutes to build that wall back up that I clearly let slip.

I am not in love with Ford Sharpe.

That’s absurd.

Ellery Sinclair does not fall in love.

Correction, Ellery Sinclair will not fall in love.

He nods. His lips are pursed. His eyes searching. “Okay. I’ll accept that answer. For now. But I know you well enough to know something’s going on. I just hope you trust me enough to tell me what.”

Emotion I don’t want to acknowledge clogs in my throat. Trust and love go hand in hand. So no, I don’t want either it seems. I clear away the emotion and straighten my spine.

Deflect.

Dodge.

Redirect.

“The book? What’s bugging you? The reason the reporter is snooping around?” I shrug dramatically. “It appears the same thing could be said of you, Ford.”

And with that comment, I turn on my heel and walk away.