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“How did it go?” I ask in an attempt to redirect my spiraling thoughts. “The work call, I mean.”

Ford lets go of my arm, and I immediately miss the warm contact. “You don’t have to ask about that kind of thing. You quit as my assistant, remember? Now you’re my fiancée.”

My stomach does a complicated flip at the word. It’s not real and I know that, and he just said it that way in case anyone overhears us. But it still does something ridiculous to my pulse to hear him claim me like that.

“I’m not asking because I think I have to,” I tell him. “I’m asking because I want to know. I care about your work and what you’re trying to accomplish, and any decent fiancée would do the same.”

“You don’t know the girlfriends or fiancées of many wealthy men,” Ford murmurs, but he looks gently amused. “Most of them couldn’t care less about business. And it went well, thanks for asking.”

I peer more closely at him, noticing that there’s a slightly tired look around his eyes. I missed it before in my post-Gabriel haze, and it’s not hugely noticeable, but I know Ford. I see him constantly. Honestly, he and Hayden and Gabriel are the three people I see the most of, which is pretty depressing when I think about it. I truly spend all my time at work.

And right now, Ford looks worn out. Stressed.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” I ask.

He waves me off. “This is a massive deal, literally, and that means extra work to pull it off, but it will all be worth it in the end. I’ve never been afraid of doing whatever it takes.”

“I know,” I tell him, meaning every word. “It’s why I respect you so much.”

I might complain about my bosses constantly, including to their faces, but I really do respect them. I wouldn’t have stayed in this job for so long if I didn’t.

I hesitate for a second, then decide I might as well handle this as soon as possible. I don’t want anything hanging over us. “I’m sorry for bringing up… what I did this morning. I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Ford shakes his head. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have just stalked off the way that I did. Yes, it’s true, I don’t like to talk about it. But it’s in the past.”

“Our past can still affect us,” I point out gently. I’m walking evidence of that truth. My past literally affects me financially, keeps me from moving forward into my future. “Your whole world changed in an instant. Of course that will stick with you.”

He gives me a look that I can’t quite decipher. Something about it makes my breath catch in my throat. Not from arousal or surprise exactly—I can’t even tell what I’m feeling. Just… something. Something that feels precious and important.

He clears his throat and bends down to grab the step stool, and that’s when I really notice all the lightbulbs. “Um. What are you doing?”

It’s not just the one in his hand. There’s an entire box of them nearby as well.

“Installing new lightbulbs.”

“I can see that, but why?”

“You were sensitive to the lighting last night. I had some time, so I drove into the city to find a proper hardware store—we have a mom and pop place here but they don’t carry specialty items. The employee there promised that these bulbs would be much better for people with light sensitivity.”

“It’s part of the same issue as my colorblindness, I think,” I stammer out, taken aback by his thoughtfulness. “Are you redoing—please tell me you’re not doing all the lighting in this place.”

This house is enormous, but Ford shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Well, I don’t want you confined to just certain areas.”

“What about your mother? She has everything planned out so precisely.”

“I’m not changing any of the decorations. She’ll be fine with it. And she’s a good hostess. She wants you to be comfortable. For that matter, so do I.”

I huff a quiet laugh, still trying to get over my shock. “Is that why you steal all my food at the office? Because going hungry isn’t very comfortable, you know.”

He doesn’t take the bait and banter with me like he usually would. Instead he says, quietly but with conviction, “I take care of what’s mine.”

That knocks the breath right out of me. I’m not sure which affects me more—the idea of being Ford’s, or the concept of someone actually taking care of me. Nobody’s ever taken care of me, not even my mother, the one person who should always take care of you above all others.

“My family would think I’m a terrible fiancé if I did anything else,” he continues. “And it might make them suspicious.”

“Oh.” I laugh, but it sounds a little hysterical. I can’t help feeling strangely disappointed that it’s just for the ruse.

Of course it’s for the ruse, you idiot, I tell myself sternly. Ford isn’t the type of guy to do grand romantic gestures. But he would take care of his partner, and this is exactly the kind of way he’d do it. Practical, possibly unobtrusive, something you might miss if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but still deeply personal and thoughtful.