Ford had never thrown a punch in his life, but this remark drove him dangerously close. His hand curled into a fist at his side and his arm tensed. That stupid chuckle, the smug look on Broadmoor's face — if he did hit him Ford imagined he could replace it with one of shock at least for a minute, but that wasn't really good enough. What he really wanted to do was claw those stupid sparkling eyes out of his head, or strangle him. But obviously he couldn't do anything — it wouldn't actually help, and the last thing they needed were more rumors. Fucking hell.
But at least if he hit Broadmoor it would prevent him from causing a different kind of scene, because the other thing Ford wanted to do at the moment was curl into a ball and sob.
"You're a bloody git," he swore, and turned on his heel to flee the conversation before he did something he would regret.
But at least if he hit Broadmoor it would prevent him from causing a different kind of scene, because the other thing Ford wanted to do at the moment was curl into a ball and sob.
"You're a bloody git," he swore, and turned on his heel to flee the conversation before he did something he would regret.
Set by Lady!