Dear Merlin, what had Ford done to deserve this? It was bad enough that Macnair had caught him looking, but now he was actually coming over. Ford wasn't exactly sure what his expression had been when he'd glanced over a moment ago, but he knew it couldn't have been described as inviting, so what the hell was this about? Was Macnair coming over here just to taunt him, to make sure Ford was absolutely clear on how quickly he'd moved on? For one split second, in a flash of anger, Ford thought really he might hate him — but it was a short-lived fantasy, because his desk drawer at home was slowly filling up with heartsick letters with V. Macnair written across the top, so it wasn't as though he could pretend.

Macnair spoke and Ford gritted his teeth. Oh, I'm sorry, did my bad mood distract you too much from finding someone else to cheat on your wife with? he thought bitterly, but of course he couldn't say that. For one thing they were in the club, but even if they weren't Ford didn't have it in him to be so blunt, even as angry as he was. Yeah, well, maybe you could try not to be so... he thought next, but that was still too openly aggressive to actually make it past his lips. Besides, he wouldn't have been able to finish the sentence except with the same sort of gesture Macnair had just used, because he didn't actually know what it was about this that irritated him so much. He'd known it was going to happen — but maybe a small part of him had hoped that he wouldn't have ever had to know it was happening.

He glowered for a moment, though he was beginning to wonder if he was more angry with himself than he was with Macnair.

"Someone's sitting there," he announced eventually, tone stiff.

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