There was nothing Ford wanted to do less than be dragged off to somewhere more private so that they could talk about this. He hadn't wanted to say it in the first place, and still didn't know why he had. It was as though the words had gone straight to his mouth without stopping by his brain first, but that made no sense. He didn't just blurt things out on a whim, even if he was frustrated. He always thought about what he was going to say, and if anything being angry made him slower to choose his words. So where had that come from?

"I am not," Ford insisted, trying to pull his arm free from Macnair's grip as he slid out of his chair. "I'm leaving." He'd reschedule his meeting that evening, or maybe he'd just fake his death and never speak to that particular man again. He couldn't imagine recovering from this degree of embarrassment, so death seemed rather preferable at that point.

---