Amber lifted his hand to her face, and for a moment that was what Foreman concentrated on--that, and the way she'd said his name. So much more intimate than usual. But at the same time, he could hear the echo in his mind, the way she'd said job interview. He stroked his thumb over her cheekbone and then let his hand drop, staring into his wine glass, at the burgundy glints of light reflected from the lamps onto the table. God, he'd had such a shitty week, and he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to have to present himself to one more person as having taken on House's brilliance without letting House's rogue doctor unpredictability touch him. For three years he'd had the run of the hospital; every no was a yes because House was so goddamn brilliant and could get around Cuddy no matter how much protocol she tried to tie him up with. How was he supposed to forget that and practice medicine like a mortal again? He'd taken one fucking chance, and he'd been right, and the whole world, all his ambitions, had been ripped away like a carpet yanked out from under his feet. He shook his head. Being honest with Amber would probably drive her off. Ruin the one good thing that had happened recently. But Foreman didn't see any way around it, not if she was going to keep pushing in the same direction. He almost wanted to be standoffish, to ask her to just let him alone, but that would break off all the good feelings that had been growing between them tonight. Maybe it shouldn't matter. One quick fling more or less didn't really matter. He was stuck in this city, with this job, whether he wanted to be or not. A night with Amber could be good, even amazing, but it wouldn't fix anything. He'd been stupid to think he could forget about his life by going out with her, especially when she worked at the hospital.

"The crappy night I was having?" he said, mostly to the table. "It was more like a crappy week." He looked up at her, shaking his head. Christ, he felt like an idiot for feeling so damn sorry for himself, and in front of Amber. He wouldn't be surprised if she accused him of breaking the mood and telling him thanks but no thanks, a drink was all she'd ever really wanted. Teasing about rewards and doing him on the dancefloor wouldn't mean much if he was going to dump his emotional crap on her after they'd only known each other a few hours. "Not much good has happened recently. I just got stuck with--" He still didn't want to mention House. As if Foreman couldn't stand up to a supervisor, or do whatever job he had with any grace. "A job I'm not looking forward to. And I don't have the opportunities I'd like to get out of it."

Foreman looked away from her, towards the door, half-plotting his escape. He should probably get up and leave; at least then she wouldn't have the opportunity to pity him or let him down gently. "Sorry," he said. "Not what you wanted to hear, I know."