The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(11)

Me: He works out at Equinox every night, apparently. On a scale of 1-10, how stalkerish would it be to purchase a gym membership I can’t afford and happen to show up there?

Meg: As you have no intent to do harm (I assume), I think you’re okay. Send photos.

Me: Hell, no. Get your own gym membership for that. Besides, I know what YOU’D want pics of and I’m not sneaking into the men’s changing room for you.

Kirsten: I bet it’s HUGE. You wouldn’t even need a long-range lens.

Me: This conversation is so wrong. We still don’t even know if he’s married.

We’d checked into it, of course. He didn’t wear a ring, and his bio said he was a father of two but didn’t mention a spouse.

“There’s no way,” Kirsten said. “No wife is letting that guy go across the country for months at a time unsupervised.”

“And he’s got pictures of his kids on his desk, but there’s not a single one of her,” Meg added.

Under normal circumstances I’d have been the first to assume the worst—after all, I’d watched my father cheat on my mom, as if it was his job—but there was an honesty to Kyle, an inherent decency. He treated people well—he found work for Tom, an associate on the cusp of getting fired; he was on a first-name basis with the homeless guy who sat outside the building; he was just as nice to the janitor as he was to the managing partner.

He kept it all close to the vest, until the night I walked into his office and heard the tail end of an argument.

“It’s my weekend with them,” he said to someone on the other line. “That’s what the agreement is for.”

I began stepping back outside when he shook his head, waving me in as he hung up the phone.

I winced. “Sorry. Your door was open and—”

He gave me a reluctant smile. “It’s okay. My ex and I are…things are a little tense right now.”

“Well, that answers the office’s biggest mystery,” I replied. “Everyone has been wondering if you’re single.”

He laughed then shook his head again. “It’s not common knowledge. We’re trying to keep it quiet until the divorce is finalized.”

“I won’t say anything,” I told him.

His eyes held mine. “I know you won’t.”

It killed me, but I somehow kept it to myself. I still texted and gossiped with Meg and Kirsten. I still played the do you think he’s married? game with them, as if I knew nothing. I didn’t tell them a single thing he’d said.

I guess that was my first mistake.





8





“You have not updated your Pinterest board in ages,” Keeley informs me before she’s even said hello. Based on her tone, failing to update Pinterest is the moral equivalent of failing to pay taxes.

“I don’t have time,” I reply, though it’s not entirely true. Years ago, I was addicted to Pinterest. I had a house page, a fashion page, a travel page, a books-to-read page. It was my own version of a vision board: here’s what my house will look like when I’m different, these are the trips I will take and the books I will read. I’ve given up on most of them. I’m too busy to read or travel. I’ve lost the desire for a cute cottage near the ocean with an herb garden out front—God knows where I’d find the time to take care of it. I still add to the fashion page, but these days it’s mostly just clothes for work. I suppose this means I’ve given up on most of that future Gemma. Keeley and my mom are the only ones who refuse to give up with me.

“Is that why you’re calling me on a Saturday afternoon?” I ask. “My Pinterest page?”

She scoffs. “Of course not. I’m calling because someone is covering my shift tonight, so you and I are going out.”

“I’ve got to go to Miami tomorrow, Keels. And I’ll be out of the office all day Monday. I really need to work.”

Twenty-four hours with Ben Tate. I picture his slightly broken nose, his crooked smile. Him saying, “Gemma, I promise there’s nothing small or weak about me.”

Every time I remember it, it gets a little filthier.

“Are you seriously telling me you have to work on a Saturday night because you also have to work on a Sunday night?” she demands, proving why she’s my only remaining friend in LA—because she refuses to take no for an answer. “You’ve got to make yourself leave on occasion. And you’ll never meet anyone if you don’t try something new once in a while.”

I suppose she has a point, and exclusively seeking out Hallmark men has not panned out for me so far. LA is not rich in farmers, small-town veterinarians or widowed bar owners. Besides, the firm’s retreat is in early November, and I’ll need a date. Someone smarter than Ben, preferably, and taller than Ben. Though Ben’s really tall and relatively intelligent, which narrows the field substantially.

I leave the office at 7:30, painfully early for me, even on a Saturday. I’m not at all surprised to find Keeley is already at the bar when I arrive and already surrounded. She’s like a tiny bottle of champagne someone shook up. Every man who meets her wants to pop the cork.

She charges across the room when she sees me. “Thank God you’re here. I couldn’t get away from those two.”