The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(22)

“It’s okay,” I say quietly. “It’s just a sore spot.”

His eyes travel over my face, land on my mouth. His breathing is shallow and so is mine.

I want him to kiss me. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

The realization hits all at once, shocking and terrifying, and I stumble away, heading straight for the elevator.

And he stands there, frozen, watching me go.





15





Kyle and I had begun dating in September. By October he’d decided to move to LA permanently. The hitch in our plan was Josie. His settlement offer had been more than generous—I’d reviewed it myself—but she kept coming back with new demands: all of his 401k instead of half, the vacation home that had been in his family for two generations in addition to their apartment in New York.

And every time he flew home, there was a part of me that worried he might not come back. If Josie realized what she’d lost, would he give her another chance for his kids’ sake? I had to fight the desire to look her up online. Was she cuter? Sexier? More impressive? I knew it was a rabbit hole that would lead nowhere good, but it was a struggle, after the way my mother’s life had been upended, not to worry mine would be too.

His work in LA ended in early December, and that was when things got harder. Josie was unreliable—drinking too much, failing to show up when it was her turn with the kids. Half our weekends together were canceled last minute because she’d somehow thrown a wrench in our plans.

And after one of those canceled weekends, crushed by disappointment, I asked him if he was even sure he wanted this.

“There must be a part of you,” I said, “thinking it would be easier just to take Josie back. And I really need to know before this goes any further.”

“Hon,” he replied, “is this really about me, or is it about your dad?”

I had no idea how to answer. I thought my concerns were valid, but yes, there was a part of me that would never stop being stunned by how fast my mother had been abandoned. Three weeks before my dad left with Stephani, he’d taken my mom to the Bahamas for their anniversary, where he gave her a tennis bracelet equal to a year’s tuition—one she sold a few months later to pay legal fees. People change their minds, and you don’t even know until long after they’ve decided it. “I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Honey,” he said, “I think you need to talk to a therapist, or this will never work. I don’t want to fail at marriage twice.”

“Marriage?”

He gave me an uncertain smile. “I thought it was heading there. Didn’t you?”

I stared at his face on the phone. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” I replied after a moment. “I mean…you’re still married. You’re still based in New York.”

“It’s not going to be that much longer until it’s over and then I’ll be there. Unless I misunderstood.” He frowned. “You’re young and I know it’s a lot, the fact that I have two kids.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that. I guess it just never occurred to me we were that serious.”

“Gemma,” he said with a quiet laugh, “we are absolutely that serious.”

Over the course of one conversation, he’d taken me from worried to obscenely hopeful. But I guess I can’t fault him for that: I’m the one who should have known better.





16





For the rest of the week, I barely see Ben. He’s busy preparing for a big trial in Charlotte, and spends more time out of the office than in. It’s for the best. I don’t know what that was between us, when I thought he might kiss me—temporary insanity, I suppose—but I need some distance from it still.

The office has mostly cleared out the following Friday when a delivery guy comes down the hall, his hand truck stacked high with boxes. “I have a delivery for Gemma Charles?”

I direct him to the conference room, then dig into the first box from Fiducia while he goes back to his truck for the next batch. You’d think he was bringing me a dozen roses, as excited as I am.

The files are not alphabetized, nor are they divided by division or location or employment date. It’s going to take forever, and is the sort of job I should farm out, but I’m looking for tiny slivers of information, easily missed, and I don’t trust anyone but myself to find them.

It’s tedious, time-consuming work, but finding those little slivers is like finding clues in a mystery. The thrill keeps me going, chasing the truth even harder. I don’t register the ding of the elevator or the steps in the hall until Ben’s imposing form fills the doorway. His gaze lands on the heels I kicked off, as if they’re the first piece of evidence at a crime scene. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asks. “It’s Friday night.”

I shrug. “The files just arrived. And I could point out that you also are at work.”

“I had a client dinner. I just came back to get my laptop.” His brow furrows. “Can’t it wait? Get the first years in on it Monday.”

I could admit I have nothing better to do tonight, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“I’d rather do it myself,” I tell him. “That way I know nothing’s been missed.”